Someone Posted Something on Facebook & Actually Changed My Mind

So Hugh Hefner died this week.  He was 91.  I found out he died when I turned my phone on after my flight landed.  I just arrived home from two very long days of travel and meetings and I was pretty dang tired.  I posted this:

I suppose I romanticized him when I heard he had died because I immediately realized he was the same age as my Nanny that died this year.  Anyways, I saw the news when I turned on my phone as soon as we landed and then posted this while the airplane was rolling to the gate, so obviously I put exactly zero thought into him, his life or my own real opinions on the matter.  I just liked the quote and thought it was fitting for someone that had just crossed over to the other side.


The following day, a Facebook friend posted this:

(I cropped this to protect her privacy)

And I thought, holy shit, she's right.  I'm totally a hypocrite.  I sat on these feelings for a day and now I want to come clean.  I take back my romanticized notion of him empowering women and place him just a few notches above our President ...someone that doesn't really respect women for more than a hot piece of ass.  Sad to me that one of the most successful media moguls in modern times and the fucking President of the United States of America would both only give my daughters the time of day if they were perceived to be hot enough.  Gross.  

The reason I place him slightly above the President in terms of "women friendliness" is because he did help normalize sexuality.  He made it more acceptable for women to own their sexiness.  Some may argue otherwise, but to put it out there the way he did had an obvious impact on the sexual revolution.  He also supported sex education, women's reproductive rights and the movement to normalize and make birth control available to the masses.  We could argue that these were self serving initiatives (his ladies learned how to give blowies and couldn't get knocked up) but regardless of the motivation, these BIG controversial topics needed an advocate and his voice and the weight of his influence certainly didn't hurt matters.  

Anyways, the point of this little write up is to thank my for FB friend for posting what she did (you know who you are) and to say that, although it doesn't happen often, I CAN admit when I'm wrong.  And in this case it felt important to eat crow publicly.  Facebook posts almost never make anyone change their minds in matters of politics, religion or social matters, but in this case that's exactly what happened. 

I Googled My Dead Dad

Yup, I googled my dad.  Weird right? I mean, a week from today he'll have been dead for exactly 11 years.  I'll be visiting my best friend Amy in Atlanta on "that day" next week and I'll be sitting in her driveway having a beer with her, watching our kids play, toasting both of our deceased dads. It really is impossible to fathom that it's been 11 years.  But last week I randomly found myself googling his name.  I'm not sure what I was looking for.  Just something.  Anything really.  I guess I was looking for some proof that the world hadn't completely forgotten him.  He died before social media was really a thing and he was "computer challenged" .  He was a blue collar worker after all, so he didn't spend his days on a computer.  Mom taught him enough to burn CDs on her computer.  His love of music outweighed his lack of computer skills.  He made us all CDs with compilations of his favorite songs and artists.  He wrote the contents of the CD on the CD itself.    I love that they have his handwriting.

Anyways, I googled him and it was heartbreaking.  Mostly because there wasn't much to find except for various versions of his death announcement.  This particular one stopped me in my tracks.   I love his handsome senior photo.  I think what paralyzed me is the part that says "he came to rest in the southbound lane".   Shit.  Of course I knew he came off the bike when he hit the deer and that he sustained serious injuries.  I mean, hello?  He did die from the whole mess.  But I guess I hadn't thought about exactly where he "came to rest" - the southbound lane of Highway 131 at milepost 18 in Eagle County, CO.  And I hadn't before considered exactly how the bike went spinning.  I guess I knew all of this, I just hadn't read it all strung together like this.  It's all so vivid and violent in my head now. 11 freaking years later and today it feels fresh.   Weird how it's been so long and things are still making me realize this was real.  That it actually happened.  That he is for real gone.   But something about visualizing him laying in that southbound lane...it's very fresh all over again.  Fuck.  My mom and sister have both been to visit that place.  I have not.  Yet.  Not sure I want to.  Even though it's the last place he was, it's not where he is.

I'd like to point out that this little article makes a point to mention he was not wearing a helmet and he sustained serious head injuries.  Dude - he hit a deer going probably 50-60 mph on a motorcycle.  It saddens me to say that the helmet would not have helped.  Even if it had, he would have still been left in a terrible state and he always said he wouldn't want to live like that.  Although I don't discount helmets and everyone should wear one.

Googling him got me to thinking.   At first I was upset that there wasn't much to find.  That in this electronic age, he didn't have a footprint.  It's like he wasn't here at all.  I pondered on that for a few days.  But that's a lie.  His real life footprint was huge for those that loved him.  Look, he wasn't a saint. I feel like when we write about him, it's like he's been sainted.  Listen, he was far from perfect.  He did some stupid shit in his day (like not wearing a helmet when riding his motorcycle).  But he was ours and he was perfect for us.  Fuck the electronic footprint.  That doesn't mean we are here any more than the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is here.  It's what we do in real life that matters.  He was here, along with so many others that died before the social media and internet age. They were here. They mattered.

Every year I say this is the last year I'm going to write about him.  That it's time.  That nobody wants to read about this depressing shit anymore.

But then that feels a little like letting the world forget.  And I don't want to do that either.

Working Out Again

I went to my first work out class in years.  Seriously y'all.  Yearrrrrrs.  But 40 is staring me down and I have a goal to hit before that milestone birthday.  So here go my adventures in working out.

My sister is all about home workouts and I got a program from her, but I lack motivation.  We did it some, but it just didn't work for me.  My home is far from being free of distractions.  I already get up crazy early for work (5am), so getting up even earlier to work out in my living room, where my kids will surely hear me and wake up isn't ideal.  And when I get home in the evening, I'm busy doing dinner, a little play time with the kids, cleaning up dinner, some chores, bath time, bed time...you know, ALL THE THINGS.  By the time I get my crazy kids settled locked upstairs, I'm gassed out and ready for bed myself.

My solution was to join the gym near work, get up at the same time as always but instead of getting fully ready, just get in the car and drive to work.  The commute is 1000x faster at that ungodly hour, so I get downtown in time for the 5:30am class and just get ready for work in the locker room. Upside is NO TRAFFIC (can I get an amen?), downside is locker room and shower shoes take me back to living in dorms.  Gross.

DAY 1:
My first class was called CXWork at Gold's gym.  It's only 30 minutes.  I can do anyhting for 30 minutes, right? Well clearly I looked out of place because the instructor pegged me immediately and asked "are you new?"  Well yes, yes I am.  What gave me away...the spare tire around my belly?  The fear in my eyes?  My confused look about what the ever-loving shit are all the things people have laid out before them and was I supposed to bring them?  Do I need to go buy this crap?   The instructor then kindly guided me to some secret side area where all the said crap was kept (a mat, a free weight and a bungee band thingy with handles - I'm sure there are proper names for these things, but I don't know them).  She was all "we have 5, 10, or 15 pound weights.  Which would you prefer?"  Ummmm, 5 please.  I'm here lady, but let's not get carried away.  Also, I wanted to spray it all down with my Thieves Spray.  Ewwww.  But alas, I have a bikini goal so I got over the grodies.

I went to the back of the room with all the things and set up behind everyone else,  who I was certain had all been going for years and could probably teach the damn routines.  How I can go from a self-assured confident women to a sheepish, insecure neophyte is beyond me.  But there I was, feeling very nervous about being able to follow along.

Now look, I've always considered myself athletic and coordinated.  I played sports growing up and I was pretty good at them.  I played left wing in soccer up through my sophomore year of high school (I had always been right wing until my super amazing coach Gary Wilson convinced me to try lefty at some point and I scored my first time out with a strong left foot), I played 2nd base in softball and was always in the top of the batting lineup.  Then I was a cheerleader in high school that danced and tumbled and stunted.  Cheering was basically non-stop aerobics and cardio.  I say all of this to say I have been athletic and coordinated my entire life.  OK, OK "entire life" is a stretch...my entire life up until 18.  That was a long time ago, but I was good at stuff.  I also say all of this to say that just because you were once all of these things, that don't mean shit now!

Planks - who the f*ck made these a thing.  Good God!  And the bungee tube thingy with handles - zero control.  I mean I had zero frickin' control.  It was snapping all over the place, making it totally obvious that I was 1. new and 2. totally uncoordinated.   Picture Phoebe running but with tubes.  HOT MESS EXPRESS.  The damn thing wouldn't stay under my feet like everyone else.  Clearly I don't have the prowess for this advanced level of shit yet.

Remember when i said "I can do anything for 30 minutes", well, I was wrong.  I CAN NOT do that tube shit.  But I stuck it out because even if no longer coordinated, I am still highly competitive and deem myself "not a quitter" so I finished the class.


BodyPump:
So the next workout was a class called BudyPump.  I didn't read the description.  I figured it was some kind of high energy (pumped up) cardio class.  I knew it would be painful, but was ready to face it head on.  I parked at work then walked the 3 blocks to the gym as I did the day before. It was still pitch black outside, as it tends to be at 5:30 in the frickin' morning and this new routine renders me terrified of all the, um, street people waking from their stupors to ask me for stuff but a little jog  running for your life before class is a good warm up right?  Anyways, as I approached the gym I slowed my panicked run down and noticed I could see inside the class windows as other early risers got all their equipment ready for class.  Great!  A new class with more equipment I know nothing about. I peeked in closer and they all had barbels in front of them.  With weights....lots and lots of big weights on them.    Wait, what?!  WHAT?  My friend Christie had mentioned that she attended this class sometimes but made no mention of weights.  I was apparently so scared of this that I turned right around and ran back to my office past all the mumbling/waking homeless .  I felt a little defeated and like a quitter, but whatever.  My office building does have a workout facility with some stuff, so I went and used one of the treadmills so the morning wasn't a total loss.


BodyPump Round 2:
I asked Christie to escort me to the BodyPump class to help me navigate the weights situation.  I wanted to try to go again, but I needed backup.  I convinced her to wake at the crack of dawn (she's soooooo not an early bird) to meet me there and show me the way.  It actually wasn't as scary as I had made it out to be once she got me all set up.  It was hard for sure, but I felt good afterward.

PiYo:
OK, so I was majorly sore from the BodyPump workout but didn't want to skip 2 days in a row.  You see, I missed the day after that BodyPump class because Lucy Bell had woken in the middle of the night and ended up in our bed.  When my alarm went off at 4:45, she begged me to stay in bed and cuddle her more.  I challenge you to say no to that!

Anyways, the only class on the following day (which is today actually) was PiYo.  Confession:  I've never done Yoga or Pilates.  I have yoga pants for sure, but I've never actually done it. In my head, this would be a class full of stretching and poses and low impact and just what all my very, very, very sore muscles needed. WRONG.  Hollleeeeeeyyyyy shit.  That was harder than the BodyPump.  I was happy to walk in and see no equipment in front of all the other attendees other than a mat.  I'm always happy with those damn bungee cords aren't involved.  But oh my goodness, I was not prepared for that.  It was INTENSE.  And the intensity combined with my all over soreness was a recipe for disaster.  I was shaking and wobbling and embarrassingly failing at ALL OF IT.  It was an hour class and in the first 5 minutes I began hatching a plan to pretend I had to leave for a meeting at the 30 min mark.  No way I would survive an hour of this.  But alas, I stuck it out.  I thought for sure my legs would buckle under me at any given moment, but they didn't fail me.  I mean, they barely got me back to work and to my car to go home (I sweat way more than I planned and didn't bring my shower stuff), but my legs are in fact still attached to my body, so I'll call it a win.

My big take aways from these classes are:

1. I am so very out of shape
2. I am so very uncoordinated 
3. I am so very unflexible

Good news is I am able bodied and can rectify all of these things.   In the meantime, I'll be nursing my sore muscles with some things that Mother Nature made.  Well actually, she didn't make them, she just provided the ingredients and some smart people at my fav oily company Young Living put them all together for me.  My recovery kit includes:

1. Epsom salt soaks with essential oils or the new bath bombs from Young Living 
2. Deep Relief
3. PanAway (comes in the new member kit)
4. Cool Azul Pain Cream 
5. Ortho Sport Massage Oil

You can get all of these things here if you're interested.

Stay tuned for more updates on my work out adventures.  There are a few classes I have tried yet so there are certainly more opportunities for me to look like a new born giraffe that doesn't know how her legs work.

#3 That Will Never Be

I just realized if I got pregnant TODAY, I would not have the baby until well after my 40th birthday. And 40 was always my personal cut off.  Not sure why.  It seemed like a nice, round, whole number.  It really is just an arbitrary finish line, I guess.   Somewhere along the way I decided that 40 was it for my eggs and so it became gospel.  But it hasn't really been an issue because we were lucky enough to have two babies in a row and knocked the baby making out of the way.  We decided we were done.  Well, we actually said "Dang these babies are awesome and if we'd met sooner, married sooner and started this process sooner we'd have 10 of these but we're old and tired and broke and done".   We've had many discussions in the 3 years since Lucy was born, usually when we've been drinking and we know that's when your true feelings come out....  "Do we?  Should we? Could we?"

But alas, it was put to bed.  Done.  No more.

However somewhere in the back of my head lived baby #3.  He's just been hanging out back there, like a little angel on my shoulder saying "hey, what about me?"

Yes, I said HE.  His name has been chosen since I became pregnant with Ellis.  That pregnancy was actually a twin pregnancy and I was convinced it was two boys and that I would be a boy mom.. Cannon Christopher and Ellis something.  Cannon and Ellis.  My mom's maiden name and my maiden name.  Christopher is Jade's middle name and went perfectly with Cannon but we didn't have a middle name for boy Ellis.  I was brainstorming other names from Jade's family we could incorporate as the middle name but then we didn't need it.  We lost one twin and the surviving baby was a girl...our perfect Ellis Rene.  Then 13 months later Lucy Bell was born.  Turns out I am NOT a boy mom.  I'm a total girl mom.

Cannon still sits in the back my head, whispering to me and making me daydream about a third baby.  In all actuality, our third baby would probably be another clone girl baby and we'd have another feisty little lady with big eyes and fair skin.  Another independent, opinionated woman in the making. Just like we like 'em ;)  Because that's what we make.

Anyways, I've daydreamed about him/her all this time, thinking....well maybe.  I'm not 40 yet.

But then BAM.  I just realized freakin' 40 is less than a baby away.  So I  just had the epiphany that I actually have already hit that made up finish line.  I mean, we were not planning on having anymore.  But the finality of that declaration feels sad to me.  I will never again know the excitement of telling Jade I'm pregnant.  I will never again know that little fluttering feeling of new life growing.  I'm so not romanticizing pregnancy, because it sucked.  Bad.  I was so sick for the first 18-20 weeks both times.  But also it is so amazing.  The human body, more specifically, the female body, really is incredible don't you think?  We can grow people!  That's really just mind blowing when you think about it.


So I'm kind of sad.  I'm saying goodbye to the baby that didn't really ever exist except for in my mind.  And in my heart.

But also, SLEEP!  I know it's coming.  Those mystical nights I hear people talk about where your precious clone babies sleep all damn night, every damn night.  I'm not sure when, but I just know it must be coming!

*****Please note - if you're 40 and haven't started yet, please don't let my words make you feel any kind of way.  If I hadn't had these babies yet, knowing what I know now about how they make my heart feel full and complete and so, so dang happy, there wouldn't be a cut off age.  Hell, have babies at 50!  You do you!

Tell Them I Said Hi

Some of my earliest memories are of spending time with my grandparents.  We were fortunate to have all 4 grandparents still alive when we were growing up.  And still married to each other.  And our parents were still married.  To each other.  And we all lived in the same suburb of Dallas.  Carrollton was our own little Camelot.  All of this is quite unusual these days, but for me, it was the reality of my childhood.  The Norman Rockwellesqueness (is that even a word) of my childhood is not lost on me.  Very middle class Americana stuff.

My dad’s parents, my Nanny and Papaw, and my mom’s parent’s, Granny and Grandad, were weekly fixtures in our lives.   Family dinners, church, soccer games, overnights at their houses…all of it.  They were all four at all of it.  Papaw died in 2002.  Grandad in 2012.  Nanny died today.  

Papaw was ornery and smart and determined but compassionate and generous and loving.  He grew up one of 12 kids in poor, rural Oklahoma, joined the Navy, got a college degree on the GI bill and worked as air traffic controller first at Love Field, then at DFW.  He was tight with his money in all areas except when it came to his grandkid’s education.  He believed in education.  

Grandad was less educated, but equally as poor from Arkansas.  He made up for his lack of formal education with work ethic and blue collar skills.  Found his way to Dallas, found my Granny and married her as quick as he could.  So quick it would be scandalous by today’s standards.  He was funny and sarcastic and loved music.  He would sing “Lord have mercy, Kelly’s got her blue jeans on” to the tune of an old country song I giggled and laughed each time.  He loved us all as fiercely as a cuddly teddy bear can.  He also tolerated Granny’s love of chotskies and knickknacks in a way that only true love could.   

My grandfathers were part of the greatest generation.  I miss them, but have gotten used to talking about them in past tense.  

And now I have to get used to talking about Nanny in the past tense.  Our family is no stranger to loss and it’s not like I’m in shock over the end of a 90 year life.  She lived a long and storied life.  A full life. But damn, I’m sad.  And I know why.  She was one of the last remaining things that connected me to my dad.   Since he died in 2006, she seemed even more precious to me.  Of course I always loved her and appreciated having her (and all of my grandparents) in my life but she’s become somewhat of a crutch in the journey of grief over losing my dad.  It was kind of like as long as she was still here, the woman than grew him, made him, birthed him, raised him, then part of him was still here too.  He came from her.  Now she’s gone.  And the last physical connection, the last earthly piece of him is gone.

Nanny was born in 1926 as Allie Christeen Griffin.  Two Es.  She went by Chris.  She dropped the name Allie after hearing her mother say once when introducing her as a young girl “Allie…you know, like an alley cat”.   Nanny has experienced more loss in her life than any one person should have to experience.  She lost her father as a young girl, her mother as a teenager.  Life was not easy.  Years later, she’d lose countless friends, her husband, her sister and then the biggest blow, her son.  My dad.  But her faith was always strong, never wavering.  She lived alone for years after Papaw died until she couldn’t.  Then she eventually moved to Nevada to live with her daughter.  My dad’s sister.  My aunt, Kim.  Kim and her husband have cared for her tirelessly.  These last years were not easy.  These last months were damn right cruel.     

Nanny was a quiet kind of strong.  To outsiders, she may have appeared meek and submissive to my Papaw.  But those of us in the inner circle knew who the boss was.  She was quiet, but when she spoke her opinion on something, he listened.   And for half my life I didn’t know this.  I didn’t know she ruled with a silent fist.   I just always thought they had a very traditional/old school marriage and Papaw was in charge because he was the loudest.  But I seriously love that in a time when a poor, orphaned female teen could have taken a very different path in life, she got the handsome husband, the two kids, the white picket fence AND she had a strong voice.    

I will miss her. 

I will miss her. 

I will miss her. 

I can’t say it enough.  I will miss her for her, but I will also miss that last connection to my dad.  I will forever regret not getting to see her one more time.  And I will forever wish I had met Jade sooner and had my kids sooner so she could know them, and they her.  She met Ellis only once.  She was tickled that we named her Ellis.  She never met Lucy Bell.  I am beyond sad for us.  But I am rejoicing for her as I know she’s in her happy place with her parents, sister, husband and son.  Nanny had told me years ago she didn't know why she was still here, that she was ready. And that gives me peace.

I’ll see you when I get there Nanny, tell them all I said hi!   I'm sure you had quite the welcome committee.

One last thing...I guess you timed it to see dad again on what would have been his 45th wedding anniversary with mom....pretty neat.