Grow out loud

…and why I don’t.

My “Aunt Mary Catherine” flower

I am very aware my social media presence is a source of contention. But I have a few good reasons.

First, it’s unsafe. Constant posting is triangulated to where you work, what you do, who you interact with, how you spend your time, your associations, your family members, etc. And I resent the fact I can be triangulated using someone else’s social media. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t agree to it.

Second, along the same lines as numero uno, it unfairly creates a profile of my family, notably family members without social media, especially those too young to engage in it. They should never be held to whatever standard I inadvertently created for them in a growing digital world. Employees, educators, and acquaintances have access to them. And it can be used against them. Just no.

Third, growth happens in private. Behind closed doors. Recognition of growth is admirable, celebrated. I’m all for it! But not at the expense of what quietly achieving my goals is worth to me. So I’ll share the nuggets, the brief glimpses, but the big reveal comes when I’m ready, comfortable with the outcome. Not as a response to what I “should” post.

Not posting has nothing to do with shame, or hiding. For me, it’s all about protection of my peace, my family, and my growth. Conversation with others happens when electronic devices are silenced, the focus shifts, and real connection is made. It’s a hard lesson – to be willing to escape societal norms but I’m finally starting to understand it’s where real peace lies.

And wherever there is peace is where I want to be.

_____________________

I ask you –

How often do you post on social media?

Do you inadvertently (or intentionally) post family members?

(The post Grow out loud first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

99 Years Young

Truly, I believe everyone has those showstopper moments. Those moments in life so powerful they could bring you to your knees, and they run the gamut of emotions. Joy, pain, sorrow, grief. The list is endless.

Aunt Mary Catherine is my showstopper. I’m sure I could name other people or experiences with similar ease yet she was my first. And dare I say best.

These photos mean everything to me. “If pictures were possessions, these would be my most coveted.” I never want to forget the feel of her hand in mine. I never want to forget her smile. I never want to forget the recognition in her eyes despite the inability to verbalize my name. The feel of her lips against my hand as she kissed it countless times, the feel of her soft cheeks against my own lips, the numerous I love you’s back and forth. The love I have for her nearly brings me to tears. But all I could do was smile.

As her voice now fades to a whisper, I promise her to sing with my whole heart, the beautiful, showstopping baritone voice she has but only a memory in my mind. Yet, when I sing, I lift my voice as strongly as hers.

Although some of her sentences were the ramblings of years of thoughts and memories which have become tumbled onto endless paths, her eyes are still so alive with important things to share, observations of an intelligent woman who still desires to serve others.

And her sense of humor is off the charts. She offered to get up from her wheelchair to let me “use the car”. She also said “I reckon we could leave but they might catch us”. Fortunately for the women in my family, and unfortunately for the men, we tend to outlive our counterparts, spouses, and anybody with testosterone.

But if you ask me about the most profound thing she said, I’d tell you this: “I’m waiting on my husband to come get me. He says I’m not done here yet.” Selfishly, I want her here 99 more years. As impossible as it is, every moment with her is a blessing and she is the true heart of love I envisioned when naming mini. My showstoppers.

———————

I ask you –

Who is your showstopper?

Who is the oldest living person in your family?

(The post 99 Years Young first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

I Sit Alone

I’ve started, restarted, paused, abandoned, and now wait for the finality of a draft post, titled The Day I Had Coffee with Her. Some time ago, there was a social media trend of the same title, basically stating what you would tell your younger self. A few posts that came across my feed were very deep, mentioning trauma and abuse, while some just shared encouraging memories. I jumped on the proverbial wagon, but I didn’t finish it. Yet.

In a way, this is my homage to the unfinished post.

I sit alone. And I am unafraid. Never lonely. Yet alone. Some events make me question myself. Some even bring back very tough memories or experiences. Some I thought I was over. Turns out I’m not. So I sit alone with the pain.

Even when the fear ebbs and wanes, I am unafraid. Fear is psychological and I am aware of my limitations, my weaknesses, my inability to turn away from feeling it. Fear is not failure. And words do not own me. So I protect me by sitting alone.

Those old patterns are tempting. Too easy to return to my old ways. But I know every curve in the road, every pothole waiting to derail me. Swerve. I sit alone, in the driver’s seat, in control.

It’s lonely at the top. When the decisions rest on my shoulders and hard news is hard on everyone. I sit alone, pondering how much easier it would have been to gloss over the truth, to abandon what must be said. I could invite others to sit with me. Yet the consequences are far too great. I sit alone out of self-respect.

I’m not sorry for choosing to sit alone, when the choice is mine. I’m not a failure for sitting alone when the choice is made for me. Sitting is an opportunity to rest. And no one knows me better than me. So I sit alone.

________________

I ask you –

Are you familiar with the “Coffee with Her” trend?

(The post I Sit Alone first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Ten!

We celebrated 10 years! Instead of the traditional party, we made a quick trip to DFW to eat, shop, and generally create chaos. Success! With cash in hand, Mini made good choices and reckless choices, but her “loot” (as she calls it) was quite satisfying.

A fabulous brunch at The Brunch District in Addison. Truly a best kept secret. Mini’s Eggs Benedict stole the show. Once a girl who avoided anything considered spicy, she has opened her mind and taste buds to new things…and a taste for simple spicy.

We drank a lot of coffee. Of course. The Ninja Kids Adventure Park was also a hit.

And we shopped until we nearly dropped. Better than a party, in my opinion, and so much fun. The experience was worth the drive, the stormy weather, and the very late arrival home.

My sweet 10-yr-old is a happy, kind, beautiful, strong, young lady with an appreciation for fun and chaos. Her wide smile is shared with everyone. And her critical opinions are both humorous and fearsome. As some would say, she’s a hoot!

___________________

I ask you –

Tell me your favorite birthday memory!

(The post Ten! first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Outtakes, episode 10 (in progress)

On my birthday weekend, Mini outdid herself! She ran a 5k with me, she finally showed up to help me with the short disciples, and she found a new bathing suit! All tougher than they look.

A whole photo shoot, courtesy of mini.

For 3.14, we celebrated Pie Day with a 5k and pie! Any excuse to eat pie is a good one in my book, so I didn’t need convincing. Mini chose blueberry pie, which we both enjoyed. She came in first in her age group…and now that I’m in a new age bracket (40-49) I also placed first in my age group!

The following week I managed 2 runs, twice as many as achieved nearly the entire month prior. Now, to keep the streak alive.

Not much for this post. Hope you all have an amazing day!

________________

I ask you –

If you like pie, what is your favorite? Aunt Mary Catherine’s blueberry pie.

(The post Outtakes, episode 10 first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Cheers to 40 Years

Mini’s got jokes

When I tell you I thought the week leading up to 40 (not 50 as mini would have you believe) was difficult, even the word difficult doesn’t capture how trying it was.

I’d like to think I’m prepared for anything. But when a situation stops you dead in your tracks and you are forced to navigate your own emotions, moving away from those emotions is like falling without a parachute. Though I wouldn’t exactly know. Never could I be prepared for the adrenaline dump. It’s a moment like this I’m thankful for others who checked on me, who let me take a minute to breathe, who were gentle with me. Living should never be taken lightly. And asking the really really really hard questions is not for the faint of heart. My title isn’t free. It comes with a heavy cost and, although I’m living a career dream come true, the title is paid for in blood, sweat, and tears.

On a more lighthearted note, this cake makes the toughest days a little brighter.

Lemon blueberry cake, courtesy of Tanto

So do beautiful flowers –

Muse love

And the real reason for all the shenanigans –

Spare Parts and I

40!

She and I received so many messages, calls, texts, and a visit from her sweet grandbaby! Our families and friends made today extra special. If this is 40, I’m a big fan!

________________

I ask you –

Do you celebrate your birthday or is it just another day?

(The post Cheers to 40 Years first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Outtakes, episode 9 + Hobbies

For all my complaining the past few weeks about my helper moving on, away from me, the very next session included only 3 short disciples. And they weren’t even my own child! Just 3. Tres. All girls. It was chat time central that day.

lights are on, no one is home

The following weekend they bribed someone to help me. I’m convinced.

Once again mini-less and it was the wildest group ever. I even had to raise my voice once. Trust me, it’s not pretty when I do.

Next topic.

I like to play a little game called Mind Charades. It’s awful. Your brain tells you how many words, anywhere from 1 to 1 billion, you spend upwards of 1/2 the day trying to figure out the word(s), then completely forget what you were thinking so hard about remembering. Welcome to my life. It’s fun here.

Our local arts council has a workshop series titled “Granny Hobbies” and the snort which exited me would have made a farm animal proud. Can you imagine. The workshops include learning to crochet, acrylic painting, and other fun hobbies. I think I have a leg up, though, because my hobby is more self taught than classically trained – puzzling! Next month is my 40th birthday and my granny hobby is well underway!

Mini also has granny hobbies as evidenced by the amount of yarn and crochet hooks perilously perched on every surface. She comes by it honestly because Parts is also a granny, literally and figuratively. When did we become such hobbyists?

And on hobbies … drums, round 2 is going swimmingly! My skills are growing, I (try to) practice 2x/week, and I’m loving the new lessons. I’m sure it doesn’t help my mind charades when I constantly chant one-eeeh-and-uh, two-eeeh-and-uh, etc. As our lessons are being taught by someone with both classic training and self-taught principles, the mix is beneficial. Will I ever be the drum soloist I aspire to be? Eh, here goes nothing.

________________

I ask you –

Share your most recent experience with forgetfulness. If you can remember.

(The post Outtakes, episode 9 + Hobbies first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Outtakes, episode 8

Not our usual background, but we both love this color so much!

In a turn of events, the adult helper I’m usually paired with has decided she can’t stand me and has resigned from her position. It’s not you, it’s me. Kidding. Halfway. She has resigned, but assured me it was not my fault. Like all nice people would say. So it was just me, solo, alone, in the midst of wild children, again. Somehow we all survived because, if you will recall, serving solo has become a pattern.

To think people trust me with their children is surprising yet not. I worked with kids for a long time, and aren’t adults just oversized children anyway? Do you know what is difficult? Getting hired as an adjunct professor! Countless submissions, hours of searching – still nothing. Not a single hit. I’m not sure what the hiring committees are looking for, but I don’t have it (or I don’t know how to market it). I really underestimated the challenges of applying to teach.

Meanwhile, I’m keeping upwards of 13 young people alive, well, and engaged. Shouldn’t this count for something?

________________

I ask you –

Do you have any suggestions for professorship?

(The post Outtakes, episode 8 first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Growing up, maybe with friends

Photo by Bu00fcu015fra u015e on Pexels.com

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I love this question, especially when it’s posed to adults at any stage in their life. A simple reminder not to take life too seriously. You can start again! And again! And again! It reminds me of a meme I cannot find at the moment where an adult says ‘no one asked me how fast I can run in my new shoes. This is BS! (baloney sandwich)’.

Side note. In my house, we say baloney sandwich for the (obviously) BS. Mini always replies with affirmation that she knows what it really means. At this point, I just say it for my own affirmation of her innocence. Denial, anyone?

Focus, Kel.

The hilarity of mentioning growing up to an adult has many giggle-worthy images. You can fill in your own blank.

Side bar. How to not make friends.

Step 1. Trauma-dump your life story within the first 2 encounters. Step 2. See step 1.

Just don’t! Also, don’t invade my personal space. Don’t capture my phone number from a well-meaning person. And, don’t invite me to meet your friends. I am sure they are lovely people, but if this is how you also met them…I have reservations.

I really need to work with mini on not blowing my cover. She’s the worst. Loudly, “hey mom, why are you avoiding them?!” Me: “Shhhhh!”

_____________________

I ask you –

What steps should others not take to become your friend?

(The post Growing up, maybe with friends first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Fern Made Me Do It

Obviously written during Winter Storm Fern –

As we roll (ahem, slide) into another snow day, is this day 2 or 3?, I confront my own anxiety and fear. I have wished it away. I have sought spiritual intervention. I have pretended it does not exist. But, there is not enough anxiety medication at the nearest pharmacy to get me into a moving vehicle and out on ice/snow-covered roads. Alas, I stay at home, in the safety of my four walls. ‘Tis rather nice here and I’m still productive.

Besides, snow days are meant to keep people off the roads so safety and emergency personnel can do their job. I am supporting their mission! But I can’t help it. 6 days at home is a bit much.

On day 4, we considered unfolding the treadmill. Quickly vetoed, instead I paced the house for approximately 11,000 steps. On day 5, I forgoe’d the pacing, resolving to complete an actual workout the next day AND…dun dun dunnnnnn…go outside!

2 miles outside, dodging the slippery spots, was glorious! I didn’t want to come back inside. But there’s where the coffee lives.

Day 5, I completed a workout with mini. As in, she actually did the entire workout with me. Zero complaining. She tried very hard, she amazed me!

photo, at her request

Overall productivity: I cleaned up 7,914 old emails, I deleted all 11 voicemails, and I organized my teams folders. Now I can’t find anything.

Did I “enjoy” the long, long unexpected time “off”? Yes. Do I wish to do this again anytime soon? Not so much.

________________________

I ask you –

What was the most amount of time you’ve been home due to weather?

(The post Fern Made Me Do It first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)