I declared an “official” sick day for myself, and made a big deal about needing to rest ALL day so I wouldn’t be too sick to enjoy our upcoming vacation.
Since I was going to be in bed all day anyway, I decided to multitask (because Mom’s can’t JUST lay in bed, right?) and take on a little battle of the wrinkles.
Rather than do something intelligent like an actual facial mask, I grabbed my Oil Of Olay cream off my nightstand and slathered a really thick layer all over my face.
(Theory being that if a little reduces wrinkles, a LOT would make my face as smooth as a baby’s butt. Made sense at the time…)
Apparently it was thick enough under my eyes that every time I would blink, a miniscule bit would attach to my bottom eyelashes. Each blink added a bit more until it was enough to attach itself to my upper lashes and work it’s way down into my eyes.
There was instant burning and tears streaming down my face, mixing with yesterday’s leftover mascara.
Cue Greg’s entry into my room.
He wanted to make sure I was feeling ok. (All together now…Awwwwwww, how sweet!)
He took one look at me groaning about the stinging while black tears ran across my ghostly white face and yelled “MOM! What’s wrong with you???? Are you ok??????????”
All I could do is laugh, while he looked on in horror.
I thought I just looked like this…
Photo: e-infopages
But judging from his reaction, I must have looked more like this…
Move over Jill Smokler. There’s a NEW Scary Mommy in town.
P.S. My crow’s feet are just crow’s toes now.
P.P.S. At least the day of rest made me FEEL like less of a zombie.
P.P.P.S. Want to make yourself into a Zombie? There’s an app for that. (Just ask any teenager how.)
P.P.P.P.S A decision I made that was much more logical than putting an inch of lotion on my face was asking my fantastic blogger friends to participate in “Guest Post Week.” They responded in droves to help me out! I’m so excited to be introducing you to posts written by some of these lovely ladies during the next week.
Crying Uncle. Waving the white flag. Throwing in the towel!
As I sit here in bed alternating between shivering and sweating, with my whole body aching, I’ve reached the point that I hate to get to. The point where I’m asking for HELP.
We are leaving for a much, much, much needed vacation soon and I am sick. Sicker than normal I should say. If I am too sick to enjoy my vacation, you will need to find a padded room for me somewhere.
In addition to being a tough year health-wise, it has also been tough financially. Well, I guess the two are related since it is my health issues that drain our bank account! We usually take a trip to the beach every summer but this year we weren’t going to go anywhere. But my health was bringing me to my breaking point and I realized I HAD to find somehow to get away. So we maxed out the credit card for a more local trip to a lake. I. need. this. trip. bad. ly. Actually, I need to not be sick on this trip. Badly.
(For any would be burglars reading this, let me save you the effort. There is nothing in our house worth stealing. Really, nothing. And The Rock is housesitting for us anyway. Well, maybe his name is Theodore Rockefeller. But I’m SURE he’s as strong as The Rock. So there.)
Anyway…
I’ve been putting pressure on myself recently over some (random) goals that I set for myself to meet by my first anniversary of my blog (which is next month). I’ve ignored my blog for months and now I’ve suddenly decided to panic and try to play “catch up” at the 11th hour in order to reach these goals (yeah, not the brightest idea).
So, I’m giving myself permission to “officially” ignore writing (instead of UNofficially ignoring it like I’ve been doing for months) so I can get out of bed and get in the lake.
To help reduce the guilt of “blog neglect,” I’m calling on all my wonderful blogging friends for GUEST BLOG POST submissions! This will allow all of my readers to be introduced to some wonderful writers and will allow me to hold out (a glimmer of) hope of reaching my goals by next month.
If you have a post (new or old is fine!) that would be a good fit for my audience (personal blogs only, not companies), please send it to momopolize@gmail.com. I will give credit where credit is due, including linking to your website (because I’m sure everyone will enjoy your post so much they will want to keep reading more!). PG-13 please – my kids read my blog sometimes. 🙂
You can also lend me a hand and help me reach one of my goals by liking my Facebook Page and linking up below for the Facebook Love Hop that I’m co-hosting for the rest of July.
Now on to the hop…
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You know I’m sick, but we don’t really talk about it. I never want to worry you by telling you all the problems Lyme Disease and Lupus have caused me. But by NOT telling you, I’m probably worrying you more. So, let’s talk.
I’m sure it’s confusing for you. Adults don’t even understand the ups and downs, so I don’t expect you to. But I can try to explain a bit in terms you will relate to.
Ups and downs is the perfect way to describe it. Like being on a roller coaster. A never ending roller coaster. Yeah, I know you are thinking “how cool would THAT be?!?” But wait. There’s more. When you get on the ride and the harness clicks in, it is too tight. Way too tight. It hurts. Reallllly hurts. You wave frantically and yell at the operator but he just smiles an evil smile and pushes the GO button.
As the ride takes off, you try desperately to stop its grip on you. You squirm, you pull, you hit it. But nothing helps.
As you start to head up the first hill, the harness gradually loosens and by the time you reach the crest, it is finally comfortable. You think you can now relax and enjoy the ride. You get that moment where you are perched at the top of the hill. It is exhilarating and exciting. Time seems to stand still.
Then you start to plummet down the hill. You feel the harness begin to tighten again. It squeezes every inch of your body until you want to scream. It takes your breath away. Your head feels like it is spinning.
Just when you think you can’t handle any more, you begin another ascent. The harness begins to loosen again. Relief. Ahhhhh. But this time you can’t enjoy it as much. What goes up must come down. And you now know that the coming down is excruciatingly painful.
This time when you reach the summit, you try to just focus on the joy of that moment. But you can’t because the dread of the descent weighs heavily on your mind.
Each plunge breaks your spirit more and more but after enough hills and valleys, you finally learn to get the most out of that time when the harness isn’t squeezing. You enjoy that part of the ride and look forward to the peak. Even though you know the ride can’t end at the top of a hill.
Then – just when you think you have a handle on the ups and downs – out of nowhere you get slammed with a loop-de-loop (or maybe I should call it a lupus-de-lup) which brings a whole new set of problems.
And just as the ride should be coming to an end, the operator smiles his evil grin again and it all starts over.
Add a blindfold so you can’t see the twists and turns coming and that, my dears, is Mommy’s life.
Not being able to get off of this ride makes me sad. Sad about all of the things I have missed out on with you guys. Like the many nights I missed tucking you in because I fell asleep on the couch before your bedtime. Or the days you had to wear mismatched socks because I hadn’t done laundry. (But 2 different socks seems to be all the rage now. You’re welcome fashion world.)
But before I make YOU sad, let me add that there is actually some GOOD that has come out of me being ill.
I don’t have enough energy to be a helicopter Mom so since I don’t hover, you have taken off and soared. You are growing up to be incredibly mature, independent young men!
You all know how to do your own laundry. You don’t. But you know how.
You all know how to use the oven, toaster, microwave and blender. Greg, you have been able to fix your own lunch since you were 3. Eric, you can take an almost rotten banana and turn it into an awesome loaf of bread. Jake, you are now our pancake specialist (and you even got me published in a book. Not for your culinary skills perhaps, but you’ve made many people laugh about what happensIf You Give A Kid A Bag Of Pancake Mix.). Jimmy, you make to-die-for peanut butter brownies. No, seriously. Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll kill your brothers if they eat more than their share.
Although I’m sure it drives your teachers insane that I am too foggy brained half the time to make sure you get your homework completed, you are slowly learning to be responsible for getting it done on your own. As long as you manage to get enough homework turned in to actually GRADUATE, you are going to be kick ass butt college students. All those kids who depend on their parents to stand over their shoulder to study will be struggling not to flunk out, but not you guys. You guys will be cranking out solid Cs.
You all have compassion. You may fight like cats and dogs most of the time, but when I REALLY need you to co-exist peacefully so I can rest you always seem to have my back. (Well, since our cats and dogs get along, I will say you fight like praying mantises – manti? – and stink bugs. I won’t say which ones of you are the stink bugs.)
AND *I* have had to learn not to sweat the small stuff, which is a very good thing. I need all my energy for the big stuff, like making sure I take a shower at least once a week.
I’ve realized that the world won’t stop spinning because I didn’t get the sheets changed on your bed this week (or last, or the week before, or…ummm…you get the picture). Plus, I can tell you “good night, don’t let the bed bugs bite” with meaning. Psssh, no. Of course there aren’t really bugs in your bed.
(As far as I know.)
I’ve learned to appreciate the days I DO feel healthy. Not many kids get to see their Moms get downright GIDDY over feeling like a “normal” person for a day/week/month/however long it lasts. You have to deal with the lowest of the lows, but you also get to see pure joy at the highest of the highs. The times you get to see a glimpse of how I want to be all the time. The times on the roller coaster when my hands are up in the air and I’m shouting “bring it on world.”
Unfortunately, it’s been a while since you’ve seen my hands up in the air. Lately I’ve been hanging on for dear life while the coaster has been barreling down. It’s been a rough monthsummer year for my health. The squeezing of the harness is definitely taking a toll on my body.
But don’t despair. There has to be another ascent soon. There just has to.
Then I will be back to my uphill battle. And, in this case, an uphill battle is a good thing.
Every time in my life that I’ve ever said “I would never let my child…” it has always come back to bite me. When my oldest was a toddler, I can remember talking to a friend that had two pre-teens and they were buying a second video game system. They were going to have a PS2 AND an Xbox. I thought that was crazy. Why on earth would you need TWO video game systems for two kids? Couldn’t the kids share? I would never let my child spend that much money for video games (insert judgmental eye roll).
We now have multiple video games systems. And by “multiple” I mean MORE than two. In my defense, I DO have more than two kids. (Hey, I saw that judgmental eye roll!)
I NEVER say “I would never let my child…” anymore. Ever.
With these multiple gaming systems, come multiple games. And by “multiple” I mean dozens and dozens. And dozens. Remember, I DO have more than two kids. (So stop the judgmental eye roll.)
CLASSIC PAC-MAN Photo: appcolt.com
Speaking of the games, what happened to the good ole’ days when video games seemed unbeatable? I remember playing the same games for years on my Atari (wow, I’m dating myself there.) – Pac-man, Space Invaders, Frogger. THOSE were games. It seems like way too often now when my kids buy a game, they “beat” it within a short period of time and then the almost brand new $60 game is added to the “I don’t want to play anymore” pile.
I posted “Sometimes Clutter Isn’t Clutter” the other day about having difficulty getting rid of old books and toys because of their sentimental value. I have NO trouble letting go of video games. No fond memories. “Oh lookie in this bin. It’s that cute little Mario game. It seems like just yesterday we went to the store and picked it out with your allowance money. Oh wait, it WAS just yesterday.”
The books and toys may stay, but it’s time to sell the bin of video games. Because baby needs a new pair of shoes. Or should I say boy needs a new pair of video games. I heard that “Pac-man and the Ghostly Adventures” will be released soon. Maybe we are going back to the good ole’ days after all.
Or maybe not…
Pac-man and the ghostly adventures Photo: gamefaq.com
I’m a little late on spring cleaning (and by a little I mean 5 years). Now that my youngest is almost 9 and the oldest is almost an adult (gasp) there are many bins from “toddlerhood” that were outgrown years ago, cluttering up the joint.
We have so many neglected toys in our storage room, I sometimes wonder if we have an ongoing Toy Story 4 movie in there. Heck, we even have a Buzz and Woody. I could easily sneak the bins out of the house without anyone noticing. But I am the one having issues letting go.
Out of all the bins and boxes, the hardest thing for me to think about parting with is the books. You know the favorite baby books that you read over and over (and over) at bedtime. The ones that would elicit a hopeful “again?” before you could even say “The End.” The ones you knew so well you could mumble the words while you fell asleep. The ones with wrinkled, torn pages from so much use. The ones you can still recite years later just by looking at the cover.
Seeing one of those books brings me right back to the moments of sitting in the rocking chair with one of them on my lap. The moments that seem like yesterday but were years ago. The moments I didn’t always enjoy at the time but cherish now.
Photo: efsavage.com
Those books hold more than pages with words. They hold memories.
Aaaaah.
Sorry, I got lost in the Hallmark moment there.
The toys bring back many memories also.
I look at the “Rescue Heroes” and remember Jimmy’s obsession with them. He had big plans to be a Firefighter, Policeman, Paramedic, Astronaut AND Lumber Jack when he “growed up.” I look at those toys and realize that as Jimmy begins the college application process, he IS almost grown up and figuring out what his profession will actually be.
The Thomas the Tank Engine track and trains remind me of when Jake was a toddler. Those trains saved my sanity. The ONLY time he would sit still was when he was playing with them. Well, the only time he would HAPPILY sit still. Even when he slept, he was tossing and turning, turning and tossing, tossing and turning all night (You’re welcome for the song that is now stuck in your head.).
Little Pet Shop was Eric’s favorite and he loved those cute little animals – even though the tiny accessories drove me nuts. But stepping on a miniature dog bowl barefoot beat stepping on a Lego any day. (I think the Lego nubs actually DO turn into daggers in the dark.) Eric still has that love of animals (just real ones now) and I just KNOW one day when he’s a veterinarian, he will want those toys to decorate his office.
Greg loved the Fisher Price Little People toys. He’s my littlest, so it was appropriate. That was one of the few toys that had stood the test of time since I was a kid, although the ones I played with probably had lead paint. That would explain a lot.
So the books and toys will stay. One day I can read the yellowed pages to my Grandkids while reminiscing. “When your Dad was your age…” They will just LOVE that, right??
And by the way, Brown Bear, Brown Bear. I have never seen a blue horse OR a purple cat. Have you heard of the color grey??
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I’ve been in a real funk this month. There’s a good reason funk starts with f u.
This post will probably put you in a funk too. It is long. And whiny. And depressing. You’ve been warned. OK, I’ll add a touch of funny.
zazzle.com
May is ironically awareness month for both Lyme and Lupus. The two illnesses I have. (If you know me, you know I don’t like to call it disease. Sounds too permanent). During the month there are extra articles on the internet, extra emails in my inbox and lime green and purple ribbons which all force me to think about the blasted sicknesses way too much. Sometimes I want to shout “I am already well aware. I don’t need a special month to remind me!” I know, I know. The purpose is to educate others, which is a very good thing. But it still makes me grumpy.
This year has put me in the funkiest funk because it was almost exactly 10 years ago that I started my journey to try to figure out what was wrong with me. TEN YEARS. A decade.
And I was sick long before that but 10 years ago was when I reached the point that I KNEW something was wrong and I KNEW I had to figure out what it was.
I’ve always been susceptible to infections. I was a regular strep throat patient during my childhood, with an occasional ear or sinus infection thrown in for good measure. Once I grew up, my strep did also. The more responsibility (i.e. stress) I had, the worse my infections got.
First job after college…out sick 3 days my first week.
Just married…Jim at a couples resort alone while I got multiple antibiotic shots in the tushy from a scary Jamaican doctor. At least I think they were antibiotic shots…(that story could be a blog post of its own.)
Over the top birthday party planned…strep plus a ruptured ear drum.
Baby Jake in the hospital overnight for a breathing treatment gone wrong (could be another blog post)…me in the hospital the next week with a tonsilar abscess.
These examples continued to get more and more frequent until the slightest little stress would require about a month of multiple antibiotics before I was better. I literally was sick more than I was not (yes, I DO mean literally). But once I finally kicked it, I felt great. Only until I got sick again, but those weeks of health in between were dang good.
I finally had a tonsillectomy 12 years ago because I think the doctors got tired of saying to me, “worst case of strep I’ve seen” almost every single month. But I shocked them all shortly after surgery by getting a tonsilar abscess, without tonsils. Medical mystery is not a fun term to hear when you are ill.
The surgery did help though because I was getting strep less than half as much. So I was on antibiotics much less often as well. That will be important down the road.
While I was technically sick less, I started feeling less healthy between bouts. Weird symptoms were cropping up but I’d brush them off as “nothing” and then before too long, I’d end up with strep and the weird symptoms would go away. For a while.
Fast forward to the next year when I was pregnant with Eric. The one time – well, 4 times I guess – in my life I have never had strep is during pregnancy(ies). The hormones must jump start my immune system or something. After Jimmy and Jake’s delivery, the immune battery died and the strep monster returned. After Eric was born it was different though. I went months without strep. Over a year without antibiotics during and after his birth.
The weird symptoms returned. With a vengeance. I won’t list them all, but I did come up with “pet names” for some symptoms. SFTD. No, not STD. Stupid Fat Tongue Disorder caused me to forget words, say the wrong word, say the right words in the wrong order and/or slur whatever words made it out of my mouth. It was aslway a toin coss to trip to guess what shlwould come ouf ot my…ummmm…what is the brplace with lips…ummm…eyes?…making sense no. I outwardly joked because some of the things I said really were as ridiculous as that last sentence, but inside I was very worried about what was happening to me. I reached a point before diagnosis that I avoided conversations if at all possible because it was just too humiliating when SFTD would unpredictably come and go.
Many memories of that time are fuzzy, but I clearly remember one day in May ten years ago. Eric was 6 months old, Jake was in preschool and Jimmy was in 1st grade. Getting Jimmy and Jake ready and dropped off at school was all it took for me to “hit the wall.” That was my name for the immense and sudden fatigue. I seemed to slam into the wall extra hard that day. My only saving grace was the morning nap. I plopped on the couch to recharge until preschool pickup time.
Eric had different plans. He decided he didn’t like his morning nap anymore. As soon as I plopped, the baby monitor lit up. He was crying. Then I was crying. I was so tired and felt so sick, I could not move off the couch. He cried harder. I cried harder. I physically couldn’t go get my baby out of his crib. I finally did. Somehow. And I limped through the rest of the day. Somehow.
That was the day I finally realized something was really wrong and I needed to figure out what. What I didn’t know at the time was that I would have 3 1/2 more years of not only hitting walls of fatigue, but also walls of ignorance and insolence while trying to get doctors to listen to me.
When a 30something year old asks why she has heart palpitations, she is ridiculed.
When a Mom of a 6 month old asks why she is horribly fatigued and foggy, she is told she has PPD.
When a Mom of 3 tries to explain that her cognitive function is severely impaired, she is flippantly told it is Mom brain.
When a Mom of school age children complains of swollen lymph nodes, unexplained fevers, chills and body aches, she is told that it’s just kids bringing home germs from school.
When a woman has night sweats, she is told she may be going through early menopause. Even though she is in her 30s.
When a patient is dizzy, she is told to take iron supplements even though she isn’t anemic.
When a patient complains of numbness and weakness, she is told it is all in her head.
When a patient reports a variety of symptoms that come and go, she is called a hypochondriac.
Not wanting to make waves, I took the borderline mockery from some of the doctors and continued to suffer in silence. I still was knocked out by the occasional strep, after which I would temporarily feel well. At the end of the year I found out I was pregnant with Greg and, once again, the symptoms were mysteriously relieved.
However, as soon as Greg was born my body went into a tizzy. In the hospital I felt very ill and alternated between sweats and chills. I was so out of it. To this day I am shocked no one noticed the state I was in. But somehow they didn’t. I guess I really AM good at hiding symptoms.
When I was discharged, my brain was short circuiting. I would go through periods where I couldn’t remember anything. I’m talking ANYTHING. I forgot Greg’s name. Several times. Can you imagine the horror of saying to yourself, “What is my brand new baby’s name???? Wait, I remember it starts with a G. G…Ga…Ge…Gi… Crap.” Soon my brain went back to its normal level of forgetfulness where I at least knew family member names.
During the next year, my Mom had a stroke and then surgery for lung cancer. I spent many, many days driving out to visit and care for her. *I should add here that I misspoke when I said pregnancy is the only time I don’t get sick. I also don’t get sick DURING a stressful crisis. I guess like the hormones during pregnancy, adrenaline kicks in during crisis. After stress=sick as a dog. During stress=healthy as a horse.* Somehow I hung in there until the day Mom went for her post-surgical checkup and got the green light that she could resume normal activities.
My body heard that my help was no longer required and it crashed. And burned. And smoldered. It wasn’t my normal post-stress case of strep. As bad as my strep could get, this was much, much worse. I called my ENT and told him I felt like I had meningitis. After he chuckled, he informed me he was sure it wasn’t meningitis. Crazy as it sounded, I was convinced I had meningitis and told him so. All he heard was “crazy.” I was so ill I don’t remember much of the next two weeks, but I do remember at one point thinking “this is it. I’m going to die.” Finally, my buddy Strep made his appearance. They put me on a super-duper antibiotic and my discredited meningitis also went away.
I needed to make more than waves. I needed a full blown tsunami. I started pushing doctors for answers. And “medical mystery” wasn’t going to cut it. After lots of puzzled looks, head scratching and referrals to doctor after doctor, an infectious disease doctor tested me for lyme. It came back positive. And I had probably had it for an extremely long time.
Remember I told you the decrease in strep frequency would eventually come in to play. Well, it finally has. By periodically taking antibiotics for strep, I was unknowingly keeping the lyme bacteria under control. Since the medicine wasn’t strong enough to eradicate it, it was always there. Hiding. Waiting. Plotting my downfall. OK, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But the bacteria would get stronger and the symptoms would get more prominent each time I was off antibiotics for an extended period or endured a stressful situation.
Lyme has different stages, each one progressively worse and harder to treat. Most likely I went up a stage (or got knocked down a notch heath-wise) after Eric was born and then moved to the late stage after Greg was born. The stress of my Mom being ill gave the lyme enough ammo for an all out attack. And the crazy theory of meningitis? It WAS meningitis. Lyme meningitis. Chuckle THIS, doc.
I’d love to wave the test results in front of each and every doctor who dismissed me. And see if any would apologize for treating me like an idiot. Maybe if they had listened to me sooner, I wouldn’t have reached the worst stage of lyme. The stage where I can and DID get meningitis. The stage that is hard to get rid of.
The stage I’m still fighting 10 years later.
Ten years that feel like they have aged me at least 20. A decade where I’ve decayed.
When life gives you lyme, what should you make? Make…the doctors listen to you. Really listen.
And then…
You put the lyme in the Coke you nut and drink them both together.
You put the lyme in the Coke you nut and then you feel better.
I’ve always suspected Diet Coke has a medicinal purpose. If it can eat rust off metal it should be able to handle a little tick bacteria, right?
Hmmm, I guess I just inadvertently participated in Lyme Awareness month. I should probably include some information that is actually useful. So here goes…
Ticks suck ass! In more ways than one. Really, they can get anywhere. So check your tush for ticks.
Ticks are the pits. And they like sweaty pits, so check there too.
Ticks make you have a 365 day period every year. No, not really. But they are the size of the period at the end of this sentence.
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Possible future rants…
Sometimes the elixir doth break her, not fix her.
Mourning the old me. Well, the young me. Actually, the pre-sick me.
How Lyme did and did not give me Lupus.
Topics for another post? Perhaps. First I will wait and see how many followers this one loses me. 😉
The funny will be right back after this commercial break.
This is the story of why Glennon Melton thinks I’m bananas.
When I arrived for the Carry on Warrior book signing, the line was already winding through Books A Million.
The store was decorated with balloons and banners for the “birth” of Glennon’s book.
To complete the baby shower experience, favors were handed out
Including Twizzlers, of course.
I got in line behind the dozens and dozens of Momastery fans that were already there and within a few minutes, the line was longer behind me than it was ahead.
I was surrounded by groups of Monkees laughing and chatting. I quickly realized something awful. I was the ONLY person that had come to the signing ALONE.
I expected to see a light hanging from the ceiling flashing Loser. Loser. Loser. With an arrow pointing at ME.
No worries, I thought. “I will just pretend like I have sooo many friends I’m texting and chatting with on FB. Cell phone to the rescue! What??? 18% battery left??? Crap. If I get on Facebook, I will drain my battery before I can get a photo with Glennon.”
Panic set in.
I resorted to blankly perusing books from the shelves next to the line. After staring intently at the cover of one book for several minutes – without actually reading it, since I was in too much of a tizzy to actually focus on anything – I realized I was staring at a book called “Assassin’s Creed.”
Great, now everyone in line thinks I’m a loser AND a psychotic killer.
I suck at chit-chat, especially with strangers but I always struggle with it even with people I know. Small talk is a big stressor. I either can’t think of anything to contribute to the conversation or I babble on and on like an idiot. There doesn’t seem to be any in between with me. I’m either a faucet that won’t turn on faster than an annoying drip or one stuck on full blast, with everyone dodging the splashing water.
So I continued to stand there in silence listening to the conversations and fun going on around me, while staring blankly at more book covers (and yes, I had 3 copies of Carry On Warrior in a bag in my hand, but did it even cross my mind to use the awkward time reading? No. Not once.)
I’m surprised I didn’t leave. Between feeling like an outcast, a bit claustrophobic (I’m not normally, but this store was packed!), not eating dinner before I went and standing there in high heels, I was having visions of passing out and taking down the aisles of books with me. I’m sure you can picture what I mean…a domino of shelves knocking down one after another after another until the entire store is in shambles.
Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it – I COULDN’T leave because I was getting a book signed for someone who injured her knee and couldn’t stand in line. And before you say I should have loudly announced that bit of information to prove that I DO in fact have friends, I have never met her. She posted on the Momastery Facebook page asking if anyone could take her copy to the signing, and since I live in the same town I offered. (Side note: We HAVE messaged back on forth on FB since the signing and discussed meeting for lunch when she is, literally, back on her feet. She didn’t get great test result news from her injury so send her some healing thoughts please!)
Glennon made her grand entrance right on time. With all the squeals and applause, it sounded like a rock concert. She had the entire room mesmerized with her words of welcome.
And yes, she is on a ladder!
After Glennon put her feet back on the ground, she soon began signing. At least the line began inching along. But what happened next is one of those “What was I thinking???” moments. Since the crowd was so huge, index cards were handed out. Everyone was allowed 30 seconds with Glennon when they reached the coveted front of the line position, so if there was anything I wanted Glennon to hear that would take more than 30 seconds, I was instructed to write it on the card and leave it in a basket for her to read later.
I guess the anxiety of standing alone in the crowd with an empty stomach and aching feet caused temporary insanity to set in. I started scribbling away.
Here is the gist of what I filled up every inch of that card with. It began innocently enough. But then took a turn for the nutso.
“Glennon, Congrats on your much deserved success. I don’t comment much on your blog, but I adore your posts. I wish I had the opportunity to get to know you when we both lived in the same neighborhood! I think I am going to just keep writing until this card is completely full because I’m convinced I am the ONLY person here alone and I feel like an idiot standing here in silence. Everyone else is chatting happily with a group of friends and I’m just feeling totally AWK. WARD. Hopefully I won’t have a full on panic attack or anything. I’d probably pass out and hit my head on the corner of a bookshelf and get a gash in the shape of an “L” on my forehead, which would confirm what I’m sure everyone is thinking right now. Well, I guess now I will go back to randomly staring into space while everyone else is enjoying the company of their buddies. I can’t even retreat to Facebook because my phone battery is almost dead and if it dies I won’t be able to get a photo with you. Sorry for the sloppy hand writing. I wrote this while holding the index card in my hand. Palms are very bumpy. Well, I’m out of room now. K, bye!”
And I signed it. First AND last name. Yeah, I know. Sigh.
As we rounded the corner that was about the half way point, I think I must have looked pathetic enough that the group of Monkees in front of me took pity on me. They turned around and told me I looked familiar. I – completely jokingly – said “maybe you recognize me from my blog.” Unfortunately I don’t think it came off as a joke. Surprisingly, they kept talking to me anyway. I don’t think I said much else, since I already stuck my foot in my mouth once, but just the APPEARANCE that I was standing in their group made me feel included. Ahhh, I may survive this evening after all. Monkees to the rescue!
The second half of the wait was much more enjoyable because I only felt slightly anti-social, plus we were in a more open area of the store and the end of the line was at least in sight even though we still were no where near the end.
Finally, after almost 3 hours in line, I was up next. Before I continue, I must digress for a minute. I don’t normally have a get-all-giddy-over-celebrities personality. I never have. I don’t watch the Oscars nor read People magazine. No teeny-bopper posters plastered all over my room when I was young. The closest thing I had to a teen heart throb was Andy Gibb (I did have a t-shirt with his photo on it). Once a Redskin’s football player rented a house on my street, but I didn’t give it much thought (my husband on the other hand…total bromance.). Even when I met Melissa Gorga of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, I wouldn’t say I was starstruck. Don’t get me wrong, having lunch with her was an exciting and nerve-wracking experience, but I think I was more freaked out about official “press” photographers being there (I hate getting my picture taken) and trying to make small talk (or big talk) with a diva (she didn’t act like one). She even made a comment that it was the first time she had a lunch and talked about something OTHER than RHONJ (I’m still not sure if she was pleased about that or offended that I didn’t fawn over her more).
So imagine my surprise when I set my books down on the table for Glennon to sign and this squeaky, squealy, overly-excited voice appeared out of no where and spewed,
“Ohmygawd! I’m soooo excited to meet you well we may have met before our sons were in the same class in 1st grade but I don’t know if we actually met or not but I wish we had because I know we would have been great friends what? his name is Eric McKeown M C K E O W N which doesn’t look like it should be pronounced Mc Q N but it is I asked Eric if he remembered Chase and he said yes I remember seeing him at Petsmart one day when we were in class together but we never had play dates together isn’t it funny the things that kids remember but they can’t remember where they put their shoes 5 minutes ago oh and I also have lyme disease and I went to JMU but I’m sure I’m older than you so we didn’t get to meet there either but don’t we just have so much in common? I feel like we have been friends even though we haven’t and I just loooove your blog and you are such an inspiration I just hope one day I can somehow help even a fraction of the people that you have helped this copy is for Lisa that copy is for me and the third I’m going to give away on my blog what? yes I write a blog what? ohmygawd I would loooove to email you the link to my blog so you can check it out that just made my day that is so awesome thank you soooo much you are going to be here really late signing books you must be so excited that so many Monkees came out to see you but I bet you are going to be tired tomorrow and you don’t really get to rest because you have to go to you next stop on the tour what? no it hasn’t been 30 seconds I just started talking to Glennon I still have more to say why are you grabbing me by the arm sir? oh wow I get a personal escort out of the store you guys are just too sweet you really know how to make a gal feel special let’s do lunch love ya’ bye! “
I found my inner starry eyed teeny-bopper.
I think I reacted this way because Glennon is doing what I dream of doing. And doing it exceptionally well. Maybe I don’t swoon over singers or actors because I don’t want to be one. But an author, now that is something I admire. And an author that uses her talents and influence to help others. Wow. Now if only Jenny Lawson, a.k.a. the Bloggess, would bring her book tour near me, I just may be reduced to tears. I DID foster her cat’s long lost brother after all.
On my way out I said goodbye to my new friends – you know, the people in front of me in line – and we exchanged names and said we’d look for each other on the Momastery page. But come to think of it, they only gave me their FIRST names. Hmmm.
As soon as I got home, I emailed Glennon. Not once, but twice. Then I told Jim about my adventure, including the uncharacteristic gushing adoration and the index card, assuming he would laugh. Instead he got a look of horror on his face and said, “but you didn’t actually give her the index card, right?” I told him that I had indeed.
Cue the crickets.
Sorry Glennon.
I think I know the title of my memoir. “Carry Out Wackier.”
__________
It’s SIGNED! Don’t worry, not by ME!
Click HERE to enter to win the signed copy of Carry On Warrior. I promise I didn’t add any insane gibberish anywhere on it. I only do that on index cards. And verbally. Don’t worry. If you win, you can give me a P.O. box address to mail it to. Because I’m sure NONE of you want me knowing where you live after reading this post! 😉
And in case you haven’t already heard me shouting it from the rooftops, I am in a book! It was released the same day as Carry On Warrior. My kids heard me say was that I was “going to a book signing.” The next day they excitedly asked how many people showed up. I wasn’t sure why they were so curious about the success of Glennon’s book but they ooohed and aaaahed when I told them around 500. When they asked if my hand got cramped, I realized what they thought. Talk about dejected faces when I broke it to them that I was GETTING an autograph, not giving them. Sorry to disappoint fellas.
“My” book is “Parenting Gag Reel: Hilarious Writes and Wrongs” which is the 4th book in the best selling series published by Life Well Blogged. It contains a collaboration of writing from 40 bloggers and a portion of the proceeds goes to Autism Speaks. It made it to #10 in the Kindle store’s Parenting & Families category and hopefully will go to #1 when the paperback is released (should be released within a week). Don’t be surprised if you see me sitting on the floor in a corner at Books A Million with a balloon tied to my wrist begging people to take signed copies of the paperback. Gotta’ make those kids proud somehow.
You also have a chance to win a copy (5 winners) when you enter the Carry On Warrior giveaway. Plus there are instructions to enter a Kindle Fire giveaway!!
I’m in a book. A real, live book. Well, not live. Unless you count that the paper used to be a tree. But the paperback version isn’t out yet, so I guess I can’t really say that yet…
I’m so excited to announce that the Kindle version was released today and the paperback version should be released very soon (then I can call it a “live” book, I suppose).
The Kindle version is less than a trip to Starbucks ($2.99) so go. Download it. Read it. Laugh. Grab some tissues. Laugh some more. And then write a (hopefully glowing) REVIEW of it (reviews are really, really helpful for the book’s success!).
I tend to down play when something good happens to me. I am much more comfortable talking about my screw-ups than my successes. But I will admit I’m doing the happy dance about this. It is quite an honor to be in the company of some of the other fabulous writers that are included in this book. Bloggers that I have read and admired. Blogs like…
And I’m. in. the. same. book. as. them! (Sorry for the mid-sentence periods, Christine. 😉 )
I know the other 33 contributors are fabulous as well. I just hadn’t been fortunate enough to discover their blogs until now!
Blogging is very difficult at times. You pour your heart and soul out for a miniscule amount feedback. It’s just the nature of the game. Usually you are just crossing your fingers and HOPING that someone likes what you posted, but never knowing for sure.
The joke in my house is that I hit publish and then say, “Wait for it. Wait for it…crickets…”
Then comes Life Well Blogged. Having someone say, “Not only do we like what you wrote, we like it enough to publish it,” is pretty darn reassuring.
I would write more about just HOW awesome it feels but I don’t want to be late for the release day book signing.
No, not MY book signing. I will be standing in line to get a book signed. Not behind the table getting writer’s cramp from scribbling my name. But I can pretend.
(I’ve never been to a book signing, so I’m pretty excited to see Glennon from Momastery…but will write more about that later…)
Thank you to everyone that has supported me since I started Momopolize last August. I never imagined anyone other than (some of) my Facebook friends would want to read my blog. It has been a wonderful ride so far and I couldn’t do it without you. Well, I could…but it would be called a journal instead of a blog.
I won the weekly “Caption That” contest over at Can I Get Another Bottle Of Whine With My Morning Quiet Time. Thanks Kate! My little Momopolize button gets to proudly sit on her sidebar for a week!
See kids? Veggies are soooo yummy!!
To see the actual story behind the photo above, click here —> Caption That (Round 26). You can also submit your own entry for this week’s photo! Her blog is guaranteed to make you laugh!
I realize I have been neglecting my blog lately, but as a result I’ve had time to discover some fantastic bloggers, like Kate! I promise to start posting more often…well, I promise to TRY. 😉
What caption would YOU have given this photo?
Don't ask me about my kids or I will Momopolize the conversation!
