Embrace the suck

Last week I celebrated 200 days without alcohol. It was at the end of a few stressful weeks of bounced checks and crazy shifts at work and hard family issues and I happened to glance at the calendar and noticed a shaky "200" written in the margin of my day planner. I had written it on my last day one when my hands were shaking and I felt physically wrecked. I look back at it now as a sign that I really was done with the toxic merry go round of drinking. Though I had just the smallest flicker of hope, it made me count and look ahead.

Gradually, as I'm settling into this new sober life, it has become less about not drinking and more about building something: a total overhaul of my neural wiring and developing new habits.  It means that I have been systematically (well, more erratically, this is after all me we are talking about) examining and removing things and also trying to no longer avoid or deny painful things.  It all started getting crystal clear that in order to get to "the other side" and the transformation I long for that I need to dive into the pain.  Which sounds so lovely and poetic but is actually terrifying and sucky.

Our modern world gives us a million ways to distract ourselves from what IS.  We numb, deny, lie to ourselves, avoid, procrastinate, and bury our heads in our I-Gods (to quote a friend). Anything to avoid taking a cold, hard, clinical look at our patterns and motivations.  But I'm discovering in sobriety that I have to do that in order to move forward. It's scary. There's years of crap buried under my carefully crafted persona of Teflon warrior, the tough woman who everyone thinks can handle anything that is thrown at me.  I've bought into this narrative as much as others have propagated it, like the fact that they call me the Ginja (ginger ninja) at work and the fact that I've been voted most likely to survive the Zombie apocalypse two years running in our ER competition. (Little did everyone know that I would have had to drag 5000 boxes of wine along for my survival stint).

So, this got me thinking about what it means to be a true warrior.  There's lots of sobriety lingo tossed around and a lot of it reminds me of warrior slang from my Army days. War is risky, and all-consuming in every facet. The warrior slang is a language of shared suffering and phrases of discipline become second nature and rituals make the difficult things more bearable. Sound familiar? As I was talking to sober friends about the last few weeks of life just totally slamming me, with one ludicrous challenge after another, I actually said, "You know what? I'm just going to embrace the suck."

It's actually a kind of zen concept when you think about it. When we try to run away from our reality, or what is truly occurring (with drugs, alcohol or other escapes), we create suffering.  It's that yoga concept of that which we resist grows stronger.  When we say "embrace the suck" while deployed, it's a recognition that "yes, this situation is terrible, but we are going to deal with it." The only way to get through a crap day in the Army is to embrace the challenging, sucky experiences because ignoring them or denying them is literally impossible.  You can't check out mid-battle or you die. Or your buddy does. The same is true in early sobriety.

We have to do the dirty work with a good attitude.  Or maybe a bad attitude some days is all we can muster but the idea is forward progress. Not allowing our situations to control our attitude. Because pain is inevitable.  Recovery means facing the demons I've been running from so long that they've become fearsome (the longer I try to rationalize away the problem, the bigger it grows.) Doing nothing prolongs the pain and the fear of the unknown crippled me for years. Even if I'm creeping forward, I'm still moving forward and that is just a daily decision. To get up and do the work.

One of the amazing, wise friends I've met in sobriety challenged me a few months back to think of myself as an athlete in training, both in my life and in how I approach my sobriety.  And that had me thinking about how I endure physical pain and the mechanisms that I've learned over time to deal with it.  With running, or yoga or any other sport, there is a part of us that embraces the pain, knowing that as we push up that hill, or hold that plank that we are advancing towards a goal.  We beat the pain with self talk and checklists.  " Am I controlling my breathing, how is my posture, am I over striding, can I relax my tight shoulders?" etc.  Some things are beyond our control, and others are not.

I'm trying to apply the same principles to facing my fears and the uncomfortable aspects of early sobriety.  Or at least I was.

So, I started this blog post last week. Was fleshing out these ideas, feeling pretty darn good.  I envisioned my sobriety like a fortress I was building on a hill, brick by brick. I was finding my groove, in spite of stresses and work and life stuff.  Most days passed without a single thought of drinking. I've been immersed in self-improvement, self-care, healthy habits and mindfulness. I even started meditating. Yep. You read that right. So when I uttered the words " I'm just going to embrace the suck", I'm not sure what I summoned other than an opportunity to do just that.

Perhaps I was just getting too comfortable with my routines, and maybe focusing too much on one or two particular sober tools but, within 24 hours of saying those words out loud, I lost my two biggest ones.  My phone basically had a seizure and died after updating to a new operating system. I was phoneless for three days, which meant I was cut off from my small group of sober friends who are more like sisters. I lost all my contact information and all my photos from my first ever sober summer with my kids. For me, sobriety is all about connection, and I depend on hearing hard truths and giving/getting encouragement daily from other alcoholics kind of like I depend on air. With one fell swoop, it was like I was back in 1992 from a technology standpoint.  But, I still had my other "pillar" of sobriety. I could still get out and burn off my crazy with exercise, right?

Well, the day after my phone went belly-up, I fell rock climbing and broke my foot. (Trust me, that's not nearly as sexy or adventurous as it sounds). I'm out of commission for six to eight weeks.

Any cockiness I had, any swagger about being ready to "dive into pain" or whatever, has been sucked away by the SUCK.

What seemed like a great idea a few days before became almost laughable as I was crutching around with a throbbing foot with a constant internal dialogue of "embrace it? Who am I kidding? I'm an alcoholic. We run from pain. We numb it. We kill ourselves slowly in order to not feel it. Regular life? Kids, bills, crazy hours at work etc. I can embrace that, I think, maybe after 6 1/2 months of practice. But this? Cut off from my support? How am I going to work and pay bills with a broken foot? And NO outlet for my crazy? This is going to get ugly. I want a drink."

As another lovely friend pointed out to me yesterday after I finally had a working phone, it's time to expand my tool belt. She said, "Maybe this is the universe's way of saying 'Wen, you've mastered sobriety with two main tools.  Now go out and find others that work too.'" And she's totally correct. As much as I want to stomp my non-broken foot and whine "but I like what I was doing. It was working for me. I don't want to get all YODA-y anymore and say crazy things out loud like when the student is ready the master appears. I want to just keep running and doing what feels cozy. I want my La Croix water and my podcasts and to stay in my bubble where it's safe."

That's just not an option. So, the only choice I have is to do what I set out to do: embrace the suck.

Which means that I have a chance to do a CTRL+ALT+Del in the middle of my first sober year.

Clean slates are good, right? Lost contacts means new contacts, lost pictures means I have to trust my memory again. Putting myself out there in the middle of this, not from a perspective of having moved through it feels like trying to shine a light while my lighthouse is still only half-built. But maybe that's what needs to happen.

My fears about being found out as a fraud, as a weak person really are unfounded.  I'm doing this every day. I'm in the company of others who are doing it too.  Even if we stumble some days or fall completely off the rock face and have to get up, bruised and bleeding.

I will take the pain of having to be stretched and learn new things over the soul-pain of active drinking any day. I don't have answers. But if you are considering being done, of trying things that scare you, of giving up the "comfort" of alcohol, wondering how in the world you will ever feel your feelings without being blown away, take heart.  While I am gimpy and bruised and a little bewildered, I can still continue to hope and look ahead.  Because I have found others who tell me it's possible.  It's possible to change your entire life.  I'm doing that. It's possible to grow, even if you break your foot and bounce checks and have to deal with things that would have driven you to numb and obliviate yourself with booze just a few months ago. You will find yourself continuing to get up every day and living in just that day. Because I'm doing it. And if I can, then so can you.

For today, that means enforced rest:  icing and elevating my foot and watching the rain outside while I try to find words and make sense of things.

So stay tuned, friends.  I'm just getting started. Again.

The Legend of the Lost Ironing Board

There is a strange contraption that lives in my basement.  It has only been unearthed from the storage room/laundry room/ the "don't try to shift any boxes or you may be crushed in an avalanche" room/ the "oh please, let there not be any wolf spiders lurking in the dark space behind the washer" room a handful of times this year.

It's called an ironing board. It's a symbol of my former life.  A relic from a time when I used to actually iron clothes before appearing in public.  Back when I used to iron the scrubs I wear to work, rather than grabbing them out of the clean clothes pile and looking at the wrinkles and telling myself maybe no one will notice.

It creaks and squeaks and protests when I unfold it, probably because it rarely gets unfolded anymore. I dragged it out the other day to touch up the kid's back to school outfits and they all ran screaming from the hideous screech it made. They came back to investigate, only to back away in wide-eyed horror at the clouds of steam rising from the snout of the iron as it sat there puffing like an ancient dragon.  "WHAT IS THAT THING??" they cried. 

I took a moment to pause since that sound triggered a whole big swirling whirlpool of memory and shame. I hadn't ironed since I got sober.  That board and I have had a complicated history. When my drinking got really bad the last few years, I would wildly overcompensate to prove to myself how "high functioning" I was.  I would often set up the ironing board after the kids were in bed and drink while I tackled a huge amount of ironing. It was one of those misguided, wine-fueled attempts at proving that I was still a good mother. And it was something that I stopped doing at all when my drinking started taking me down to my rock bottom day.

During this summer of learning to say no to some things and a lot of new "yeses"/safeguarding my sobriety as my first priority, there was zero ironing. It was one of those things I decided really didn't matter.  I'd rather give kids my time and thoughtful words instead perfectly coordinated outfits and fake "put-togetherness".

There was something I used to notice whenever I saw pictures my husband has taken of them when I was working.. He sent snapshots of them eating a yummy dinner or at the park and yes, they may not have worn wearing perfectly matched outfits and that was some left-over ketchup on someone's face, but I would look at those cheeks, the sparkling eyes. The big scrunchy-faced smiles. They were so darn happy to be with their Dad, at the park or wherever.  They were completely un-self conscious about how they looked.  The were in the moment.  And they were gorgeous to me.  But I couldn't let go of overcompensating when I was with them, as though my kids' appearances were somehow a reflection of me. I could never relax completely, always feeling waves of guilt about being a drinking Mom washing over me. I perfected a fake cheerfulness, an over the top gritting my teeth creating perfect memories all while my brain was screaming for that next drink.

I'm still flawed and get it wrong a lot, but I don't have that desperation to prove anything anymore.  That voice telling me I'm not good enough, not a good mother, a selfish person, a weak person still tries to creep in from time to time. But my brain is no longer pickled and so it can identify when my thoughts head that way and put a stop to it.  Its an amazing thing when your voice of reason is no longer gurgling at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

The lost ironing board is perhaps a symbol of me finally coming in to my own .  Because most of the time I still have no idea what I'm doing.  I still wait for somebody to show up and say "ok, we know you are just faking this whole Responsible Mom of Three thing.  Please stand here against the wall with your hands behind your back until a real grown up shows up to take over." I think that struggle; that feeling like a fraud was one of the things that really fueled my drinking. But as in so many other areas of life in new sobriety, I'm just trying to float in it gently, and stop reacting so much. Give myself the grace I would give a friend who is struggling with motherhood.

I will never do this perfectly.  Every day brings its' challenges, triumphs and crushing moments.   Things that worked yesterday suddenly don't work today. I mull, stew, think and plot.  Some days I feel like I'm on some long, long, long version of Survivor where all I need to do is just  OUTWIT, OUTLAST, OUTPLAY.  And the stakes are high, but I'm tired of being driven by fear, worries about appearances and expectations. So I'm letting go of them.

Because ultimately, no matter what is going on, whatever mind-numbing repetitious "wash your hands, stop hitting, use your words, where are your shoes, say sorry, forgotten lunch, playground drama, phantom stomach ache three calls from the school nurse" kind of day I am faced with, sobriety is forcing me to prioritize.  I must choose what will and won't matter.  And I'm growing in confidence about those decisions as a sober, fully present mother. I honestly have no idea how I managed any of it all the years I was drinking.  And I'm so grateful to be done with it. Because life has plenty of challenges in and of itself.  The massive amounts of energy I used obsessing over drinking, recovering from drinking and feeling awful about drinking is mine again to use for living.  And life is less frantic when you aren't constantly overcompensating and hiding a huge secret.

So going forward, there may days when we look like we climbed out of the laundry basket. And that's fine by me. There may be other things that will fall by the wayside as we continue on this journey.. but maybe don't hold your breath for the Legend of the Lost Steam Mop.

Because with two big dogs who sneak slobbery tennis balls into the house, a husband who sometimes forgets he's wearing muddy boots and kids with questionable snack-wrangling skills, I really need that thing.

There and back again

So, my first sober beach vacation is done.

This is the first year in a lot of years that we haven't packed up kit and caboodle for the journey south to the Outer Banks. We usually rent a big old house, and there a lot of days spent on the beach with very little talking (I'm actually not very talkative, though admittedly verbose in writing), delightfully thick books, surf fishing, kite flying, naps in hammocks and, for me, there used to be a LOT of wine. Vacation used to be the time that no one questioned drinking before noon: We are on vacation! And when the kids were really little and still napped, I could often be found heading over the dune with my beach chair, my book and a travel cup filled to the brim with wine.  The solitude, open vistas, sparsely populated beach, booming surf all appeals deeply to my introverted nature. This year, we just couldn't swing it money-wise.  So, in January, when my drinking was at its' worst, and our friends suggested a Fathers' Day beach getaway at a super fun party hotel I was all "Yeah!" The fact that I only vaguely remember booking the hotel should have been a warning sign.

So, needless to say, heading to a beach with a bustling boardwalk, public transportation, and some of our hardest partying friends was going to be a change of pace in and of itself. Add in the fact that I was going to be doing noise, crowds, bars, restaurants and all of the above all while newly sober, welp. Cue anxiety.

First afternoon we arrived, we checked in and ventured down to check out the beach. Three of the families we were meeting were there and the adults had obviously been drinking since early in the day. I was immediately pressed to get a drink from the beachside bar and finally told my friend, "sure- tell them to give me their best virgin drink." So, I sat there amongst my very relaxed, incredibly buzzed friends, feeling tightly wound, sipping a virgin mango daiquiri and watching round after round being ordered and thought "There's no way they can maintain that pace. And who is watching the kids?"

My husband, who for the most part hasn't been drinking at all these last few months, (he has refused to have any booze in the house as a show of support to me) suddenly found himself being bought drinks and before we knew it he was three deep with very high alcohol content craft IPAs.  When they bought him a fourth, he kind of threw up his hands and I told him "you know you can just say No when they try to bring you another" he gave me a look.  It was the "you are becoming one of those people" look.

I had a moment where I considered, "Am I becoming one of those people?"

I love our friends, and used to really love drinking with them, though I never allowed myself to get "drunk" when out. That was always reserved for the safety of my own home. Or "supposed"
safety, since near the end I was hurting myself during blackouts and it was spilling out into the rest of my life..driving, missing work, etc.  But for the most part, I kept my drinking under control when at other people's homes or out for dinner because I guess the perfectionist part of me never wanted to look like a bad mom or the cheap drunk (though, I was certainly free enough to be both behind closed doors after my family had gone to bed.)

I woke up early Saturday morning and decided to go running before hitting the beach. I was heading down the beachfront street, enjoying the relative quiet of the morning. I was jogging in place, waiting at a crosswalk, listening to some good tunes and thought "Yep, I am becoming one of those people."

I've seen them. The ones who are out running or biking along the trails at the beach. I would usually see them when I had finally emerged after a night of drinking, usually after 10 am and would look at them like they were crazy. How are they out exercising when I have a headache and want to vomit? How can they stand the bright sun? When can I drink again so I feel better? What is wrong with them?

Turns out, nothing. They value their health and exercise is a pleasure, not a punishment and it helps them feel good. They have time to do it because they ARE on vacation and nothing else is vying for their time and attention.  Am I the only one who never saw this before?

I swear I'm becoming one of those crazy optimistic people who sees meaning in everything. You know the ones. They post inspirational crap on their Facebook pages. I used to scroll past with a cynical eyeroll and now I look at their quotes (even the painfully misspelled ones) and nod internally. I feel it resonate deep in my soul and think "Yep, I'm one of those people now."

"Those people" used to seem like aliens. Like who goes to a movie and doesn't bring two or three airplane size bottles of vodka in their purse to add to their soda? Who doesn't start drinking on vacation right around 10 am and continue until midnight, juggling the perfect buzz? Who doesn't pregame before going out for dinner and drinks the respectable one glass of whine but then post-games until they fall asleep (pass out)? Well, me for one, these days.

I was the only non-drinking adult the entire weekend.  And you know what? It was fine.

One of my friends actually told me "whatever you are doing, it's working. I'm jealous of your fitness, you are positively glowing and you look so pretty." And I'm sure I was gape-jawed for a solid minute. Because all I ever used to hear when I saw her was how tired I looked. Funny, how not killing yourself makes you look dewy and, well, alive.   I know there are external changes. So many. But the internal ones are the ones that are harder to catalogue. There are hundreds of new choices, small shifts that add up to big changes.

For Father's Day, we all went to breakfast at a very rustic and cool converted- barn restaurant and instead of the usual greasy eggs, bacon, homefries toast post hangover breakfast I would have ordered, I had fresh fruit and a portabello, egg and avocado version of eggs benedict which was delicious and didn't leave me in a food coma. I felt light, happy, satisfied. And while everyone else had their Bloody Mary's, I actually really enjoyed my dark roast coffee. I didn't feel deprived or like I was missing out on anything.  And I think that's the biggest surprise of sobriety. The things I am doing, and experience sober are so much better BECAUSE I am sober. Things I would have cynically sneered at are actually really great. I simply couldn't appreciate them because my perspective was all twisted by despair and shame.  My old attempts to conjure a "be in the moment, find the joy in everything" outlook were always sour, and off in some way. Now, it's authentic. So much so that it's a little nauseating, even to me.  I'm sure I will find the balance but for now, my soul that is so scarred but awakening again finally appreciates sentiments that used to feel like bullets. Now they are balm.

Like this little gem:

Yes, I had a few moments where I was overloaded with too many people, noise, input.  But instead of drinking, I texted my sober group and took a moment to regulate. Breathed. Used my tools: Paid attention to my own breath and chose to come back into myself when I wanted to check out.  I paused and named three things I could hear: waves, laughter, distant steel drums, two things I could feel: hot, grainy sand under my feet, cool air brushing past my warm skin, one thing I could see: perfect puffy white clouds in an azure sky... and then the moment of discomfort passed and I refocused on where I was.  And went and got some ice cream. Twice on Saturday.

I have always loved the ocean and how it made me feel like my problems were insignificant in comparison to how vast it is. (Plus, whales.)  I love the wind in my face, the salt in my hair and in my nose. The light is even different. The wild air, the rhythm and flow of the cold waves, watching pebbles and shells turned over and over.  The mysterious depths feel ancient.  My own emotions are swallowed by the sheer vastness of it.  But I didn't feel insignificant this time around.  I felt like I was where I wanted to be: in the waves, with my kids, fully present (albeit with sand in my ears from getting pounded!) My overarching emotions: hope, joy. The real kind.

And while I have a lot to consider about future vacations: where and with who, I'm trying to not stress it for now.  Instead, I'm aware of how many things are shifting, settling, like sand moved by the tide, within my own heart and mind. I'm not sure yet how my new inner beachscape will look in the end. So for now, I'm learning to just float in and out with the waves, not fighting, not panicking.. just trying to relax into it.

There and back again.

Don't blow up the whale

(This was originally a post I wrote on my online support group site. Putting it here as a reminder to myself that this is all still true! And because this line of thinking has a great deal to do with the name of this particular sober blog)

Well, today was day 70.  This week has been rough. My peace has been rumpled and I'm finding that my inability to moderate applies to a lot of things. I've been going hard, pedal to the metal since day one and all of a sudden it hit me last night: I'm exhausted!

Sleeping has been a real struggle and somewhere in all those wakeful hours as I'm lying there in the dark, I begin with thoughts along the lines of " I really need to stop eating so much chocolate. I should probably get some more exercise too. I love the idea of sobriety tattoos. I should get another good sober memoir to read". Then my brain starts going a little bigger:  "I need to de-clutter this whole house, I should train for a half marathon. I should tell my other friends and family that I quit drinking..." etc. etc. and then my brain starts to really lose it's sense of proportion until I'm thinking: " I need to quit nursing and find a less stressful career. I should just grow a pair and post about my sobriety on Facebook. I should become a lighthouse keeper on some remote island. I should write a book. I think it's time to end this marriage." Future tripping, escalating, mind racing nonsense. It's real conducive to sleeping.

Perhaps this is part and parcel of hitting this phase of sobriety where it's still so new, but some of the novelty is wearing off and now it's really starting to hit me how much work there is.  I have a million issues to deal with. The drinking is done, but the journey is starting to head steeply uphill.  And the lack of moderation part of me (which drove the bus for too long and look how that turned out!) has this idea that in order to do that,  I need to just burn everything down and start over. There's this little part of my brain that sneaks in when my guard is down and declares "now you've identified the problem, I think you should just fix absolulety everything right. freaking. now." Perhaps that's the old alcoholic/ can't moderate brain in its' death throes but it's a giant pain in the ass. And real bad for my eye bags.

There's this panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach that goes against everything I'm learning. All the wise, prudent "sitting in the moment and feeling all the feelings, just because you feel it doesn't mean it's real or that you have to act on it right away" type stuff. I have to tell myself to slow down a thousand times a day. Remind myself this is new, one thing at a time. (I'm assured by folks with more sobriety who tell me if this is just another phase that passes.. and that your brain learns to chill out a little *please sooner rather than later)

Last night, at 2 am, I found myself reading an odd article about how to get rid of a dead whale that has washed up on the beach. ( Link here, if you find yourself with insomnia and curious about deceased whale removal):   http://www.wired.com/2016/05/get-rid-dead-rotting-whale-beach-hint-dont-blow/

The problem: 80, 000 pounds of rotting whale on your pristine beach. How do you get rid of it so the tourists and the surfers can frolic in the sun without a giant carcass blocking the view, the scavengers, the God-awful stench?

And it struck me: that's a perfect metaphor for how I feel about alcoholism and this journey into sobriety. It used to seem like an insurmountable problem. I mean, where do you even begin?

The article talked about how the whale can be towed back out to sea, or painstakingly cut into pieces and hauled away to a landfill... or, in the case of an ill-fated town in Oregon, back in 1970, they decided to blow it up with dynamite. Really.

There's even a YouTube video: https://youtu.be/xBgThvB_IDQ

Let's just say that it did not go well, and everyone who came to watch ended up covered in particles of rotting whale blubber; the biggest chunks actually damaged vehicles in the area and the whole thing ended up a million times worse.

The article concluded that the best thing in the long run is to allow the whale carcass to decompose naturally, which takes time and sunlight and salt air... and time.  Lots of time.  But eventually, the smell fades, the scavengers leave and all that is left is a set of bleached bones that were once a giant whale. And the bones are intact, a memory of something that once was.

I think we've all seen those "Take it Easy" bumper stickers a million times. I know it's another one of those seemingly cliché' phrases that end up actually being wise when you get past the seeming schlock. I know it's a big concept with the AA crew and for good reason.

I simply have to take it a day at a time. I can't future trip, think in extremes, or rush this process.  I have to just let things take their course, and allow what I am learning to sink in, take root. Like light and air working slowly on that whale, the truths I am learning will eventually also do their work. And time can't be rushed.

(Now, if someone could just tell my brain)

That's all I've got. So hang in there, friends, and don't blow up the whale.

Snake oil and hardboiled dreams

We are limping down the homestretch.

There are exactly four and a half days of school before we officially enter what I like to call the Season of Yes.

Yes, you can swim in the pool until the last bit of pink sunset fades and we have bats swooping over head and we can only see our way back to the house by firefly-light. 

Yes, you can climb out of the pool, and sit on the deck wrapped in a towel and eat your dinner straight off the grill and yes we will eat corn on the cob with gobs of butter that drips down our chins and eschew napkins and rinse everyone off in the hose afterward.

Yes, you can stay up late and watch old movies with me.

Yes, we can go for a long walk to the river because we have nowhere to be and search for the elusive blue beach glass that we have somehow decided brings good luck to the finder.

And for all of those reasons, I am counting down the hours until I can be summer Mom again. 

Because I have been out of energy and "done" since the last round of viral illness went through the house like wildfire and that was in early April. I have been sober for almost three months now and the energy that is involved in getting up every day, not drinking all day, doing the work, naval gazing, deep breathing, prayers, journaling, running, fighting cravings, going for another run, checking in with my amazing support group...  all of that LIFE stuff plus my sobriety stuff means we have missed parties because the beautiful photo card invitation with an adorably toothless child grinning at us has been buried under the mounting pile of bills and end of school year announcements about class parties and Field Days/ice cream/movie days and the avalanche of year end events and Oh crap there's another awards ceremony this morning and just wear your pinchy sneakers another day because you are going to be barefoot in a few days anyways and when is it going to EEEENNNDDD-ness.

I am not sitting easy in new sobriety.  It has awakened major perfectionist tendencies in me. I lie awake, thinking of all the ways I can overcompensate for my screw ups this past year, or really, the last two years when my drinking really got to a toxic place. The insomnia, the scratchy burning eyes and the seemingly endless nights where I toss and turn and flip to the cool side of the pillow over and over, all while wishing for a big "OFF" switch for my brain.. I feel pressure to get myself together for summer so we can actually enjoy ourselves . Which is how I sort of stumbled across the lure of Pinterest. (I am not naturally one of those impossibly crafty, super Mom types that I call Pinterest Barbies... who are always posting incredible, inspiring things they have made out of raffia and popscicle sticks or whatever.. That I am even attempting to absorb organization by osmosis shows how dire it really has become).

I created an account and "pinned" some ideas, challenging (kidding) myself to actually try out some sort of enriching craft/ super healthy popsicles and the like this summer. Pins with perky titles like "40 Summer Bucket list activities."  Nowhere do I see pins about plopping your kids down in front of a half hour of Princess Sofia so you can go cry in the bathroom because you are totally overwhelmed and not sure how you are going to make it through another 9 hours of this "use your words, stop yelling, what is this sticky mess, stop climbing the bookcase, did the cat fall in the fishtank again, say sorry, why do we work so hard and there is never any money and what if I'm just hopelessly screwing these kids up" type day while stone cold sober.

So, yesterday.  Due to distraction/nervous breakdown in progress/exhaustion or whatever, I forgot that when I signed the kids up for a week of summer camp, way back in January when I was still drinking,  I had "conveniently" checked the little magic box that said "Please withdraw the balance due automatically from my account on June 1st" because "Yay, I don't have to remember to go online and pay it. How wonderfully convenient! Hooray me, for signing the kids up early, lets have a glass or wine to celebrate"

Except you have to remember to actually transfer money into the account before June 1st.

So yesterday our entire checking account was wiped out in one fell swoop and I'm sure the fall out will be fun the next week or so until we get paid again.  

Honestly, signing up for a "high interest savings account" where you can transfer funds by electronic transfer and have money available for withdrawal in 4-5 business days SOUNDS like a good idea when you set it up. But not when you have $1.12 in your checking account and you will be bouncing literally every "automatic bill pay for dummies" transaction like some kind of hyper kangaroo and you get hit with 30 dollar non-sufficient funds fees every time (Gee thanks, bank people, for flogging me for not only being totally forgetful but also poor, that'll show me) and your cupboards are empty and 4-5 business days is a wicked long time, let me tell you.  And I'll be that weird lady with the giant jar of spare change at the coinstar making a ridiculous amount of noise with my three kids all clamoring for a turn over the clanking noise of coins....

All of which to say is that in my utterly overwhelmed, unhinged state, I decided that yesterday was the day that I was going to make an effort to feed my kids something other than string cheese, fruit, crackers and yogurt which is what they had in their lunches for about the last, oh.... too many days. I was going to do something Fabulous! 

Peering into the empty fridge, I found five eggs.  Enter that thing I pinned about "You too can make perfect hard boiled eggs in your oven.. imagine the ease, the no mess, the PERFECTION... the beautiful, delicious egg salad sandwiches soon to be yours."

And that is why Pinterest is exactly like a modern day snake oil salesman.  It promises a short cut, an easy out.

And in my desperate, foolish and sleep deprived state, I went right along for the ride..

The result:

I don't know about you, but hard boiled eggs that resemble yellowed BPA-laden circa 1978 Tupperware just aren't real high on the list of Appealing Things to Eat. And the smell?

The smell is like Satan's own Sulfurous Potpourri wafting directly from the depths of hell.

The glaring lesson to be learned is the same one we have been learning since pre-school.

Be yourself. And most things that are worth doing take time. Shortcuts and "magic fixes" rarely are either short or magical...

In all of the whirlwind and pink cloud days of being sober, I imagine that I have to change everything that I am, or make up for the things I lack or which I overlooked.  I have forgotten that though I am going through a big change, and putting things back together,  I can still enjoy being what I am. Or if not enjoy, at least accept.

I am a disorganized Mom who has a daughter who might have mulch in her hair more often than not from some daring swing set trick, but who also has the best heart, practices compassion as effortlessly as most people breathe.  She draws pictures that make me smile no matter how bad the day. She makes up crazy songs and gets busted reading books late into the night because her mind is voracious. She's a dancer with the energy level of a humming bird on crack. She is all wild hair and skinny arms and her will is as strong as mine which is a little scary.

I have a son who may wear head to toe mismatched camo outfits ALL THE TIME... but has an incredibly rich imagination, the best giggle, boundless enthusiasm for engineering, minecraft and monster fish. He practices scooter tricks and tells the best knock knock jokes. He has a tender heart and sensitive soul that is sometimes hard to see under all the quirks. He's the kid who really thinks about the underlying messages in Marvel movies and who discusses them with real sincerity and insight while I'm tucking him into bed with his beloved stuffed animals. He always needs one more hug. 

I have a frequently naked, ornery, adorable preschool girl who explores the world fearlessly and is scary-smart/ beautiful.  She can color a picture for an hour, hold her own at the skate park with teenage boys zooming past while she wears her Captain America helmet and rides her pink scooter. She is obsessed with owls and will spend hours curled up next to me reading a book or just because she is still my little one. She is my garden helper, and actually works hard helping pull weeds and has always sung to the plants to help them grow.  This year she been serenading the broccoli every day.

I need to just accept that God is using me; the hot mess, the hopelessly non-crafty, flawed, recovering, distracted but well-intentioned Mom to grow these little ones into joyful, incredible people. And that's a role that I can handle.  Because they are amazing.  Maddening and amazing. And I can do it without gallons of wine.  I can do it better without gallons of wine.

And it's best to just do it in my own imperfect way. If I'm learning anything in sobriety, it's that nothing can happen overnight. I have to take it easy, not rush ahead or be extreme.  That goes against my natural temperament.  My brain has identified the problem so it wants to fix every broken thing, right every wrong, eradicate every problem RIGHT NOW. But that's not how this all works.  I have to take my time. There aren't any short cuts or quick fixes.

So, I'm going to chalk those eggs up to folly.

I will gracefully keep busting out those cheese sticks and keep reminding myself that if I keep getting up every day and doing the right thing, and then the right thing after that, then ultimately...

Every little thing gonna be alright.