Children of the 70’s were often not supervised in the same way that children of the millennia are, and the two year old had been sat upon the brown and orange linoleum flooring in the galley kitchen to entertain herself. Her mother set about doing the things a young woman might do on a Saturday morning when the responsibilities of adulthood had been thrust upon her, perhaps cleaning the small apartment of messes made by both toddler and husband, laundry or thoughtfully looking introspectively, seeking wisdom, to ponder the state of the life she had found herself in. One will never truly know.

The one and only phone in the apartment was located on a wall at the far end of the long narrow kitchen where the toddler had been placed. It rang, once, twice, three times, the mother ran from the back bedroom on the opposite side of the apartment to answer it before the caller hung up and she was left wondering; Who was it? What did they want? Was it important? At full speed, her feet transitioning from the brown shaggy carpet of the living room to the smooth linoleum floor, she was caught off guard by a slippery substance of unknown origins. Her arms flailed, and stretched out to grab hold of counter-top on either side, while her legs and feet tried desperately to gain traction, down the length of the alleyway like kitchen. She crashed into the wall, knocking the phone not only off the hook, but off the wall entirely. Looking back from a crumple on the floor, her daughter stared wide eyed and innocent at the spectacle she had witnessed and began to laugh at her silly mama. The open can of Crisco from the lower cupboard sat beside her, empty. 

Fall is my favorite. The autumn’s of my youth were storybook magic and the joy I am filled with beginning in September is un-containable. Even living in a place where Fall arrives late in the “er” months, my mood definitely changes to one of bliss. I have decided that I will no longer bow to the marketing machine of big box stores and will defiantly set my own timeline for the Falliday season. For me, the season runs from Labor Day to New Year’s.

The first of the holidays is Labor day, a day in which I celebrate by sleeping in and then lounging around in my PJ’s watching Netflix all day. Please do not invite me to a cook-out on this day, I will politely decline. I have never really understood the whole cooking out concept, and it does not appeal to me. Too much work. The host has to clean their house and manicure their lawn, probably stay up the night before making potato salad, and then be forced to hang out at the grill while people who really don’t want to be there, but feel obligated to be there, sit around in lawn chairs and talk about Betty Johnson down the street who is a horrible mother, while they are in fact drinking way too much expecting someone else to wrangle their children. I’m not bitter though.

October brings Halloween, the most sacred of all holidays, but do not begin decorating before October 1^st. Nope, you keep your ghosties and spider webs in their storage tubs until that clock hits midnight on October one. October is my favorite month. The joy and elation I feel during this month of crisp, cool, burning wood tinged air. My favorite thing is to cozy up on the couch each evening and watch a Halloween movie every night. Hocus Pocus being my all-time favorite. There are so many good ones to watch though. The Nightmare before Christmas, or anything Tim Burton honestly, Monster House, my new addiction Stranger Things, 31 days isn’t really enough days to watch them all. Which is precisely why I continue my movie watching spree well into November up to Thanksgiving.

On Thanksgiving Day, we head over to the Cracker Barrel and pick up our feast, because there are just three of us and we have no immediate family in the area. Why cook? Football is watched, as well as the traditional viewing of the Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye classic White Christmas.  With belly’s full of turkey and cranberry goodness, we can move quietly into December and Christmas.

Growing up, the family would head out the day after Thanksgiving to the snow covered mountains to find our tree. To be honest, it wasn’t as Norman Rockwell as one would believe. After hours of hiking in frigid weather, we would come upon the perfect tree to uproot and drag back for miles to the car, complaining the whole time. So actually, not really fun, but it’s a tradition dammit.  December is filled with holiday magic, baking, gifting and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation outdoor lighting moments of pure and utter frustration. Good times.

In the days leading up to New Year’s Eve, I am reminded that I need to set a resolution, I swear I will keep it this time, promise. I cozy up on the couch with my love to watch Nicolas Cage movies, eat cheese and crackers, sip champagne and celebrate my wedding anniversary. We were married on January 1 so that every year at the stroke of midnight, we can say “Happy New Year, Happy Anniversary!” We’re so adorable.

And that my friends is my Holiday timeline wherein I spend a lot of quality time on the couch with the people I love the most doing the things that make me the most happy, which mostly revolves around avoiding people. Love you, mean it. 

Once upon a time, I was a blogger, and MySpace was my platform. I wrote every day, satirical pieces on mommy hood and societal expectations.  I had followers who validated my thoughts, interacted with me, challenged me. We were a community. Does anyone even remember a time before blogging was the disgusting advertising, influential marketing machine it is now. I was no expert on anything, and neither was anyone else. It was a gathering of regular people just trying to connect in some way. Stephanie was a young mother of 4, and it was her naiveté and blissful ignorance to most of the societal pressures placed on females that really drew me in.  Stephanie was someone that I oddly related to, and tried in so many ways to emulate, even though she was the complete opposite of who I truly was. It was through Stephanie that I found Courtney, so much more like me, slightly irreverent and sarcastic, super witty (humblebrag). I really loved these two sisters, and I loved their ginormous Mormon family that they shared with all of us. It was an emotionally devastating day when I logged in to read the daily posts and was instead updated with the news that Stephanie and her husband had been in a terrible plane crash. The crash resulted in burns over 80% of her body, the pilot was killed. The blogging community really came through in their support of her recovery in a beautiful way. The following months were filled with waiting for updates via Courtney’s blog, donating and sharing, quiet hopes for recovery and speculation as to what would come next for our "friend". Perhaps you are wondering what this story has to do with anything.

Stephanie’s accident was 8 years ago. Eight years ago I was 33, Emma was just 4 and Dan was not even 40 yet. That seems like a lifetime ago, and yet, it’s only been 8 years, not even close to a lifetime. Eight years ago, I was a blogger, I was a woman trying to balance work, family and personal needs. Full transparency, I was sad, all the time, I was so very very sad. Life just wasn’t turning out to be the way I planned it, not at all how I had imagined it would be. I did not like my job, I did not like being a mom, I really didn’t like my husband very much. I was stressed, and angry all the time. Mostly, I would look around and see that everyone else was so lucky, everyone else was prettier, smarter, more successful, better at being everything. EVERYONE.  It was Stephanie’s accident that really grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me, what the hell was I doing? I had to stop comparing myself to other people, trying to be more like them, especially people who I didn't even know outside of the Internet. I needed to be more like me. I had lost a little bit of me somewhere along the way trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations. I was done.

Except, I wasn’t done. Not even a little bit. I am still fighting the same fights. I didn’t truly have this realization until Stephanie posted today that it’s been EIGHT YEARS. I have literally wasted 8 years without action, without change. My life is by no means horrible, but I want to love my life and I want it to mean something. I want the life that values relationships, and nurtures souls, the life that teaches and learns, and leaves a legacy of humanity to humanity. I want to really know myself, and I want to really know you. I want today to matter, and I want to not look back on this day in 2024 and realize again that I am wasting life.

And that friends, is how one returns to the blogosphere, if that's even what's it's called any more. Shared accountability. You with me and me with you. Hi. 

Wednesdays are for otters. Why? Because otters like Wednesdays. Now, you might have been led to believe that Wednesdays are for camels, but you would be wrong, because screw camels. ALL HAIL THE OTTER!

Today is day 2 of 2015 and it feels a lot like 2014 which felt a lot like 2013, which let's face it, was a lot like 2012. Going through the motions of each day, trying to figure out what matters and what doesn't. In the end, what really does matter? It's very easy to come to the conclusion that nothing you do or say really matters. Are people's lives really changed because I existed? While I can caress my ego and go all "It's a Wonderful Life", the fact of the matter is, in the overall scheme of things, I don't matter.

And so, here we are, starting 2015, another notch on the old bedpost of time, and I am wondering, what can I do that will make it all worthwhile and to whom am I accountable? You? Me? The world at large? I think this will be a year of introspect and discovery, getting to the heart of what matters, to me at least, so that this time next year I can say I did something that mattered and that 2015 was unlike any other year before.

This is the time of year when people reflect upon the past year and prepare for the new. My hair had an amazing 2014 as you can see by the photos above. It went through a lot of changes, long, short, brown, blond, red, brown, trying to figure out who it was and what the people around it wanted. Always trying to please every one else. My hair tries to be everything to everyone and is quite unsure of itself, much like the head it sits upon.

This hair and the body it occupies will be 40 in 2015, it will celebrate a 13 year wedding anniversary and a child of 11's birthday, and I am okay with the fact that it will begin to change getting a little grayer, a little thinner. This hair is a large part of my identity, easily changed to satisfy my mood or my style. I have never had either for very long, a pattern that has been repeated since I was 12 and I first got my hands on some Sun--In. When all else fails, I always have great hair.

I might leave it alone in 2015, just kind of let it grow and take shape, become it's own, find it's identity, not trying too hard to be liked, or needed or wanted. I'll let you know how that works out.

I'm outtie until next year. Gonna enjoy some time off, some time with family, some time where I don't have to worry about the rest of y'all and what yer doin' and sayin' and feelin' and all that crap.

Love ya, mean it.