Vay-Cay-Tion

We just took a family vacation to the snow this last week.  I use the term "vacation" loosely, speaking as the mother figure in the household.

I think there should be some sort of reality show that involves packing up a family of 7 for a week,  for a camping trip in the Alaskan wilderness during its sunny season, January or February.  Only a four door vehicle could be used.  No SUV's allowed.  And none of those special packing holders that go on top of the car either...that would be considered cheating.

Okay, I changed my mind about the SUV thing.  I could win a show like that.  Or maybe I would go insane first.  But if I make it to an asylum, aren't we all winners?

I swear, whenever we go on a family "vacation", I start the process of loading items into bags, a WEEK before we're actually on the road.  And if for some reason we get stranded, or stuck, or my head spontaneously combusts, the entire family will have enough food, water, and clothes to last them a year, minimum.

 Part of it is my own fault.  I'm a psycho organizer, and I don't want to stop at the damn grocery store for something which I may have forgotten at home.

The only exception to this rule, is if we run out of alcohol.  That, in and of itself, warrants a trip to the local grocery store to stock up.  In fact, when the twins are old enough to drive, I have already made the executive decision that they can borrow my driver's license to go buy mama her potato juice.  I do enough around here.

I especially love packing for snow trips.  Everyone in the family needs the following to have "fun" in the snow:

1.  A snow bib that actually fits, even if the kids have had a growth spurt, and the pants that you JUST bought last year, look like a pair of Capri's.

2.  A water resistant winter coat, preferably with a hood.  If some one's jacket doesn't have a hood, pack Saran Wrap and make your own hood.  A plastic Target bag will also suffice.

3.  Enough socks to warm a small nation of midgets.

4.  Gloves that fit; they can't be too big, or too small.  This all changes when their hands get wet, and the damn things won't go on over their paws anyways.

5.  A snow hat.   Cowboy hats and those of that sort,  just won't cut it when you're trudging through 2 feet of fresh powder, with a 4 month old strapped to your midsection in a Baby Bjorn.

6.  Snow boots that fit, or that you can at least shove their feet into.

When the Walsh family goes to the snow, that gear alone, takes up the entire back of our Yukon.  I'm just gonna start strapping kids to the top of the truck with bungee cords, so I don't have to endure the never ending question of, "Are we there yet?  How much longer?"

Note, each child asks this question with a different whiny intonation about a thousand times.  And it's times like those, when I ask myself, why the hell I didn't pack a road soda.  If you don't know what a road soda is, we can't be friends anymore.

And the timing with the baby is KEY.  The car needs to be packed with all gear, including snacks and lunches, books and toys, with all occupants having emptied their bladders, as Charlotte comes off my breast.  Because if THAT timing isn't right, we're all gonna be screwed.  We have 3 hours people.  3 hours before little Charlie starts howling for more boobie.  MOVE IT!

 See what I mean?  This really could be a reality show.

I may gripe and complain about the packing and all that, but you know what?  This is what family memories are made of, God Damnit.

Nothing can compare to hearing your kids belt out at the top of their lungs, "It's SNOWING!  It's SNOWING!  Oh my gosh Mom.  It's magic!"

Unless they're yelling that out at 5 am...which, has happened before.  Cocktail hour comes especially early on those days.

Life in all of its simplicity I've found, is the key to happiness.  We haven't introduced the girls to skiing yet.  Why?  Partly due to the cost.  Partly because the one time I skied myself, I was too scared to get off of the lift.  There was a hill, and I was a beginner, and I was on the top of a MOUNTAIN!    But mainly, because the girls are just so darn happy playing in the snow.  The girls are content with snowball fights, drinking hot cocoa, and sledding.

Until someone gets hit in the lip with a jagged icicle.  That's happened before too.  See, that's where having alcohol on hand is really important for sterilizing the wound.  A little for me, a little for you.

Seriously, packing up, and making the trek to Arnold is the highlight for our girls.  I know that they will remember these trips for the rest of their lives.

And you know what?  I will too.

Love Thyself

So I've noticed that I'm looking a bit "crepe-y" lately.  Not to be confused with "creepy".  My under eye area is looking saggy, and dark, and well, TIRED.  I've noticed the same thing about my neck...and my decolletage.  Like, what the hell am I doing with age spots?!  I'm only 38 years old God Dammit.

And so the negative voice comes alive good and loud within my head.  It says, "Damn Michelle, you're looking spent.  Old.  Forghetta 'bout the make up, cause it's not doing anything for you.  And your hair?  It's dry and dull.  Yikes...look at all that gray."  I try to turn down the volume of that voice, but some days it just won't shut up, you know?

After I lost 90 pounds, I thought I would be happy!  I mean, who wouldn't be happy, right?  I really thought that if I got to my goal weight, love and sunshine and light would take over my life.  How WRONG I was.

When I achieved my goal, that negative voice was louder than ever.  And I was left with one thought:  I need help.  I better find a good counselor.  There's something else going on here, cause this ain't about the bread basket.

Contrary to what we all think, whatever vice we are using to self-medicate, whether it's food, or alcohol, or shopping, NONE of that will fill the emptiness and void that is lurking within our hearts.  NOTHING can fill that hole except for one thing:  Loving thyself.  Accepting thyself.  Forgiving thyself.

Chocolate won't do it.

Wine...well, wine takes the edge off, but that won't do it either.

 And shopping for some really cute shoes, that distracts us for about a minute.

But facing our own demons will.  Staring them straight in the face and telling them to back the hell down, works rather well.

Think about it...when we mess up, what does our the internal dialogue say?  "You can't do this.  You messed up again.  You're a failure.  You're weak."

Would we EVER talk to our best friend that way?  Absolutely not.  Then why oh why, do we give ourselves permission to speak in such an unflattering and hateful way about ourselves?

Often times, in my WW meeting, my members will say, "I was really 'good' this week."  Or "It's no wonder I didn't lose weight...I was 'bad'."  We are not dogs.  We are not 'good' or 'bad'.  We learn from our experiences to become better people and make better choices.

So here's what I'm working on...recognizing that voice when it starts speaking.  And turning the damn volume OFF.

Yes, I'm getting older.  Yes, I'm looking a bit tired.  But that's okay.  I'm okay.  I'm lovable, even though I'm looking old and tired.

"Change the voices in your head...learn to like you instead." Pink

T.M.I. Stands for...

Do you often find yourself being the recipient of too much information?  You know, people telling you ALL their business...like, even when you never asked.  T.M.I. 'rs come in all forms:   family, friends, or strangers, who may or may not be under the influence of hallucinogens, prescribed medications, alcohol, or their own delusional life.

If you're nodding your head "yes", and referring to my blog, I totally hear you.  I, myself, feel like sometimes I walk that fine line between being really honest, and scaring the hell out of people with my info.

Sometimes though, I believe you can't have ENOUGH info.  Like for example, when your husband has had a vasectomy, and you just had your fifth kid, and you want to see the 3 month sperm count statistics before....well, you know, BEFORE.  Just wanted to make sure you're still with me.

Often, I feel like I'm that friend, who people can trust with anything,  It's a compliment that folks trust me, but sometimes I feel like I could have gone my entire life without that info being disclosed to me...to keep in secret...until I rot in the ground.

 It's a responsibility I don't take lightly.  Let's just hypothetically say, that friend "A" shares some dirt about friend "B".  You know what I do?  I pretend like I had NEVER heard that before, even though I just got off the phone with friend "B".

 I'm like Switzerland, okay?  I don't want to take sides.  I don't think I should have to.  And so, I just play dumb.  Not hard.

Now, I'm a curious person.  I love asking "What's the craziest thing that's ever happened to you?"  to anyone.  My doctor, my dentist, my kid's teacher.   No one is off limits.  And in this case, I'm just asking for people to tell me too much information.  But the stories always end up being memorable.

 For some reason I thought this was an appropriate question to ask the taxi driver on the way home from Boswell's on Saturday night.

 "Have women ever tried to pay you, but don't have the money?"  Wink.  Wink.

He replied, "Yes, and I rather like it."

 To which I quickly responded, "I live riiiiiight here, and I have CASH."