READING BETWEEN THE PINES

I’ve always been a glass half full kind of person with a world view that skews toward the brighter side of life. Now, thanks to the northern light-like glow of filters, editing, and effects, that perspective is exponentially enhanced. Sort of.

Too often, we present our perfectly angled poses to the world and broadcast them on a social media stage that allows us to tell our story in our voice to our audience. The beautiful vacation. The accomplished children. The enviable life. And yet, so much of it is fiction.

What mom doesn’t look like this when she heads out the door to pick up the kids?

So I’m gonna get real.

Last summer, my husband and I took our three children to dinner to celebrate our 20^th wedding anniversary. I was tired, (what brilliant mind paired teenagers with menopause?) and as argumentative voices grew louder from the back seat, my fuse shortened in the front.

As we pulled up to the restaurant, my husband frustrated, me exhausted, and the kids oblivious, I lost it. In a full-on meltdown no filter could fix, I told the kids to walk two blocks to McDonald’s for dinner, and I refused to go into the restaurant. For reasons both inside and outside our car, ones that had everything and nothing to do with its occupants, I completely shut down.

YOU go have dinner with the creepy clown. I’m doing shots at the bar.

I questioned the decision to bring the kids at all. I mean, they weren’t even there when we got married and really? Why did we feel the need to have so many of them?

As a I cried, my husband began to put the pieces of our celebration back together. He pulled the kids aside and whispered threatening words of wisdom that changed their course. He wiped away my tears and reminded me why, 20 years ago, we decided to start this journey together in the first place. We made our way to the table, started creating memories instead of ruining them, and the night ended on a high note.

And that’s the point in time that I showed the world, via Facebook, the next day. Our best side. The happy family. The ideal minus the real.

Would you guess I was at DEFCON 5 and in full ugly cry face about an hour before this photo was taken?

No one’s perfect. Not you. Not me. I love meaningful moments, yet I wonder how much deeper life could be if we shared the backstory behind the fairytale ending. If we sometimes connected through our misses, not just our hits, and removed our carefully placed filters to expose our messy and complicated, yet beautiful selves. 

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepinesconnection.com.

Sometimes, on a day that’s not so lucky, life can punch you right in the face. Hard. And change your trajectory forever. One minute you’re standing tall, smiling at the sun and soaking in its warm flood of love, and the next you’re flat on your back, face in the dirt in stunned silence, wondering what happened and why everything suddenly went dark.

If life’s dealt you a difficult blow, you know these moments are as real and raw as it gets. They burn with an indescribable intensity, and the pain lingers for a collection of minutes and days that are often too deep and long to count.

Many times, bad things happen not because we deserve them, but due in large part to timing. A change in plans. A slight move right when you should have gone left. A split-second decision as subtle as a shift in the wind and as consequential as a seismic tremor.

And you find yourself asking a question that’s almost always answered with silence – Why?

Why me? Why now? Why not someone else? Why anyone?

Once you work through the initial shock of change, with the weary understanding that you can’t throw your gears in reverse and turn back time, what prevails, through minutes of clarity and moments of pain, is a tiny concept with enormous possibility. Hope.

Even if it can’t answer answers life’s clueless riddles, hope opens the door wide to the anticipation of better days ahead. It’s the antidote to fear and walks side-by-side with love. Hope feels good. It’s a tangible belief that you can hold onto. It has teeth. And it’s permeable. Malleable. Exponential. The more people who feel hope? The more it expands and grows. It floats and it flies, and when enough people grab hold? It soars.

I don’t believe bad things happen for a reason. They just happen. And when they do? Hope can light a path through a winding tunnel that seems like it has no end. Hope doesn’t solve problems, but given time and space, it can provide enough oxygen for that little flicker of light to start a fire, igniting a flame that helps create change. Change for the better, not for the worse. At least, I hope so.

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepinesconnection.com.

Last week, our family spent spring break in super-sunny Mexico, and I thought I’d impart my hard-earned wisdom with the hope that anyone reading this might be a little more savvy than we were on our first family trip south of the border. Because sharing is caring, even when it includes bodily fluids you won’t ever see on The Great British Bake Off, here are some tried and true tips to make sure you maximize your time on the beach and minimize your visits to the ER.

Episode 132: The Great British Bake Off team goes to Mexico!

Don’t spend more on tequila than you do on hand sanitizer.

The drinking age in Mexico isn’t 18. It’s actually “fresh out of the womb” so when you see a toddler stumbling around in a fake pair of Ray-Bans drinking a triple shot Mai Tai?  Look the other way.

Nothing says “cool kid” like mirrored Aviators and a cocktail.

The only Spanish words you really need to know are happy hour, ransom, and Pepto Bismol. 

Don’t let your kids out of your sight without LoJack-like tracking devices programmed to detect earthquakes, a spike in area crime activity, and excessive use of resort charging privileges at the swim-up bar.

Taking “Kids Club” to a whole new level!

Contracting norovirous is a great way to shed those extra vacation pounds overnight, so if you’re looking for a shortcut to weight loss via spending 24 straight hours over the toilet? Head to a small town and dive right into the raw sewage floating in the ocean. It’s like swimming with dolphins except all the marine life is dead and there aren’t any happy feels when you emerge from the water. Just a gritty film on your lips.

Only Kylie Jenner can make raw sewage lips a fashion statement.

Re the aforementioned norovirous, you’ll be back to your pre-vacation shape in no time even if you lose a little tooth enamel along the way.

Pay attention to tripadvisor, especially when it comes to food sanitation, cartels, and the best cities to contract flesh-eating diseases.

Street vendors are a great resource for sombreros, fake silver jewelry, and those weird Lucha Libre wrestling masks that are super-popular with kidnappers. Street vendors aren’t really the place to turn for raw food unless you know the aforementioned Spanish word for Pepto Bismol and if so? Go for it. 

If you’re walking down a dark alley late at night and see someone wearing one of these? Run.

Timeshare presentations are an awesome way to waste a sunny day indoors, so when the salespeople say “it’ll just take an hour” offer them some tasty oysters from yesterday’s norovirus excursion and you’ll be out of there in 10 minutes flat.

Always use the buddy system.

So that’s it. Mexico, with its limitless fun, gorgeous beaches, and captivating culture is a wonderful place to spend time with family and friends. Just make sure you coat your stomach with a gallon of Drano and enough activated charcoal to flush anything that goes into your body right back out. Happy Travels!

On a recent Monday morning, I impatiently stood at the front of a long post office line. With an internal clock calculating the minutes until I was late for my next stop, I wasn’t exactly the picture of poise and grace. As the woman behind the counter labored to keep up with the demand of a day better known as “the absolute last chance to deliver a Squatty Potty for my great aunt’s birthday without selling a kidney to get it there on time,” I huffed and fumed.

That’s not my great aunt, but isn’t she cute?

I’d like to say I was late to a high-stakes hostage negotiation where, without me, lives would be lost. But I was actually on my way to a tennis match. I was behind not so much due to this woman’s job execution, but because I went down the rabbit hole better known as “teen perp alert” on nextdoor.com when I should have been out the door. Nothing strikes fear in a mother of teen drivers like a video of some kid drag racing down the middle of Castle Pines Parkway that’s coincidentally shared with 1,400 communities and the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office. It’s mesmerizing, and luckily it was your kid, not mine.

This kid got 2,352 comments on nextdoor.com. OK not really, but should we launch a GoFundMe campaign to buy him a hood?

At the post office, the woman behind the counter struggled. I was unsympathetic. She was in a tough position, and as people left the line in frustration, I found myself in a place of sanctimonious strength. I let out my seasoned mom sigh. She rolled her eyes. I whispered, loudly, that her job wasn’t that hard. She accused me of being the reason why she couldn’t keep up. We were in a standoff, and as my turn at the counter finally came, I stared at her from a chasm of pronounced silence, intent on being the self-proclaimed winner.

Which I was. And it felt great. Until about 3.2 minutes later as I sat in my car and wondered why? Why did I need to win a battle with no reward? Why didn’t I take my ego out of the equation and acknowledge hers? Why couldn’t I have just been nice? Because that’s what I am most of the time. Nice.

I’d like to take my actions back, but I can’t. I’ve gone to the post office twice to apologize for my behavior, but she’s gone. And now, without the ability to say I’m sorry, I’m left with a loss that ultimately bears the fruit of one of the loneliest feelings in the world. Regret. It hurts, but regret is almost always the aftermath of a self-inflicted wound. Life doesn’t offer a do over card, no matter how much you want to pull it from your deck.

I keep trying to use this to get out of speeding tickets – so far no luck.

There’s no doubt that I’ll end up at the post office again, in line with not enough time and too much to do. And when that happens? I’m gonna keep my mouth shut, bury my face in my phone, and go right back down that rabbit hole.

***

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepineschamber.com.

It doesn’t matter what Elon Musk, the Ghost of Steve Jobs, or the five Chinese conglomerates that control the entire U.S. economy say. The self-driving car isn’t going to happen, ever, due to one glaring disruptor.

Costco’s parking lot on a Sunday afternoon.

Look familiar?

If you’ve been to Costco on the weekend you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s a fight or flight situation, and take it from me, that four foot long churro you’ve been craving since you popped last night’s Ambien isn’t worth risking your life. Instant gratification is great until you’re sideswiped by an octogenarian trying to text in his Lipitor prescription while simultaneously parking a 1988 land yacht in a space half its size.

Perfect fit!

Flatbeds loaded with enough bacon, booze, and 2-ply toilet paper to fill a Ford Focus careen from lane to lane. Customers who’ve lost their minds because Johnsonville ran out of free beer brat samples sprint haphazardly through the crosswalk. Drivers, panicked at the thought of paying $0.02 more per gallon down the street will cut you with a shiv to be 14^th in line for gas. The Costco parking lot simply isn’t safe for a seasoned driver, much less a driverless car.

Sunday Funday!

It would take an engineering feat from some combination of George Jetson, Andy Warhol, and Kanye West’s therapist to unscramble the traffic patterns at Costco because nothing makes sense. Not. One. Thing. So how does a computer operated vehicle perform the kind of split-second, logic-defying, three-point turn driving decisions that real people can’t seem to figure out? The answer’s simple. It doesn’t.

I’m riding with these guys.

The greatest engineers in the world can build an autonomous car, Bill Gates can fund it, and the Costco parking lot will singlehandedly destroy it. Game over before it begins.

So if you’re like me, cruising down the highway at a cool 90 mph blasting Adam Ant’s Goody Two Shoes while switching lanes every 10 seconds to find the fastest one? You’re in luck and you’re still in control. Thanks to Costco, self-driving cars are already a thing of the past before the first one even rolls off the lot.

Power to the people!

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If you enjoyed reading this post, you might like Ode to an 80s Tan.

Dear Gemini Girl in a Random World (Non) Readers,

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted. Why? Because I’ve been busy with more important things like child rearing, work, and trying to figure out why so many women keep falling off the back of cruise ships.

Great footwear choice for an imminent Death Plunge! http://www.cruisehive.com

But I’m now transitioning to another life phase, and with it comes a new blog, new branding, same voice (well, same multiple Geminiesque voices) – all here to expound on life’s intricacies for anyone who’ll take a moment to listen.

Gemini Girls Still Rule

I’ve found that as the kids get older and increasingly less interested in what I have to say, I feel a growing need to talk. Due to my blossoming “irrelevant” status in their lives, I’m turning back to a wider, and hopefully more friendly, audience. Even though nothing says “love you mom” quite like being blocked on Insta, Snapchat, and every communication channel supported by Verizon, I’m not deterred. In fact, I’m even more determined to speak my truths, and as much as my offspring would like to think otherwise, I’m still the boss. Of them. I can change our Netflix password any time I want, and that, along with random car searches and putting a lock on the liquor cabinet, is the true definition of power.

Even though I’m nowhere to be found in this selfie I’m always around. Like an omnipresent Fairy God Mother capable of transferring all their hard earned cash into my “Vegas or Bust” account with the tap of my wand.

Reading Between the Pines is all about laughter, reflection, transitions, and decisions, because sometimes taking life’s shortcut when you hit a fork in the road is the quickest way to get where you want to go. Other times, you encounter a detour, and find that the longer, winding path through foreign territory puts you in a place that you might not want to visit, but that you’ve needed to end up all along.

I’m glad you’re still here and I hope you’ll settle in, fasten your seatbelt, and stick around for the ride. Whether we’re traveling down bucolic country roads or through the Taco Bell drive-thru at 1AM, I promise it’ll be a fun trip.

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If you enjoyed reading this post, you might like Reading Between the Lines When Your Family Cares Enough to Send the Very Best and What Every Girl Needs to Know About Skin Care and Shaving The Fuzz Off Her Face.