You is Kind. You is Smart. You is Important. And THAT Makes You Beautiful.

As women, we are raised in a world full of unrealistic expectations pertaining to our bodies to think we are fat. No matter how thin, how fit, how athletic, how shapely, how curvy we are, if someone asks us about our bodies, we refer to it as fat. We're programmed that way, and it's truly sad.

I follow a Facebook page called A Mighty Girl, where I read tons of blogs and posts about how we can change the story, how we as women can stop feeding into how little girls are raised in a world where they can't focus on anything but being skinny; it's an uphill battle, with the world against us, but I do believe it can happen. Especially when I watch my friends with daughters, not calling them pretty or cute, not decking them head to toe in pink or bows, bur telling them how smart and brave and special they are, by dressing them like superheros for Halloween, and by talking to them about strong, confident women - and most importantly, by being confident with their own bodies, in front of their daughters. My friend Ashley is an example that I find very inspiring. Her daughter is only a year old, but when Ashley & Oryan talk about her, they call her strong, they call her a warrior, they call her a tornado. They are raising a strong woman already, even in the precious pink packaging she's in now. And I love that.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog about the unrealistic weight loss plans women set for themselves, goals that we can never attain, that our bodies will never do. It was called How to Get a Thigh Gap and Take Over the World, and you can read it HERE.To reiterate the main focus of that blog: "getting a thigh gap" is unattainable for those of us who don't have one. A gap in your thighs is a genetic trait based on bone structure, not a milestone in your journey to being skinny. If you want to read the details, please do. It was a good one.

I started thinking about this over the weekend, while sorting through old photos of the past 15 years of my life. I was a cheerleader in high school. I was also on dance team. I also ate pizza almost every day. And I weighed 103 pounds. And at 103 pounds, I would pull on my size 2 cheerleading skirt every Friday night and look in the mirror, and without fail I would point out my fat thighs to someone getting ready in the mirror next to me. Sadly, what in reality was the body of a 15 year old athlete, with muscular thighs & calves, a flat belly curving from strong hips, and toned biceps & shoulders, in my eyes was thighs that touched each other, calves that looked like a boy's, muffin top & a chubby tummy, and flabby upper arms & undefined shoulders.

Looking at photos we took in high school, while I was in high school, I thought I looked fat in all of them. I hated having to wear my cheerleading skirt to school on game days and more often than not, wore my squad sweats under my skirt and blamed it on being cold (we all did). Looking at photos we took in high school, now, I realize I had a perfectly normal body. I wasn't too skinny, but I was in no way fat, or even chubby. I was athletic. My muscles were visible. I had a body that I would kill to have today. I was in shape, I was toned, I was petite to toss up in the air and could stand on someone's hands in front of a crowd, but I was strong enough to do back handsprings and also to hold someone else standing on my thighs.

And yet, because my muscles were showing instead of my bones, I was unhappy. Because in magazines, nobody's muscles are showing. Nobody's curves are showing. In magazines, bones are what show. Bones are what you think means you're beautiful. Because bones are what is sexy everywhere you look. In high school, and even into college, I remember measuring myself not by pounds or by jeans sizes, but rather by how much my collar bone protruded from my chest, and by whether or not my middle finger & thumb touched each other if I encircled my wrist with them. What. The. Fuck. Kinda shit is that?!

This picture: 

This picture is as vivid to me today as it was the day it was taken. I looked at this photo when I got it developed (you know, because we used to have to do that with film), and I was horrified by how fat I looked. What?! I was 18 years old when this photo was taken. When I look at it now, I see a normal teenage body, and actually, I am jealous of it. When I looked at it at 18, I was mortified. In fact, I am surprised I didn't tear it up and throw it away. I remember looking at it with my girlfriend and telling her that I had belly rolls and that my boobs were saggy. Umm...no. Hey 18 year old self, you idiot...everyone's tummy does that when they're sitting down. And you have awesome boobs. Just wait til your 30 and your best friend tells you that even 4 cup sizes larger than in this photo, they defy gravity. Sincerely, 30 year old self.

And this picture:

This was taken at my boyfriend's senior prom, when I was a freshman in college. I was so nervous about wearing this dress, that I almost bought a new one. Because I thought I had back fat. Umm. No, 19 year old version of myself, that's not back fat, that's muscle definition. You're gonna eat these words someday. You know what I saw in this photo? Nothing but my belly. You know what's funny about that? That's a pooch in the dress, it isn't even belly. You know what everyone else who ever looked at this photo saw (and still sees)? My toned, curvy, not flat, cheerleader-slash-dancer ASS.

The funny thing is, when I look at these photos now, I am envious of my own body. Envious of my high school tummy and my cheerleader ass and shoulders. And I think, God I was so stupid to not appreciate that little body when I had it! I hated my high school body when it was my high school body. Now that I am in my adult body, I appreciate my high school body. My high school body was just fine.

Women need to be more appreciative of the bodies we have. Is it important to be healthy? Of course. But is it healthy to measure results by how many of your ribs you can see? Absolutely not! Somewhere, ingrained in the female psyche is something about how fat we are, and something about how our bodies should look. The reality is, just because you see it in a magazine, doesn't make it real.

I will never have a thigh gap. I will also never be 6 feet tall. But chasing a thigh gap may as well be chasing that extra 11 inches in height that I will never get. Most of you will never have a thigh gap, just as most of you will never be 6 feet tall. Women rarely have thigh gaps, despite what you see in Photo Shop.

What I will have, are nieces who know that they are kind, who know they are special, who know they are important. I will have little girls in my life who never hear me call myself fat, who watch me get dressed in the mirror or who come over for slumber parties where we don't have to wear pants or makeup, because it's ok to love your body just the way it is. I will have nephews who appreciate girls who are smart, who like girls who read books, and who compliment girls who are nice and funny and creative, not the girls who are "hot." I will have little boys in my life who know that all girls are beautiful and smart, and that if you are nice to them, they just may love you forever.

The next time you pick up a tiny baby girl and start to call her a pretty little princess, think of her at five years old, dressed as Batman instead of Catwoman for Halloween. Think of her at ten years old, dressed as Katniss Everdeen instead of Barbie Doll. Think of her at fifteen years old, not dressed as Sexy Witch, but instead as, literally anything without the word sexy in front of it. The next time you want to call a baby a pretty, pretty princess, call her a strong, smart little lady instead. We think it doesn't matter, but it does. As women, we are raised in a world full of unrealistic expectations pertaining to our bodies to think we are fat. Change the way our little women see themselves; make them strong, make them healthy, make them happy.

It Never Snows in Portland...Until it Snows in Portland

Here in Portland/Vancouver, it doesn't snow. Like, ever. And if it does, it's like a light dusting with ice crusted over the top - just enough to make it unsafe to drive and super disappointing city-wide.

But not this week. This week, despite the number of Portlanders that muttered "yea, right" to the weather reports, and despite those of us who were not out purchasing gloves, hats or coats because wewereSOnotgoingtoneedthem, it snowed in Portland. Really snowed. Inches of snow! Fluffy, powdery awesomeness, too, not that nasty ice-snow that Portland usually sees. It. Was. Amazing.

Even though I didn't get to stay home from work and play, I was glad to see so much snow. I was happy to be sitting in my quiet office, heat cranked with a cup of tea and some good music, watching the snow fall from my window. It was fun watching Rachel's son PJ run around throwing snowballs and making the maintenance guys pull him on a homemade sled. I loved it. I love the snow.

Juno was her ever curious self, staring out the window for hours at a time...you could see her wheels cranking. But every time I opened the door and cold air came through, she was hiding under the bed within seconds. No cold for this cat!

I had planned to go to the beach this weekend, so since that didn't pan out, I intend to enjoy a quiet weekend on my own at home, with just Juno to keep me company. Lots of Olympics, movies, books, and beers...and several naps I'm sure.

Anyways, since we never get snow here and you may still not believe it happened, here are some pictures of the amazing snowstorm that hit us yesterday...and again today!

Don't Pretend You Don't Wanna Know

There are some nights, like this one, where I get home and have a drive to write, but feel like I have nothing to say. Nights like those end in lots of Facebook chatting, and surveys. Neither of which make epic blog posts. But, in any case, here is a survey about things that happened for the first time...we'll see where it goes! 

1. Who was your FIRST prom date? My sophomore year I got asked last minute by a friend in Spanish class whose girlfriend got the flu. I borrowed a pink dress and had a great time, no pressure to impress him, just super fun!

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love? No, I don't. He was killed in a pretty awful car accident last year. We hadn't spoken prior to that either for a few months. I do still send him Facebook messages when I'm missing him, if that counts.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink? Tequila and Orange Juice...too much tequila, not enough OJ. Ahh, high school drinks...taste like shit because all you wanna do is get wasted. 

4. What was your FIRST job? I was a cashier at Toys R Us when I was 15-16.

5. What was your FIRST car? My daddy bought me a Toyota Tercel when I was 17 so I didn't have to buy a "dangerous" car for myself...mind you this was after my mom spent 17 years telling me I would never be given a car. LOL

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today? I'm not sure, my phone is dead. And was dead when I woke up this morning. And is basically always dead. I think it was my maintenance supervisor. 

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning? She's not a person, but I first thought of Juno, who was standing on my chest - all 12 pounds of her - meowing in my face. Apparently she was hungry?

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher? Mrs. Wilson. One of my favorite teachers, ever. She was so good to us, and she always made me feel like I was in a group, even though I was in my own group...because I was the only one who could read. 

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane? Stace and I flew to Alaska for spring break in 2004 to visit DeLaina while she was up there for college. Such a fun trip!

10. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk? Stacey Mate is, was, and always will be my best friend. We talk every day. 

11. Where was your FIRST sleep over? I assume at Grandma's house. 

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today? My maintenance supervisor. We had to talk about my apartment and how badly it was fucked up when it flooded by the morons who work here. 

13. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time? Ugh, my aunt's second wedding. I had to wear a dress that I hated...maroon crushed velvet with a high neck, with a lace collar. And tights. Not my best look. And I had braces, which was just bad. 

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning? Hit snooze. As is the case every morning. 

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to? Hmm....probably a Last Chance Summer Dance on the waterfront in Portland. 

16. FIRST tattoo? Tinkerbell...on my hip when I turned 18. She's gonna transform into something else this year.

17. FIRST piercing? My ears, in 5th grade. 

18. FIRST foreign country you've went to? Jenny, Nicole and I went to Australia in 2006. Best trip!

19. FIRST movie you remember seeing? Uhhh....I'm sure it was Disney.

20. When was your FIRST detention? I got my first - and only - detention, in 7th grade because I was late to PE...which was bull shit, because my class prior to PE was waaaaaay on the other end of the building, and we were late if we weren't "dressed down" on time, even if we were in the damn locker room.

22. Who was your FIRST roommate? Stacey Mate! Dorm life at WOU. 

23. What is something you would learn if you had the chance? I would love to learn to play the drums. I love the drums. 

24. Did you marry the FIRST person to ask for your hand in marriage? Umm..I've never been asked, so I have not a had a chance to say yes or no. 

25. What was the first sport that you were involved in? Dance (yes, it is).

26. What were the first lessons you ever took? I learned to play the clarinet, but that was more of a class than a lesson. I suppose Irish Dance was the first actual lesson I took. And I loved it SO much. 

27. What is the first thing you do when you get home? I take off my work clothes, turn the fireplace on, and then I pick up Juno (who is begging for dinner by following me around), take her to her food dish, and watch her stick her face in it before the food even hits. Damn hungry kitten.

What's That Quote About Sleeping When You're Dead??

Prompt: When was the last time you pulled an all-nighter? Why'd you do it? How'd you feel afterwards?

One word. VEGAS!

There is something about being in Las Vegas that helps me stay up all night...I know that they pump fake, delicious-smelling air into those casinos, and I wonder if said air is also full of, I dunno, crack cocaine maybe? I am telling you, there is speed in the air in Las Vegas. How the hell else am I able to stay awake until 7:00 in the damn morning? 7:00 in the morning is no longer being out late or out all night; 7:00 in the morning is the next day! 7:00 in the morning is, passing people for breakfast when you're on your way back to your hotel.

At home, I go to bed at 11:00. Midnight if there is something really awesome happening, and I will occasionally drink with friends until about 1:00 in the morning, but I am not 21 anymore, and I don't party all night long by any means.

But in Las Vegas, I can apparently stay up all night. And not in the way that you stay up reading or watching a movie or lounging on the sofa, but more in the way that you stay up drinking, laughing, and dancing.

I went to Vegas with my girlfriend and her sisters last month, and there we were, 7:00 in the morning on Sunday, at the bar, talking to strangers, laughing our asses off, still drinking. I wasn't even thinking about going to bed. I could probably have continued to talk and laugh and drink for another couple hours and then gotten some drunk breakfast. I tell you, there is crack in the air in New York, New York.

After crawling into bed at 7:30AM with your wasted friend next to you, there are several ways the day can progress. You either sleep it away, or you power nap it and start the party over at about 10:30. While last summer at my 30th birthday, Jenny and I were able to rally and spend the day napping slash day drinking at the pool, this trip left Kattie and I in bed til about 4:00 in the afternoon while her sisters peddled around the strip doing some shopping, and likely making fun of us for our inability to exercise any self control the night prior.

Las Vegas is its own kind of sensory overload, so maybe that has something to do with it. All of the lights, the sounds, the noise, the shows - there's just something about that place. I can't sleep there because I have to party instead. And I think that makes Vegas the most perfect place to go with girlfriends. Or on a date. Or with family. Or really anytime, for any reason.

Just know that in Vegas, I don't sleep at nighttime. So you shouldn't plan to either.

Make Time For a Good Cry

Today my counselor and I talked about expressing feelings. It is no secret that I express my emotions in a big way. I am rarely, just a little mad. When I am mad, I am explosively mad. When I am sad, I am deeply sad. When I am happy, I am very energetically happy. My feelings are loud and expressive; I don't tend to have mellow, quiet feelings.

Which is not a bad thing, for the record. The general ruling thus far is, I have the W family erratic expression of emotion, with the S family range of emotion. While the W family only expresses anger - and loudly - the S family experiences all emotions (you know, like regular humans). So a mixture of the two would be, I express all of my emotions, but I express them...not quietly.

We started talking more about my extended family, and I told her a story that my mom told me recently. When I was about to go into kindergarten, my mom dropped my brother off at Grandma's house on our way to the doctor. I had to get shots, and I was nervous. Grandma looked at me and said, "Remember, you are a W, and W's don't cry." 

When we got out to the car, my mom said, "You are half a S, and S's cry whenever we need to." 

My counselor loved this story. And by loved, I mean she wanted to talk about it for the rest of the hour I was there this morning. She took this half-a-S-half-a-W mindset and applied it to other relationships in my past, romantic ones, friendly ones, and family ones. We talked about ways that I feel disconnected from the W family - even though ones I am close to - because we don't talk about feelings and because of the walls we all have, just naturally built in front of us.

I remember being in 5th grade, when my Grandpa W died...and my dad didn't come out of his bedroom for several days. I don't remember much about the day Grandpa died or what happened, as I was still little, but I do remember snuggling on the living room floor with my mom, my brother and his stuffed dog Woof and my teddy, Pinky Bear, while we all cried - and my dad was in the bedroom, in the dark. I remember wondering if he was crying or if he was just sleeping. I don't think I had ever seen my dad cry before. And that wasn't going to be the time either. I remember tip-toeing down the hall when I had to pee, so as not to bother my dad. And I remember it being very weird going to bed at night without seeing him all day long, not even at dinner. But my dad was raised in that house. The you're-a-W-and-we-don't-cry house. The house where you yelled when you were mad and yelled when you were sad and yelled when you needed attention and yelled if someone hurt you. My dad didn't grow up in the you're-a-S-and-we-cry-if-we-need-to house, where it was ok to be sad and ok to be mad and ok to cry no matter what you were feeling.

 

Despite the genetic influence of my dad and his family, I cry when I am sad or hurt. Hell, I cry when I'm happy or excited too. Sometimes, when I am bogged down with stress, whether it is work stress, or personal stress, all I really need is a good cry. 

My mom taught me when I was five, that it's ok to cry whenever I need to. And that I don't have to hide it from anyone either. And I truly do appreciate that life lesson. Tears don't make me weak. Crying doesn't make me less of a strong woman. I am strong, independent, smart, capable...and I cry, like, all the time.

 

When No Big Deal is a Big Fucking Deal

I am not denying that I have been negative this past week.

Yes, I have bitched and moaned on Facebook about the fact that I had a flood in my apartment that was not my fault (I wasn't even home) and the ways that the maintenance staff at the property handled it incorrectly. It's annoying to me when people are incompetent, and even more annoying when their incompetence affects my daily life. I had to eat every meal at work or at Rachel'd for several days because my kitchen was so dirty I wouldn't even walk into it. I had to leave Juno at Rachel's, which is a pain in the ass for everyone, because it wasn't a safe breathing environment for my asthmatic cat. I was staying away from home as many hours as possible in case of mold growth. Not to mention the fact that having a carpet fan and a dehumidifier in an apartment is loud, obnoxious, and so. freaking. HOT.

So yea, I have been a pissy pants about it. And when I am a pissy pants about things, I vent. And this week I was venting on Facebook. And it is my Facebook page. If you're annoyed by me whining about a flood in my fucking house, don't read it. Hide me from your news feed, I don't even care. But don't tell me things like, man you're grouchy, or cheer up, or calm down, or it isn't that big of a deal. That just makes me more mad. And then I go from just being mad and annoyed at life and the world in general, to actually kinda pissed off at you specifically.

(For the record, on the apartment manager end of things, a flood - no matter how big or small - is a big fucking deal. Water intrusion is a big deal. Standing dirty-ass water with no known source, is a big deal. Extracting water from your apartment is a big deal. So just so it's clear, yes, a flood in my apartment was a big damn deal.)

Maybe it wouldn't bother you if your house was full of what came from someone else's washing machine or dishwasher, but I find it incredibly disgusting. And leaving my cat at someone else's house, upsets me. I like having my cat at home, I like having her asleep at the foot of my bed. I like snuggling with her by the fire. I don't like eating dinner and leaving my cat at my friends' houses every night. I get very frustrated when people tell me how to think or what to feel. I hate being told that I am overreacting or that something is not as bad as I am saying it is. It doesn't matter what someone else thinks; it matters what I think. Maybe I think you are under-reacting, but you're the one experiencing the feelings, so they're valid.

I have blogged in the past about how much I hate when people tell me how I "should" feel or think or act. I hate the word should. What should happen is, I should have my own feelings and thoughts, and my own emotional response to events happening around me. And people need to respect that my reactions won't always mirror theirs. And other people should have separate feelings and thoughts, and they should emotionally respond to things happening around them. And I need to respect when someone else reacts differently than I would. What should not be happening is, no one should be telling me how to feel, nor should I be telling anyone else what they should feel.

This was an emotional week. My friend's baby died, and I attended a funeral - for a FIVE WEEK OLD BABY. That is just not ok. That should not have happened. My friend should be holding her snuggly soft little boy, not trying to find motivation to pack away his clothes. That was one of the most beautiful, and most devastating memorial services I have attended - and I have unfortunately attended many. And then my cousin's sister's baby was born and had all these complications we were reading about on Facebook and all I did was worry about that baby. And then my friend told me his fucking bitch ex girlfriend won't let him see his kid all the sudden, and all I did was worry about him and worry about how this crap weighs on a child who is old enough to see what's happening. And then my fucking apartment flooded and I had just had enough bad shit for one week.

So yes, I may have overreacted or complained too much about the water in my apartment, or about not being able to bring Juno home with me. But when all you want to do is snuggle with your cat on the couch and cry your fucking eyes out about all the other, more serious, heavy-hearted shit you have running through your head, not being able to even keep said cat at home because of moldy water, is a big deal.

You never know what someone else is thinking or feeling, or what has happened in their day to make them react to something the way that they do, or to make them have the overly emotional response they have to something that you think is stupid. So stop telling people to cheer up or calm down. They may have just had the worst weekend they've ever had, watching their friend struggle to say goodbye to a brand new baby, only to come home to a flood in their apartment. Emotional responses are not black and white. Remember that the next time you tell someone that what they are experiencing is no big deal.

If Selfie is a real word...why can't horngry be, too?

Horngry: When you are so horny, you get angry. You know, like Hangry, but with sexual frustration instead of with food.

Apparently part of being friends with Rachel includes making up new words. Funny words. Awesome words. Words like horngry, which are just really great. I have had a few pretty crappy days, as my apartment flooded this weekend and my management is not addressing it adequately. I was in a particularly foul mood last night and asked Rachel what I should blog about...

Me: I need to write about something positive, something funny.
Rachel: Write about sex. Cause I'm horngry.

And a new word was immediately born into my vocabulary. I think it will be in the dictionary by 2015...where can I turn that shit into Webster anyway?

Now, for those of you who don't use, or who are not familiar with, the word HANGRY, let's start there. When you get so hungry that you actually express anger, that's hangry. Hungry + Angry = Hangry.

Hanger is something that commonly takes place in my day. I forget to eat breakfast. Often. And then about an hour before I can take lunch, I find myself tense, hot, frustrated, and often yelling. This is not abnormal behavior for me, and my friends accept it because they do the same thing. Sometimes I can feel Rachel's hanger from 5 miles away, and I call her just to tell her to eat some almonds before she talks to another resident. Hanger is a serious issue. And now you have been enlightened. Watch out for a hangry boss, friend, roommate, parent, or boyfriend/girlfriend. People who are experiencing hanger often behave poorly and say things they don't mean. They are sorry, but they can't help it.

So obviously, in the same respect, when you get so "sexually frustrated" that you express anger, you could consider yourself to be HORNGRY. Horny + Angry = Horngry. Perfect.

Unfortunately, when you are single, or when your boyfriend lives out of town, or when you're at work and having sex in your office is frowned upon, hornger is not always as easily cured as hanger. If you're hangry, all you need is a quick snack, a bite to eat, something to increase your blood sugar, and you're good to go. Hornger is not quite as easily quenched. So think ahead. Be prepared. Don't let hornger happen to you.

What You Say Doesn't Matter...But What You Mean Sure Does

I think as humans, we are genetically programmed to always say the exact wrong thing, at the exact wrong moment. 

At what moment in history did someone decide that the right thing to say when someone was missing their partner/husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/mom/dead/whoever, was "You should get out and do something, it's what X would have wanted." I mean really, who came up with that? That is so not helpful. 

I went to Vegas this past weekend with my friend Kattie and her sisters. Her youngest sister, Sarah, recently lost her husband, and apparently that is the response she keeps getting from people when she doesn't feel like doing anything, or when she feels guilty about having fun instead of grieving, or just whenever. The point being, she does not appreciate the response. And understandably so, because it is truly an idiotic thing to say. 

But it is no one's fault that somewhere a million years ago, someone decided that it's what you should say in that moment. I explained to her - because she is 21 and I am 30 and therefore I know everything - that people just want to say something, anything, to provide her with comfort...and that truthfully none of us have a clue what to say, so usually we will say something that is, in fact, idiotic. 

Additionally, when did we decide that after a funeral, you're supposed to feel better, to move on, to be ready to let go? Um, no. That is not how it works. A funeral is not a magic place where we go to get over the earth shattering loss of a loved one. I think a loss stays with you forever. A funeral is just a place to be supported and feel the love while you attempt to feel a little peace. But I feel like people forget that, and they expect you to "be better" after you've held the service and said your final farewells. I don;'t know about any of you, but I have never felt instantly better after a funeral. In fact, I usually feel worse after a funeral - probably because I am programmed to think I should feel better, or that I should have been prepared to say a final goodbye, lay someone to rest in the back of my head and get over it. And that just isn't how the mind works, and that isn't how grief takes place. 

Again, I think people just want to say something, they want to provide comfort, they want to say the right thing...but in reality, when you are suffering the loss of someone you love, words mean nothing. At least not to me. A hug means so much more to me than an awkward sentence about how my being happy would make my deceased friend happy. Don't. Say. Dumb. Shit. 

I have lost a lot of people in my life in sudden and unexpected ways, and several of them are still with me, still make me sad, still bring me tears sometimes. These are people whose funerals I attended, and did not feel better after. These are people who surely would not "want me to go out and have fun." These are people who died too soon, too young, and who I will never stop grieving the loss of. And that's fine. Grief becomes a part of you, a piece of your soul that you live with, that changes who you are. Grief has made me a more compassionate soul, has made me better able to express love and emotion, and has allowed me to cherish time better. I have also learned, through my own experience, to never tell any grieving person that it'll be ok or that they can find peace or closure after a certain number of days/weeks/months. I know that isn't how it works. 

My mom told me recently that the reason bad shit happens to us is so that the next time something bad happens to someone we love, we'll know how to help them. I love that. It's true. After losing a dear friend in high school, another in college, a man I was in love with, grandparents I cherished, an aunt who always made me laugh...I know that nothing but time will make a difference. Time is the only thing that helps grief fade into your soul. And I know all I need to do is be a reminder of love and support, even if that means I have no words, just a hug with good intentions behind it. 

The third bright star in the sky

 

I have been struggling with the "right" words to say to one of my girlfriends, as earlier this week she lost her 5 week old baby to a condition called Spinal Muscular Atrophy. I have seen countless posts on her Facebook wall about people thinking about her, praying for her, grieving for her...and every time I sit down to try and post something to let her know she has been on my mind nonstop for the past 72 hours, I have nothing. Not one word seems right, not one sentence seems good enough. How do you possibly express to someone the level of sympathy you have for them when their baby dies?

I have cried at least twice a day, every day, since I learned that Greyson had passed away. I can't think of anything worse in the world than a baby dying; how does that even happen? I have found myself thinking about him at random times throughout the day, and everything Shelly posts on Facebook brings tears to my eyes. It just isn't fair and is completely devastating.

Finally this morning it occured to me, I will never have the right words. I will never be able to say the right thing, nothing I type on a Facebook post will make her feel any better. All that I can really do is offer her my heartfelt message that I have not stopped thinking about her or her family. Because the reality is, nothing anyone says will make anything better. She lost her baby. Her son. The first child she has ever had, the first source of unconditional love she has ever experienced. Nothing I say, nothing I type, nothing I have running through my head will heal that.

And yet, when I lost my grandparents, I was able to find a little comfort in knowing that my friends were thinking about me and wishing me well, despite their inability to heal any of my heartache. So I know that while I can't make my friend feel any better, and while I can't remove any of her pain, that I need to say something so she knows I have thought of almost nothing else in the past 3 days.

The strength and the class that Shelly has shown over the past several days are truly inspiring. There is no way for me to understand or grasp the level of grief she is experiencing, and yet her posts online have remained positive, speaking of the love she has had - and will forever have - for her baby boy, expressing the gratitude she feels towards her family and friends who are supporting her, bringing her food, making her smile, and just in general speaking of love and happy moments with the baby who was taken from her after only a few short weeks. She has posted photos and videos and has continued to be thankful, grateful, and uplifting in a time where surely she is nothing more than broken. I am inspired and also heartbroken with everything she posts.

Greyson was a beautiful baby, with huge eyes and the most adorable little double chin. He was born with a knot in his umbilical cord and spent his first days in NICU, and continued to put up a fight for the next 5 weeks. And yet in so many photos, he looks happy, peaceful, healthy and strong. I have seen photos of his ten perfect baby fingers and adorable baby toes, and have seen pictures of happy family moments shared between him, his mom and dad, his uncles, his family who will love him forever. He was a lucky baby to have been born to a mother with such strength to continue to fight alongside him for his entire little life. He was lucky to have been born to a dad and two big sisters who will carry him with them for the rest of time. Greyson was a perfect, happy, beautiful baby boy, and he made an impact on countless people in only 5 weeks.

There is nothing in the world I could ever say to Shelly to take her pain away, to heal her broken heart, to fill the void in her world that will never truly fade. There is nothing I can post on Facebook, type in a blog, or send in an email to erase her genuine pain or give her any level of completeness. But what I can do, is send her my deepest sympathy, my love, and my message of shared grief, in hopes that knowing I am thinking of her may give her even the tiniest bit of comfort during a time so hard I could never comprehend it.

Thank you for sharing your baby boy with us, Shelly, and for continuing to share your grief, your pain, and your raw emotion with those of us who are reading, thinking, praying, and trying to take some of your heartache for ourselves. I know that nothing I have said has eliminated an ounce of your grief, but I do hope that knowing how many of us are holding you up does allow you to lean on us for anything you need. Your baby's story is one that has truly made a difference in my life, and I will never forget him. Sending you nothing but love and support.

Back to basics

I needed a light easy blog for today after spending the last 2 nights getting restless sleep worrying about miss Juno kitty, who had a nice little asthma episode over the weekend...she is resting up though, and feeling better. Phew!

I stole this from Juliana and thought it was just super awesome...

A: Accept people at face value. We are who we are, take us as we are and don't try to change everyone around you.
B: Be yourself. Be honest and open, be vulnerable and be kind.
C: Calm the fuck down. It's just life, let things go and have a good time.
D: Don't let fear keep you from trying new things.
E: Eat well. Eat organic & support local farmers. But sometimes, just enjoy a big bowl of ice cream.
F: Fight for what you want. Fight hard for the things you need, the things you want, and certainly the things you deserve.
G: Give to charity. It feels good, do it. Give what you can, when you can.
H: Hug the people you love. You never know what tomorrow will bring, so hug big.
I: Ignore the things you can't control that make you mad. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
J: Jump ship! When something isn't right, get out! Make the changes you need to be happy.
K: Kiss. Kiss a lot. Make out like a teenager. It's fun!
L: Laugh. Laugh til your sides hurt, til you have tears running down your face. Find friends who make you laugh all the time, and never let them get away.
M: Meander. Take long walks. Hike for fun. Go outside and just wander.
N: Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game. Yes, I stole that one. But it's true. Don't be afraid to do what you want, even if you may fail.
O: Organize your life. Your clutter, your house, your office. Being organized just makes life simpler.
P: Pick something new and give it a whirl!
Q: Quit worrying so much. You'll be fine.
R: Right your wrongs. Apologize. Move on. Let things go.
S: Sleep! Get enough of it. Slow down and realize when you just need a nap.
T: Talk it through. Go to therapy or call your mama, but just start communicating.
U: Understand what makes other people tick...it is not the same as what makes you tick.
V: Value the people in your life. They matter, or they wouldn't be in your life...don't let them forget how important they are.
W: Work hard.
X: Uhh...x?? Shoot! Know when to make an eXit on the freeway of your life.
Y: YOLO!! You only live once. Make once enough.
Z: Find your zen. Live peacefully and find the way to do it.