Doing the right thing is really, really, really hard sometimes.
Recently, when I found some money on the ground (40 BUCKAROO's to be a little more specific), I initially played that little game called, "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers". And then, almost immediately afterwards, I felt guilty knowing that someone lost their cash. That could be me. Or it could be you. Shit, maybe it was you. In that case, I should have kept it!
Or after unpacking all of the groceries and baby into the car, it is then I find a package of contraband butter, which I find in some obscure location (like behind Charlotte's head in the car seat) that made it out of the store without being purchased. Then the game is called, "REALLY, right now?! Should I, or shouldn't I pack the baby back up, and go PAY?!!!!"
I have made a really significant discovery recently: human nature leads us to the lazy path. NOT the path of righteousness, man.
Just last week, our fam took a walk on a gloomy Sunday afternoon. We were one block out, when it started to hail on us. The girls took it as their opportunity to go "singen' in the rain," while Tom and I looked at each other, with an unspoken, "Should we turn back?" look. Finally, after camping out under a tree for a good 5 minutes, waiting out the storm, I said, "Tom, let's man up here. The girls are digging it." And so we soldiered on to downtown Willow Glen.
By the time we made our way to Lincoln Avenue, the sun was shining, and the clouds had lifted. I told the girls they could go into Powell's candy shop and each spend a buck...I know, big spender huh? As we approached The Dark Side, (Powell's), I looked down to find three gift cards on the ground. Two were for a chic little clothing boutique called Bella James. And the other was for TJ Maxx Home Goods.
"SCORE!!!!" was my first thought. I mean, I haven't bought any new clothes since the babe's been born, because truth be told, money has been more than a little tight. Bella James is a store that I would never be able to afford, so I don't ever go in. But I have seen it from the outside while I drink Sangria at Aqui's.
My second thought was, "Someone is really bummed right now because they lost these cards." And so, with our girls on a severe sugar high, and following in tow, I marched into Bella James, and dropped the cards off to the clerk, explaining the situation
She said, "Oh, you know, I can TRACE these to whomever purchased them." Well, that sucks, I thought. I don't stand a chance. "But if they're not claimed within the week, I will call you, okay? Oh gosh, these are worth $100!" I left my name and number, hoping I would luck out.
That call never came. I waited until today to call and inquire about those gift cards, and the overly enthusiastic clerk said, "OH! She came in the very same day and claimed them!"
I was kind of expecting like a consolation prize or something. How about one card for her, and one for me? How about a phone call THANKING me for returning them? Better yet, realizing what an outstanding citizen I am, I get $1,000 shopping spree at Bella James rewarding me for "doing the right thing"?
Nope. I didn't get shit. Just a good feeling inside.
Like I said before, doing the right thing is really, really, really hard sometimes.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Cry Baby
I am so EMO. I am a crier. There's no hiding it. There's no shame in it. It just is, man. I am a cry baby.
I cry when I'm happy. I cry when I'm feeling empathetic. When I met my grand baby for the first time, I kissed on his rolls, and his sweet cheeks. Then he had to get back on that plane with all grown up Katie-K, who's now a Mama doing a fine, damn job. Not knowing when I would see those two precious beings again, I cried. I cried when I left my Besties in Vegas, knowing full well, that we'll probably never have a time quite like that again.
I cry when I feel proud. I cry when I'm overcome with emotion, with the tears that fall freely, being my release.
There have been many a time, smack dab in the middle of my Weight Watchers meeting, when I break down. Professional? Not exactly. But part of my human condition? Absolutely.
I received this gift from my Dad. Oh - My - God, is that man a crier. Through his example, I learned not to be ashamed, but rather, embrace emotion. Not quite the dealio for men of that generation. A gift I've come to appreciate and accept about myself.
So it should be no surprise, that I started tearing up as I ran with the twins this last weekend. You see, Abby and Bella have been involved in a program called Girls on the Run after school. They have been training twice a week to run a 5k since the end of February.
The night before the race, I showed the girls how you get everything ready, 'cause race day comes damn early. From your pony tail holder, to your socks, to your shoes, to having your oatmeal placed out on the counter and ready to go, the night before.
And so there we were on a chilly and overcast Saturday morning, awaiting the shuttle to take us into Vasona to the start line at 6:30 AM. Excitement and anxiety filled the air, as 3,000 young ones waited to run. Not to mention all of the mama's and daddies, grandma's and grandpa's who were lining the streets to cheer on their loved ones.
We took off in the front of the pack, racing like jack rabbits, to get the crowd behind us. "Channel your inner Kenyan," I told the girls. They didn't really get what I was talking about, but it sounded like a good pep talk at the time. By the time we reached Mile 1, both girls had lost steam, feeling like they may need to walk.
"Let's just take it nice and easy. Here we go, with a nice, and steady pace," I coached them. By the time Mile 2 rolled around, I coaxed, "Only 1 mile left girls. You are so strong."
All of a sudden, Bella got her second wind, and chimed in as though she was some sort of motivational speaker on a circuit, during a high school pep rally, "C'mon Abby, 2 miles DOWN, only 1 left. We GOT this THING!"
But Abby didn't look so convinced. Bella started to ease ahead of us. "Go ahead girl, we are right behind you," I said, not wanting to hold her back. Abby and I fell into sync with each other. As we crossed the bridge, with only a quarter of a mile to go, I looked over at Abby. This was my very first time running with my daughter. And here she was. Sucking wind. Sweating. Pushing through.
My eyes started to tear up, pride filling my throat, so that I was barely able to eek out to her, "Abby, I'm so proud of you, babe."
There was something unexpected that happened as I watched her struggle, and then persevere through this physical hardship. It felt as though my heart swelled with honor, gratification, and love on Saturday. Not just for my girls. But for all the little ones there, who never envisioned themselves accomplishing such a feat. Running 3.1 miles is not for wimps...especially if you're in elementary school!
'Cause I know what it feels like to be unsure whether you're gonna make it or not. To have a difficult time seeing the light, so to speak. It's only when you reach deep within and do the extraordinary, do you find what you are really capable of.
I do believe I watched my daughter participate in that miracle on Saturday. And I feel blessed to have been part of it.
I cry when I'm happy. I cry when I'm feeling empathetic. When I met my grand baby for the first time, I kissed on his rolls, and his sweet cheeks. Then he had to get back on that plane with all grown up Katie-K, who's now a Mama doing a fine, damn job. Not knowing when I would see those two precious beings again, I cried. I cried when I left my Besties in Vegas, knowing full well, that we'll probably never have a time quite like that again.
I cry when I feel proud. I cry when I'm overcome with emotion, with the tears that fall freely, being my release.
There have been many a time, smack dab in the middle of my Weight Watchers meeting, when I break down. Professional? Not exactly. But part of my human condition? Absolutely.
I received this gift from my Dad. Oh - My - God, is that man a crier. Through his example, I learned not to be ashamed, but rather, embrace emotion. Not quite the dealio for men of that generation. A gift I've come to appreciate and accept about myself.
So it should be no surprise, that I started tearing up as I ran with the twins this last weekend. You see, Abby and Bella have been involved in a program called Girls on the Run after school. They have been training twice a week to run a 5k since the end of February.
The night before the race, I showed the girls how you get everything ready, 'cause race day comes damn early. From your pony tail holder, to your socks, to your shoes, to having your oatmeal placed out on the counter and ready to go, the night before.
And so there we were on a chilly and overcast Saturday morning, awaiting the shuttle to take us into Vasona to the start line at 6:30 AM. Excitement and anxiety filled the air, as 3,000 young ones waited to run. Not to mention all of the mama's and daddies, grandma's and grandpa's who were lining the streets to cheer on their loved ones.
We took off in the front of the pack, racing like jack rabbits, to get the crowd behind us. "Channel your inner Kenyan," I told the girls. They didn't really get what I was talking about, but it sounded like a good pep talk at the time. By the time we reached Mile 1, both girls had lost steam, feeling like they may need to walk.
"Let's just take it nice and easy. Here we go, with a nice, and steady pace," I coached them. By the time Mile 2 rolled around, I coaxed, "Only 1 mile left girls. You are so strong."
All of a sudden, Bella got her second wind, and chimed in as though she was some sort of motivational speaker on a circuit, during a high school pep rally, "C'mon Abby, 2 miles DOWN, only 1 left. We GOT this THING!"
But Abby didn't look so convinced. Bella started to ease ahead of us. "Go ahead girl, we are right behind you," I said, not wanting to hold her back. Abby and I fell into sync with each other. As we crossed the bridge, with only a quarter of a mile to go, I looked over at Abby. This was my very first time running with my daughter. And here she was. Sucking wind. Sweating. Pushing through.
My eyes started to tear up, pride filling my throat, so that I was barely able to eek out to her, "Abby, I'm so proud of you, babe."
There was something unexpected that happened as I watched her struggle, and then persevere through this physical hardship. It felt as though my heart swelled with honor, gratification, and love on Saturday. Not just for my girls. But for all the little ones there, who never envisioned themselves accomplishing such a feat. Running 3.1 miles is not for wimps...especially if you're in elementary school!
'Cause I know what it feels like to be unsure whether you're gonna make it or not. To have a difficult time seeing the light, so to speak. It's only when you reach deep within and do the extraordinary, do you find what you are really capable of.
I do believe I watched my daughter participate in that miracle on Saturday. And I feel blessed to have been part of it.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Viva Las Vegas!
Or should I call this blog entry, "Cougars Take On Vegas", because I can't tell you how many times we were called that as we strutted our hot mommy bods down The Strip this last weekend. One of us, would yell back, "We are NOT Cougars!", like that would effectively convince the young male passersby that indeed, we were still in our 20's. But in our defense, we did have ONE cutie patootie with us who was all of 31 years of age. And she was our Bobcat mascot.
Until this past weekend, I had never been to Vegas. I had no idea what to expect. And quite honestly, I don't think there is any way that one can physically, mentally, or spiritually prepare for a girls weekend away in Sin City.
I'll be the first to admit, that I was filled with anxiety, and felt a bit uneasy about this trip. I was going with the same core group of ladies, more or less, that got kicked out of the PINK concert, plus 2 other women, whom I had never met before.
People just kept saying, "If you have something in your closet and you don't know when you'll ever wear it, bring it to Vegas." And that I did. As soon as I checked my bag packed full of more stilettos than one should own, I boarded the plane. With Charlotte being only 6 months old, I carried on my pump. Oh yeah, cause that's how mommy's roll.
I should have known from the moment I sat down on the plane next to two cute little 21 year old's who were doing vodka shots, I was in trouble. One was saying she needed to get her nails did (which had yellow tips, by the way), and the other was telling me how great Vegas is because "You can smoke anywhere!" I wanted to tell her, "Smoking is very bad for you," but I saved my Mommy pep talk for another time.
All the girls arrived at the airport, and the timing could not have been better. I anxiously waited for my suitcase at the baggage claim. As more and more passengers from my flight collected their belongings and rolled off to get drunk, or gamble all of their money away, I stood there. Waiting. Until I was the last one left. Of course, this was just my luck!! My first weekend away in FORever, and my bag was lost.
How, oh how, would all that sequined hooker gear, glitter, and high heels be replaced? The Southwest assistant, assured me, "As soon as your bag arrives, we will deliver it to your hotel."
I wanted to scream at him, "DO YOU KNOW THAT I STARTED PACKING MY GLITTER AND SHORT DRESSES A WEEK AGO? DO YOU KNOW HARD IT IS TO FIND COMFORTABLE STILETTOS IN A GOD DAMN SIZE 10?"
But I didn't. I held back tears, and soldiered on.
And the girls were great about it. In fact, come to think of it, when we arrived at the hotel, no one dared even unpack their bag because I think they were afraid I would spontaneously combust. Instead, we went shopping "just in case" I would need a dress for that night. We were quickly schooled on the symptoms of alcohol poisoning when out of a gaggle of young drunk guys ahead of us, one hit the deck with his HEAD on the marble floor, and then started bleeding.
Again, I wanted to shout out, "THAT is NOT being SAFE!" But I held back, and just watched in horror, as this guy's "friends" loaded him into a wheelchair to go get more drinks. "That's not cool," we said to them. WTF? Crazy!
Just then, my phone rang. Lo and behold, my bag was found. Glory and hallelujah on high! I have never felt so much relief in my life. I mean, unless you count the time I delivered the twins, and they were finally out of my body.
Anyways, the progression of debauchery basically started from there, and the weekend went somewhat like this:
Thursday night was spend at Studio 54, and Rok; two clubs where ladies get in and drink for free before 12. There is no mistake. You read that right. A man I'll refer to as, The Leprechaun, tried to spin me on the dance floor. I had to tell that small little man, "DO NOT spin me, or I will squish you like a bug, thank you." We got home around 3 o'clock in the morning.
Friday was spent at Walgreen's investing large sums of money in band aids and protective Dr.Scholl's goods. After one night in heels, most of our feet were toast. We hung by the pool. And then rallied for another night out at The Venetian for dinner, and Club Tao. We met another small little man there named Bruno. He was nice and let us sit on his couch, because by this point, we could no longer walk, and had resorted to hobbling. By the time we got home it was 4:30 am, and we thought our Bobcat would need a pinkie toe amputation. As Ella yelled at us, "WASH YOUR FEET", I stared in horror at Bobcat's little toe. I had never seen anything so purple, and swollen, and angry. I wanted to help Bobcat by draining those blisters, but I wasn't strong enough. Cornell stepped in and took care of business, while French Gulch prepared yummy grilled cheese sandwiches. If you haven't guessed already, we had all gained a nick name by this point. However, I still have too much mind fog to remember what mine was.
By the time Saturday rolled around, we decided to start our evening with a show at The Wynn, followed by yet another night of clubbing, at Surrender. By now, we broke the code, and figured out how to get our names on the guest list. No line. No pay. THAT's what I'm talken about. We got home by 3 am.
I have never experienced anything like Vegas in all my life. We rallied. We owned that town. We were Cougars on the prowl. With one Bobcat, to boot. I spent time with my besties. And I met two women who I am now honored to call my friends.
I'll never forget that before I left, my girlfriend warning me, "You are going to be out until 4 or 5 in the morning." I shrugged her off, and said, "No way. I never even did that in college. I won't be able to hang."
But you do. Cause it's Vegas, baby!
Until this past weekend, I had never been to Vegas. I had no idea what to expect. And quite honestly, I don't think there is any way that one can physically, mentally, or spiritually prepare for a girls weekend away in Sin City.
I'll be the first to admit, that I was filled with anxiety, and felt a bit uneasy about this trip. I was going with the same core group of ladies, more or less, that got kicked out of the PINK concert, plus 2 other women, whom I had never met before.
People just kept saying, "If you have something in your closet and you don't know when you'll ever wear it, bring it to Vegas." And that I did. As soon as I checked my bag packed full of more stilettos than one should own, I boarded the plane. With Charlotte being only 6 months old, I carried on my pump. Oh yeah, cause that's how mommy's roll.
I should have known from the moment I sat down on the plane next to two cute little 21 year old's who were doing vodka shots, I was in trouble. One was saying she needed to get her nails did (which had yellow tips, by the way), and the other was telling me how great Vegas is because "You can smoke anywhere!" I wanted to tell her, "Smoking is very bad for you," but I saved my Mommy pep talk for another time.
All the girls arrived at the airport, and the timing could not have been better. I anxiously waited for my suitcase at the baggage claim. As more and more passengers from my flight collected their belongings and rolled off to get drunk, or gamble all of their money away, I stood there. Waiting. Until I was the last one left. Of course, this was just my luck!! My first weekend away in FORever, and my bag was lost.
How, oh how, would all that sequined hooker gear, glitter, and high heels be replaced? The Southwest assistant, assured me, "As soon as your bag arrives, we will deliver it to your hotel."
I wanted to scream at him, "DO YOU KNOW THAT I STARTED PACKING MY GLITTER AND SHORT DRESSES A WEEK AGO? DO YOU KNOW HARD IT IS TO FIND COMFORTABLE STILETTOS IN A GOD DAMN SIZE 10?"
But I didn't. I held back tears, and soldiered on.
And the girls were great about it. In fact, come to think of it, when we arrived at the hotel, no one dared even unpack their bag because I think they were afraid I would spontaneously combust. Instead, we went shopping "just in case" I would need a dress for that night. We were quickly schooled on the symptoms of alcohol poisoning when out of a gaggle of young drunk guys ahead of us, one hit the deck with his HEAD on the marble floor, and then started bleeding.
Again, I wanted to shout out, "THAT is NOT being SAFE!" But I held back, and just watched in horror, as this guy's "friends" loaded him into a wheelchair to go get more drinks. "That's not cool," we said to them. WTF? Crazy!
Just then, my phone rang. Lo and behold, my bag was found. Glory and hallelujah on high! I have never felt so much relief in my life. I mean, unless you count the time I delivered the twins, and they were finally out of my body.
Anyways, the progression of debauchery basically started from there, and the weekend went somewhat like this:
Thursday night was spend at Studio 54, and Rok; two clubs where ladies get in and drink for free before 12. There is no mistake. You read that right. A man I'll refer to as, The Leprechaun, tried to spin me on the dance floor. I had to tell that small little man, "DO NOT spin me, or I will squish you like a bug, thank you." We got home around 3 o'clock in the morning.
Friday was spent at Walgreen's investing large sums of money in band aids and protective Dr.Scholl's goods. After one night in heels, most of our feet were toast. We hung by the pool. And then rallied for another night out at The Venetian for dinner, and Club Tao. We met another small little man there named Bruno. He was nice and let us sit on his couch, because by this point, we could no longer walk, and had resorted to hobbling. By the time we got home it was 4:30 am, and we thought our Bobcat would need a pinkie toe amputation. As Ella yelled at us, "WASH YOUR FEET", I stared in horror at Bobcat's little toe. I had never seen anything so purple, and swollen, and angry. I wanted to help Bobcat by draining those blisters, but I wasn't strong enough. Cornell stepped in and took care of business, while French Gulch prepared yummy grilled cheese sandwiches. If you haven't guessed already, we had all gained a nick name by this point. However, I still have too much mind fog to remember what mine was.
By the time Saturday rolled around, we decided to start our evening with a show at The Wynn, followed by yet another night of clubbing, at Surrender. By now, we broke the code, and figured out how to get our names on the guest list. No line. No pay. THAT's what I'm talken about. We got home by 3 am.
I have never experienced anything like Vegas in all my life. We rallied. We owned that town. We were Cougars on the prowl. With one Bobcat, to boot. I spent time with my besties. And I met two women who I am now honored to call my friends.
I'll never forget that before I left, my girlfriend warning me, "You are going to be out until 4 or 5 in the morning." I shrugged her off, and said, "No way. I never even did that in college. I won't be able to hang."
But you do. Cause it's Vegas, baby!
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