leslieism

About 4 months ago…

Is it possible to gently careen into that ditch and come out alive, just in a bit of a coma?  A 3 to 5 day “vacation coma”?  I estimate the speed at which I’m driving, combined with the velocity of the current wind factor… I then generate an algorithm based on the quantum variables per the celerity ratios.  I did the fake math and it just didn’t add up (or make sense) and resolved to keep my Civic on the highway.

Upon arriving at my destination, I quickly glance in the mirror, cringe, tuck my loose hair behind my ears, and pull the brim of my faded Twins hat down to the top of my glasses.  When I’m in my “vacation coma” mood, I tend to look like a disheveled, broken, divorced, soccer mom.  Although I’m about to enter a building I loosely refer to as, “the worst place ever”, I commence forward with my mom-on-a-mission-walk; also, commonly referred to as my, I-worked-at-a-grocery-store-for-seventeen years-walk.  Fast.  It means I was walking fast and with a purpose.

I pull open the door and abruptly start to sweat.  I think that’s why I’m pretty sure this place is Hades summer home; I always sweat profusely while visiting………the Mall.  In hopes to quash my sorry plight, I navigate my feet in the direction of T-Mobile.  About halfway there and I feel a warm sensation working its way up from my toes to my neck…the innocuous mall noises suddenly sound as if they are coming from a parallel universe…and I’m starting to see stars.  I know that if I close my eyes and allow the warm sensation to surpass my ears; if I let my breath out slowly and concede to the darkness I now see with my eyes wide open, I will faint.  I am no stranger to fainting.  Therefore, I also know how to stop the mind obfuscating development.  I only have a half second to once again do the math.  Let’s be honest, half a second is not nearly enough time for me to do my fake math; I decided it was not the best idea to faint and fall onto the tiled Mall floor.  No “vacation coma” for me today.

I feel like at this point you might have a couple questions?  Maybe, “what’s a vacation coma” and/or “has she lost her marbles”?  Well, before you freak out and call my mom and tell her that, “Leslie is talking about jumping off a cliff”, get it straight, it’s just my car in a ditch.  And no.  She has not lost her marbles.  In fact, her insuppressible cognitive processes are what keep her marbles in the jar, so to speak.  If I acted on every inane thought, I would’ve been extradited to Russia years ago due to espionage, as well as own a factory fashioned like Mr. Wonka’s; producing all things pumpkin.

Now, “vacation coma”.  How do I explain this…hmmm, I think it stems from, “Hi, I’m Leslie, and I’m an alcoholic”.  Before I got sober, five thousand, five hundred, and eighty-two days ago, (but who’s counting), I used alcohol as a way to detach from my hurting heart and/or daily life stresses.  I never blacked out for more than a night, but you can bet your face I definitely hoped for longer.  So, without alcohol, I have to actually feel my damn feelings (and mind you, I’m a bona fide sensitive Sally), and actually confront every damn daily life stress head on (like driving into a ditch…head on…see how I just brought this full circle?  I amaze myself sometimes.  And by sometimes, I mean, like all the time.)

With age, and wisdom, and mentoring, and motherhooding, and a little help from my friends, and God; the aptitude with which I face and conquer life in general today, is unprecedented (maybe unprecedented is a dramatic exaggeration, but I really wanted to use that word).   That being said (my unprecedented approach to conquering life), well, although I can face it…and know that I will eventually conquer it, I sometimes wish I could fall into a “vacation coma”; sleep through it and let everything work itself out, either on its own or by the help of some kind of wizard.

To be continued…

3 months off Facebook felt like the only way to gain a bit of control over my life…over my thoughts.  I want to compare it to Anorexia, and I will, because I used to be Anorexic.  One time I had Pneumonia and could barely eat for like three, maybe two, days.  My fight with Bulimia may actually be a better analogy.  I couldn’t make myself throw up without the aid of cottage cheese.  I would take the lid off and raise the tub to my nostrils…inhale deeply until I gagged.  Next I would use my pointer and middle fingers to scoop a large mass of Crest White-Strip white(why is cottage cheese so white?), unevenly chopped, miniature agglomerations dripping in their own disgustingness and deposit into my mouth.  I would then, well, picture yourself gargling mouthwash and substitute the mouthwash with cottage cheese.  Shortly into this “procedure” I’d begin to dry-heave and eventually vomit until my eyes watered and I complimented myself on a Bulimic job well done.  The moot point here would be to share the fact that all I would do later; is eat double at some point to make up for my random Bulimic fits.  The case in point however, is that eating disorders are a way for people to feel like they are in control of something.   Their (my) life?  Their (my) thoughts?  Their (my) insecurities?  And although I may have been a little unconventional with my methods…it worked for me.  Temporarily.  And made me super hungry.

So yeah, I know the deactivation of my Facebook account and purposely gagging on cottage cheese is a transparent comparison… but for some, maybe not so much.  I’ll speak frankly, I’ve said it before and you can bet your sweet ass I’ll say it again…cottage cheese is just wrong and I think it was invented by the Commies.  Oh and….life.is.hard.

Life is hard.  It’s hardness comes in all sorts of mystical forms, depths, degrees…what might seem like a major mountain to one person is another person’s mole hill, and vice versa.  I recently spent an evening with a girlfriend who has suffered a terrible loss.  We talked for hours and she even shared some of her life story with me.  I cried in disbelief of the pain she has faced and even conquered.  I’m sure she is unaware of the strength that radiates from her soul, touching so many lives…  During the evening she asked questions about my personal maladies…I felt ashamed of my pain after hearing her story.  And she said that  a person’s pain is their pain and doesn’t make it hurt any less(I have a very Dyslexic memory and that is most definitely not how she worded it…but hopefully you get the gist).  We cried together and determined that life is going to continue to do what life does…and all we can do is keep moving forward.  Just keep moving forward.

I reread my blogs and feel as if I live in some perpetual whirlwind, a never ending roller coaster called life….and I do.  We do.

I judge myself on what I think others judge me by and if I don’t get a grip it’ll kill me.  I spent the last few months trying to get that grip and you know what?  I grasped it…it slipped away…I grasped it…it slipped away…perpetual whirlwind I tell ya.  Today it slipped from my grasp again and I sat in my no longer electric blue Dodge Neon but more of a lunar metallic Honda Civing Touring, and I blared rap music while sobbing and getting a grip.  And I got it.  I reminded myself that it doesn’t matter what other people do or don’t think about me, as cliche as it sounds, it only matters what I believe about myself.

You may wonder why I joked about the cottage cheese bulimia… well, because it’s a true story… and it happened when I was 16 yrs old.  I’m now 36 yrs old and apparently facing the similar fears of my 16 yr old self.  You may now wonder why I would share something like that… aren’t I embarrassed?  Aren’t I worried about my image?  Nope.  I have been put down by other’s for some of my actions, writings, behaviors, etc. Included in those put downs was a question like, “How would you feel if your daughter read your blogs…or watched your silly videos”.  My response?  Not only do I hope she reads my blogs but I think I may turn them into a book for her.  Most everything I do is for her.  I put myself out there for others to judge me…..so that my daughter will do the same and not be afraid to shine.

Over the past few months I disappointed and let down many people.  Do you know what all those people did?  They tracked down my best friend and my mom and sent out search parties…they called and texted and checked on me…they made sure I knew I was loved.  They showed up at my work with a pumpkin pie and whip cream!!  I let them down and they gave me pie?  Count your blessings folks.  I had started to count (and compare to others) my achievements and material possessions as blessings …and my spiritual state of mind went to shit.  At what point did I forget that the love in my life is the only blessing I need?  I am so blessed.  I want to thank all of you (if you think I might possibly be talking about YOU, then I probably am!) for loving me.  Your love saved my life.  If I disappear again, please know I am okay…I just needed to take a little break and listen to some rap.

Tonight I messaged a friend…a kindred spirit, and I disencumbered the prevailing malady of my soul.  I knew what I was getting myself into, and yet I proceeded to expel the calamities of my heart.  She is one of the most comforting people you’ll ever meet…and also honest.  I knew the honesty was gonna come before the words that feel like a hug… but I wasn’t mentally prepared for her to go all, “Oprah meets Barbra Walters and they have a baby and this is what it says”, on me.

The short version of her response:  1.  “Don’t kill the messenger”.  (The messenger being the person, place, or thing that is causing my pain.)  2.  Listen to the message or to quote “Get the fucking message !  You are creating a particular pattern what is it, what is the message?”.  3. Quote again,  “Feel it to heal it?  What is it you are truly feeling?  Unworthy?  Unlovable?  When is the first time you remember feeling that?  Usually when you were a child…and last, wrap it in compassion…love that child, love yourself…xoxo”.  (By short version of her response, I meant, this is basically exactly what she said.)

M’kay, if you have any hardships going on in your life right now, and you can relate to any of Oprah and Barbara’s offspring’s words, you’re probably tearing up a little.  Or if you’re me, you’re sobbing.  I am sitting here, mascara running down my face…segments of crumpled up toilet paper, doused by my snot, tears, and make-up…are strewn about me….my kitten is playing with my refuse and purring like I just gave him free reign in a catnip field…it’s disgusting, but gawd he’s cute.

So yeah.  I’m sobbing.  I’m a child remembering the first time I ever felt unworthy and unlovable…and not gonna lie, it’s a super unpleasant sufferance.  Not gonna lie again, I just had to look “sufferance” up in the dictionary, and I am not entirely sure I used it correctly.  I’ll let you decide.

Sufferance:noun
1.  passive permission resulting from lack of interference; tolerance, especially of something wrong or illegal (usually preceded by on or by).
2.  capacity to endure pain, hardship, etc.; endurance.
3.  Archaic. suffering; misery.
4. Archaic. patient endurance.

Moving on…

She got deep real quick like and caught me off guard.  I’ve been trying to be the exact opposite of deep for awhile now, and whoa, as I’m typing now, I just realized the exact opposite of deep…is shallow…(that’s so deep).

Shallow.  Not much below the surface.  Not the dictionary definition, but in simple person terms it’s, spot on..on point..nailed it.

I’ve been emotionally shallow.  Not letting people in and using humor to build a brick mason style wall around me.  Not exactly superficial shallow though, well now, that’s kind of a lie.  Over the last year, I’ve taken more selfies then I care to admit.  But I don’t really need to admit it, if you’re Facebook friends with me, oooh you know.  When did that happen?  When did I become the girl that needs to take a ton of pictures of herself..by herself…and plaster them around seeking validation?  Attention?  Love??

When did I stop loving myself?!   I didn’t see it happening and I’m disturbed, addled (big word for confused)(unless you already knew that word, in which case…wth, do you read dictionaries as bedtime stories?), heartbroken…I’m heartbroken, and I thought it was from other people, but in reality, I’ve broken my own heart.

I’m gonna wrap this up because I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted…this is a short blog, but I really just needed to get her words out there…I’m sure I am not the only one who needed this gentle ( and by gentle, she did actually use the F-word, but with a shit ton of love) reminder.  And because of her I will be grateful for the “messenger”, and not ignore it’s (fucking) message.  I’m broken, it’s telling me.  But when I wrap my inner child in compassion, my inner child tells me, “Hey, you remember that time, when you were like 6 years old, and you punched a kid for messing with your little brother?” And then I’m like, “Yeah, I remember…what about it?”  And then my inner child is like, “Squirrel!”…and then I’m like, “Lol, I got this.  I’m broken, but I can fix me.  Squirrel!”.

No but seriously, my inner child needed a hug tonight…from me.  She needed to hear, from me, that I forgive her. (Shoooot, I stopped crying awhile ago and here comes the waterfall on my face again.)  She needed me to tell her she is worthy.  She needed me to tell her she is smart.  She needed me to tell her she’s going to grow up and be a good mom and she will always do her best for her daughter, even though at times she will feel like a failure, she’s not, because even though she hates herself for not being able to give her daughter a “normal” life that includes a dog and a house and a dad, a full and complete family, and other stupid “normal” things, she will always give her a ridiculous amount of love…and that love will make up for that whole not having a dog thing.

So.  If I was Freud, I’d probably say something about a man’s genitals, but if I was Jung, I’d probably say that that gynormous run-on sentence is why I’m “broken”.  I mentioned two paragraphs ago that I was gonna wrap this up…and now I am for real.  I don’t have the energy to put the rest of my realization into words, and honestly, I don’t want to share anyways.  This is something I need to work on and it’s not imperative that I clarify to others.  However, everything else I’ve disclosed tonight I believe can be useful for someone out there…and if you take anything from my midnight, tear drenched, ramblings, please take this…. YOU ARE WORTHY.  YOU ARE LOVABLE.

If I run more stairs maybe someone will love me…

Holy shit!  Did I, Leslie McCue,  actually think this thought!?  Yep.  And although my bad knee was throbbing, I pushed forward, or more accurately,  upward. I ran harder and faster.  Skipping steps, my burning legs started to feel wobbly. I got that jelly feeling that makes me laugh a little because it’s funny when you feel like you may not be able to hold yourself up…at any minute your legs could buckle and you’re going down…hard…always makes me a little giggly.
Okay back on topic… so my knee starts to throb and I tell myself I should probably head home.  But then, it occurs to me,  if I run more stairs maybe someone will love me.

This is the point where, “Bitch I’m a Boss”, or maybe it was, “I’m a Boss, bitch”, started singing through my ear buds.  Almost like God was talking to me.  Just kidding.  But God is a Boss, bitch.  Anyhow, this song is playing and I’m getting mad.  And then saying out loud, “Fuck you to every guy that has ever made a woman feel less than”!  (Did I mention I was running stairs at a church?) Now, we all make mistakes and I understand that, but, if you haven’t tried to right the wrong of verbally, mentally, emotionally, and/or physically abusing a woman…
Fuck You.
And if you’re currently, verbally, mentally, emotionally, and/or physically abusing a woman…
Fuck You.

I come across as super tough, but like someone said when they blasted me on Facebook a long time ago, I’m “a very insecure woman”.   That being said, I’m the epitome of an oxymoron.   I don’t care what other people think about me and yet at the very same time I’m incredibly insecure.

My insecurities stem from verbal and emotional abuse that happened eons ago(I’m not positive what consists of an “eon”, so I’ll just clarify by saying,  “a lot of years” ago). I have done a shit ton(I recently learned this is an actual unit of measurement) of work on myself to reverse my damaged self-esteem. However, try as I might (to be a Super Hero), I’m only human.  And as a human,  I feel pain, and I hear the painful words that have made me feel less than.  The phrase that I hear in my head most often, “No one will ever love you, they’ll only want to fuck you”.  I’m a big believer in the belief that we manifest our thoughts.  Therefore, I’m a big believer in the belief that I play a large role in my inability to let a guy in…or if by some crazy chance I do let him in…my inability to keep him .  I’ve been able to “prove” to myself that I’m the opposite of all the characteristics I was told I didn’t have, ie:(I should have just said “for example” because I don’t actually even know how to use “ie” in a sentence) I am intelligent,  kind, courageous,  a good mom, I have endless capabilities, etc.

You know what?  One time, I actually had a guy send me an article titled, “The top 10 Traits for the Perfect Girlfriend”.  He thought I fit all those traits.  But looking back,  he broke up with me like a week later… not gonna lie, kinda sent some mixed messages there… honestly I’m still confused.  Maybe he meant to send it to his other girlfriend?  Maybe I was supposed to get the article titled, “Top 10 Reasons I’m Breaking Up With You”…oh my gosh, can you imagine trying to fix that one? The other girlfiend is all crying and he’s all, “No babe it was just a joke!”… lol In all honesty,  I don’t need an article to tell me what a great catch I am.  I know. Usually.  Or I have nights like this where I question things like, maybe it’s just about looks.  And if that’s the case, I feel like I’m fucked. I’m ashamed to say that my deepest insecurities have become about my looks, my body. I feel so shallow,  but it’s the truth.  On the plus side, it’s kind of a small triumph, because at least now I don’t think I’m dumb as well.  Thinking I was not intelligent was a huge obstacle for me to overcome.  So really we should just focus on that gain and not the fact that I’m a shallow bitch.  Oh my gawd, I feel like one of the women on one of the trillion reality shows I refuse to watch. But I’m just speaking the truth,  my truth.  I also hope that by sharing this truth, maybe I can now let it go.  I’ve already decided that if I can’t find a man deeply appreciative of me, for my character traits, then I’d rather be alone.  I now decide, the same goes for my looks.  I feel like this decision means my insecurities are losing power over me?  I feel like sharing my vulnerability is me winning.  I like winning.

I wrote this tonight because I know of women currently facing similar situations and I hope it helps some…knowing they are not alone.

I did not write this for compliments on my looks.  I’m asking you to please not comment on this post….unless you want to tell me something other than a compliment.  I’ll take your criticism, your own stories…anything, I just don’t want anyone to try and make me feel better by telling me I’m pretty or something.  As of right now, I don’t care anyways.  There is way more too me than what I look like, and I absolutely love that I believe it.  And I absolutely love that I know someone will love me when the time is right.  Time to manifest this Boss, bitch (I don’t even know what that means,  but it sounds so cool).

My life is literally falling apart because I can’t figure out how to hook up my WiFi modem and router thingy. Obviously I’m exaggerating. Lack of Internet connection is only a minor contribution to my unraveling life. And really, it’s not even the lack of Internet, it’s the fakn cables that make the Internet happen.  It’s always the fakn cable wires that do me in!  Why???  Well, I guess because they make me feel helpless…and sweaty, yeah, I get real sweaty when I’m confused and frustrated.  You should see me do math… I wear sweat bands…and drink Gatorade.  Have you ever known someone that needs electrolytes to do math? Yeah and by, “do math”, I mean, stare at numbers and doodle. Seriously, what am I,  a flippin’ scientist?  Everyone knows that you literally have to be a Rocket Scientist to do math.

So, here I am, all sweaty, and I’ve got life perched on my shoulder like a Parrot, squawking,  “POLLY WANTS AN EFFING CRACKER! “, and now I feel like a failure because I’ve got no crackers. No crackers…can’t “do math”…not a Rocket Scientist…apartment is a mess…forgot how to cook…don’t own a home…everything I own is breaking…don’t have my Masters…my baby is starting middle school…I don’t know how to deal with preteen hormones…I don’t know how to make up the absence of her father…I can barely pay my bills…I keep getting older…I have issues with trust…I’m afraid that the love I dream of is nothing more than a dream…I fear (insert pretty much anything)…I feel like I’m failing as a mother.

And yet, I keep my head held (mostly) high and tell myself: I have Saltines in the pantry…2+2=4…No, but I am a Vocational Skills Rehabilitation Counselor, and that sounds pretty cool too…I started cleaning yesterday…I’m literate and can read recipes…owning a home by next summer is realistically feasible…things break, at least they’re just things…if I want my Masters I can and will…my childcare worries are over…they have library books on puberty…I’ve been doing the best I can and that’s all I can continue to do…bills are just bills, you can’t squeeze blood from a cow to make 50 cents into a Benjamin, or something like that…older=wiser and let’s be honest, sexier… trust issues mean vulnerability issues and I’m way too courageous for that nonsense…well, dream love is better than a nightmare…I do fear everything all the time, but I act like I don’t so much, that even I forget I’m afraid…if I don’t quit on my kid, then it’s impossible for me to be a failure as a mother.

Yep, I keep it together, hold back tears and emotions like a Boss. I tell myself all the shit I would say to a friend, if they were experiencing similar feelings.

Then I have to deal with cable wires…and I melt to the floor like I’ve done a million times, (maybe closer to six)(not six million, just six)(I told you I’m not a Rocket Scientist, get over it)… six sounds about right. Once a year for the six years I’ve lived in this apartment. And really, if I think about it,  having a cable wire induced meltdown once a year is nothing compared to the daily (not cable wire induced) meltdowns I had the six years prior.

Ahhh as I reread all that I’ve just written, I realize that my blogs haven’t changed much over the last few years….there’s always something,  a rough patch to trek through.  But you know what?  That’s life.  Life is one rough patch after another.  But you get to choose if you trek alone,  pick berries on the way, laugh when you get tangled in a sticker bush, find creative ways to travel, make paths for the people behind you, and make your own path lead to happiness.

Ironically, my path to happiness, may or may not have led to a small ravine behind my apartments…where I may or may not have accidentally thrown the meltdown inducing cable wires.  I may or may not feel happier. Okay, I may.

I might have chosen the path of,”the crazy cat lady”, this week. And as my furry, purring, loving, little man, rests on my shoulder as I type; I’m more than content with my current decision. I was so demoralized by a barrage of disheartening messages this week that I finally broke down a few nights ago. The message that “broke the straw on the forlorn camel’s back”, was from a woman concerned about my “relationship” with her husband. 1. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned about and 2. This is the second wife in just a few months. (insert crying) Obviously at this point I have to figure out why I’m the common denominator. Hmmm, because I’m a 35 year old single woman…I must be on the prowl? Not even remotely. Well then, I’m a friend to both and have been for 5 and 20 years. And because I believe in loyalty and holy matrimony; I also believe a friendship with a married man is acceptable, because he is a taken man….and I know their wives and respect their marriage. So I’ve concluded that the common denominator is marital problems that have absolutely nothing to do with me. Now… before, between, and after those messages…was more of the demoralizing barrage, I spoke of. I’m spent by the inconceivable amount of men that disrespect me and see me as nothing more than, well, a vagina.

Receiving messages from guys(strangers, old boyfriends from the last 15 years, new aquiantances, etc.) asking if I’d like to, “hook up”, or at least send them pictures (does this shit really work on women and if so, its time to invest in some self-esteem workshops) because you know, “we’re adults”, doesn’t flatter me…the exact opposite of flatter really, it makes me feel dirty and want to bathe in bleach. (Insert another round of tears) I mean, are you kidding me? Does it look like we live in an episode of Sex in the City? Drinking Cosmos(hell, I’m an alcoholic, I definitely don’t get to do that), getting my hair and nails done, all while stressing over which designer dress I can afford this week. Do I look like I own a pair of $400 high heels? Let’s be honest, if I even had $400 to spend on shoes, I’d get some new cleats. But I’d look around for the best deal because I’d also like a bat. What am I going to do with expensive, pretty shoes? Wear them on a date? These men are not so much interested in me wearing shoes. In fact, no shoes…no shirt…yes service…that is the sign hanging in their fantasy shop window.

Listen, I’m a single mom, of a daughter. It’s my job to teach her how a man should treat a woman. It’s my duty to make her believe that our brains and personality are important…to the man that matters. And I can only preach what I practice…so I am practicing with a fierce determination.

One day I’ll meet someone. He will let me be me and he will cherish all of me. He will understand me and also be conscious of the fact that sometimes I just can’t be understood. He will appreciate my independence…but if I ask for help, he will not make me feel less than. He’ll know when to leave me alone and when to wrap me in a bear hug. He’ll be able to carry on relevant as well as irrelevant conversations. He will have an open-minded sense of humor. He will be supportive of my endeavors. And most importantly, he will value me as a mother and treat my daughter with the same respect and love he showers upon me.

I may sound like I’m looking to enter a Nicholas Sparks novel. I’m really not. I’m just trying super hard to avoid entering into a Playboy. I’m not going to give up hope just yet. I don’t believe this is as good as it gets in the dating world. And in the meantime, when I’m not wearing my cleats, well…who says I need a man to wear pretty shoes?

I get home from work, drop an enormous pile of mail onto the kitchen table, all while my daughter(bless her heart) incessantly describes(in every minute detail) her school day. I’m not gonna lie, I flip on the tv and hand her a snack…her attention is redirected as I allow the television to rot her brain. Mommy hides in the bathroom…a moment to herself, pretending she is in a spa. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and look at my tired eyes. I close them and take a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, I open them… and laugh, almost a little too heartily being that I am alone, as I notice the haphazardness of my unruly hair. I remember that I have been accused of thinking I’m glamorous…because I write a blog. Ahhh, haters will hate and I, well, please allow me to illustrate my glamour.

Beginning with the craze of curls I am trying to contain in a sloppy bun, on the top of my head. A headband holds back the wispy locks not long enough to accompany their cousins in the bun…while a few rogue curls, frizzy from neck sweat, say hello. And what’s this? I once thought the glittery silver appearing in my hair on occasion was cute. However, at some point, glittery silver turned to stark white and “on occasion” turned to “regular basis”. And currently one of the “regulars”, if you will, is standing all wiry and erect…like a beautiful flower reaching for the sun. I laugh as I remember the time I found a bobby pin in my hair…no idea how many days it had been lost in there. Yes, this is not glamorous so much as it is nappy. But not as glamorous as making out with a guy, passionately…and as he pulls his hand from my head….surprise! A clump of my hair. I recently fell off the five hour energy drink wagon…side effects include hair loss. So hot. This is literally the stuff fairytales are made of…

I pluck out a few of my hairs that have woven themselves into my fleece, jealously wishing they could be made into a hair sweater. My cheap, black, fleece is spotted with tan cardboard remnants from holding heavy cases of dairy products against my stomach for most of the day. I sigh a small sigh and look at my pants.

My black pants are becoming more of a very dark and dull black-grey. They feel a little breezy between the thighs as the threads barely cling together, due to excessive chaffing, due to excessive cake eating. (Oh and a little factoid here, I did some research on my white hairs…turns out sugar can kill the melanin in the cells of hair follicles…not allowing hair to have color. I have since cut back on cake.) I have dried splotches of live and active cultures, or in laymen’s terms…yogurt, on my left leg. No big deal, it’s cool to be covered in probiotics. Gross. I’m buying new pants tomorrow. Okay, and last but not least, my boring, black, work shoes…a stream of creamer has left what looks like a fossil imprint of a leaf on my right shoe. I mean, I am literally glamorous from nappy head to fossilized toe.

It’s time to make dinner. I strip off my fleece and work shirt in the kitchen and throw on top of the washing machine. I decide that tonight, I am not going to put on oversized sweats and a grungy shirt per the norm, I’m gonna don jeans and a cute top. I unbuckle my belt and undo my pants, and get pulled from my bedroom as the kid yells for me. It’s a commercial, her snack is gone and she has remembered more about her day. I start to make dinner while she talks and I snap in and out of conscious and active listening. Every once in awhile I ask her to repeat something because my brain so kindly picked up on an important key word; while I was thinking about what kind of vegetable we should have…what bills I need to pay this week…who would I pick for a bff, Will Ferrell or Adam Sandler…can we go to a Temple if we’re not Jewish…don’t forget school conference and fast pitch sign-up…I’m not going to choose, we are just going to have to be 3-way best friends…etc. I’m almost done with dinner and I look down. I’m wearing a tiny, black, tank top and my small boobs are pushed up and out, via my bright, periwinkle blue, slight push-up bra. (I decided long ago that wearing a bra that makes my bosom appear larger than reality, is quite a stupid mirage. It’s not only false advertising, but at some point, possibly, the guy I’m trying to impress with my falsehood…is going to learn the truth and probably be disappointed.) My belt is hanging open and my pants are unbuttoned. I actually look trashier and more frumpy than if I had just put my sweats on. I yap at my daughter to wash up as I button up and buckle up. I grab my work shirt off the washing machine…shake it and put back on. I look at the mirror above the sink and giggle as I apply the red lipstick that makes me feel vintage pretty. Feeling sexy and glamorous, I shove the mail to the other side of the table and we sit down to eat.

I could now talk about cleaning up puke or picking out lice or my broke down car…you see, I by no means think I live a glamorous life. However, more than once I catch my daughter staring at me…like I stare at her when she isn’t looking. The most loving stare a person can ever receive. And then she tells me she wrote an essay about me for school:

“My Mom…
My mom is truly amazing. I have never really known how to show off my mom for all the things that she does. I always have wanted to. So this paper has given me a chance to talk about how amazing my mom is. I will be telling you about how and what I feel about my beautiful mother with blue eyes. Please enjoy my topic of who I enjoy.

First of all, my mom has so much love for me. She always tells me “ I love you” every day like your supposed to, if your a parent. But when she does it, she really means it. I bet your wondering how I know, well my mom tells me “ look me strait into my eyes and tell me that you know how much I love you” . Another reason why I believe her is because she is so close to me. she would never lie to me and I would never lie to her. I just know her so well that I truly trust her. As a kid is supposed to. But I don’t do it because i’m “ supposed” to.

Second of all, I like how she says that we can talk about whatever I’m feeling. That means that I can talk about my feelings at the end of the day and my mom will help me through them, without hurting my feelings. She also could help me with problems that I am facing. she will see what is wrong and help me make the right decision. Since my mom took college classes on Dreams, Memories and Believes, she sometimes helps me with any of those things.

Third of all, my mom is just a great person. Yah she might be late sometimes or is addicted to cake, but that doesn’t change anything about her personality. About her glorious personality. Sometimes people just need to stop looking on the outside and just start looking on the inside. But fortunately my mom has both good on the inside and outstanding on the outside.

Fourth of all, my mom and I have a few special things that we like to do. For example we have our little adventures. An adventure to us means, when we go on walks we like to go to different places each time and learn new things. One time my mom and I went somewhere and kind of got lost on the way back, eventually we found our way home. One time we discovered this place called the Japanese garden, eventually we made it a habit to go there.

In conclusion, I love my mom and she loves me. So I hope that you enjoyed my picking of person, of who is special to me. I love you mom and I hope that kids across the nation are able to say that to their mothers as well.” ~E.J.

And here we have it…proof that I am not glamorous because I write a blog. I am, in fact, glamorous because my kid thinks so. THIS is the stuff fairytales are really made of…

I could not go to bed without writing something for those of you dreading tomorrow.  There is one girl in particular, that I have never met, nor do I know her whole story, but I hope her eyes find this tomorrow so that her heart can find solace.  (Longest run on sentence ever.  Just wanted to be clear that I am fully aware.)

Dearest girl(and anyone else this can help),

Tomorrow is just another day.  I mean sure, it’s technically about some Saint guy with a cool last name.  But in this day and age it’s just a commercialized day of love.  Shoot, I used to tell my ex-husband he was not allowed to buy me flowers on V-Day because they get ridiculously marked up.  I barely liked getting cards on V-day also.  They may as well say “I know I should show you everyday how much I love you, but today I’m supposed to…soooo, I love you.”  I will say, when he bought me a cute maternity outfit on one particular and pregnant love day, it was loving.  Doesn’t even matter that I was so fat it didn’t fit and I had to exchange it for anything size H( House).  Now, I threw in this little piece of memory lane to make a point.  I just told a sweet story about my ex-husband on Valentine’s day…and I didn’t cry…or spit.  I laughed….seriously, I looked like a duplex(85lbs!People thought I was having twins, in like a week, when I was like 4 months prego).  And I must make it clear, after my divorce…especially for the next couple V-days, I did not laugh…but I did cry and I’m sure I spit.  If that is what you need to do tomorrow..do it.  Cry hard, sob in front of the mirror while asking yourself why, why, why?  The asking of the why is actually moot because we usually do not ever know exactly why things happen.  But when sobbing in front of a mirror…it seems to help.  Take tomorrow as a day to love yourself.  You are special, and when you truly see that and when you truly love yourself, everything will fall into place.  Do whatever you need to do to take care of you.  If you think that getting out your child’s arts and crafts supplies to make homemade, cynical, Valentine’s Day cards sounds like a good idea…then do it.  As long as you don’t involve them of course…let them go play with the hot glue gun and some glitter.  If you want to have a pity party…then do it.  But do it right and get some ice-cream.

 The thing is, we have to feel our feelings to move forward.  And feeling our feelings can be messy and ugly and fattening.  But once you get the messy part of the healing process out of the way…you can begin the “clean-up” phase.  Following the “clean-up” is the final stage…rainbows and unicorns.  I am literally riding a unicorn through a rainbow, as we speak.  M’kay?  And my messy part, well, let’s just say there were a lot of snot bubbles involved.  

Tomorrow I am taking my daughter to dinner, a movie, and frozen yogurt; I couldn’t feel happier or more loved.  If I did not have her tomorrow, I would have made plans with my single friends or I would have taken the night to relax.  I probably would have read something uplifting and spiritual because it’s hard to get depressed when you remember how great life really is…and that there is something waiting for every one of us….waiting until the right moment to arrive.  I’ve learned that it arrives faster, like, over night FedX style, when we work on being the best us we can possibly be while waiting for our “package”.  

Sweet girl, I hope this helps some.  I don’t have all the answers, only my experience.  And my experience has taught me how to love myself…so all that crap I trudged through…the mess I called my life…well, sounds so stupid, but it was a gift and I am grateful.  Today I am grateful for all the things that have made me cry because those things were ingredients for a recipe of Leslie.  Those ingredients combined with love…love from friends, family, co-workers, strangers…made me.  Let your experiences and the love from others make you the best damn chocolate chip cookie you can be. Or cake. I prefer to be a thickly frosted piece of cake. I lick my arm a lot. It’s weird and I don’t taste like frosting. 

 Happy Valentine’s Day to you, my dear….and you know what?  I’ve never met you or seen you, BUT….I LOVE YOU!  I really, truly, do and I hope you can feel the love I’m sending telepathically.  Your unicorn will come, and rainbows…well, if you’re looking, you can see them all the time.  DO NOT forget to eat a heart shaped box of chocolates today…that you buy for yourself.  It’s symbolic and I do it every year.  

Much Love,

Leslie  xoxo

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,000 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 50 trips to carry that many people.

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