Bingo

I’m back!  Mike and I successfully escaped (ran away?) for five days and five nights.  We treated ourselves to a Caribbean cruise to mark a successful decade of marriage.  It felt incredibly indulgent, but I reminded myself over and over again that we deserved it.  We earned it.  We needed it.  Last Monday morning, I abandoned my to do list at home for a to do list at sea.  Here’s what I accomplished while we were away:

I read 2 books in 4 days. If this were a Runaway Mama word problem, the answer would be: Hallelujah!

I spent time with my husband.  What a concept!  We even talked about stuff other than our kids.  Crazy!

I took the stairs.  As much as possible.  Elevators are for chumps…and for parents with strollers, which thankfully wasn’t me!  Speaking of which…

I missed my boys because I love them enough to eat them whole, but not enough to wish they were there. No way. I watched the Mamas and Daddies on the pool deck with their little ducklings and they looked exhausted. I got tired watching them (when I wasn’t busy reading one of my books).

I didn’t use the hand sanitizer.  No matter how much pressure there was at every entrance to every dining room, every theater, and every lounge.  Allergic Mama!  Seriously, I’m allergic to propylene glycol and a laundry list of other chemicals that are difficult to spell (and thus aren’t listed here) and are in many skin products, including hand sanitizer.  Sigh.  My protest wasn’t because I aspired to take down the entire cruise ship with my germy hands; rather, it was because I didn’t want to have to search for a cortisone shot at sea…or in Jamaica (dear God).

I didn’t watch the news (mostly).  I’m a news junkie, so this was a good thing.  If I’d been home all week reading about and watching coverage of Sandy Hook funerals, I would’ve been a hot mess.  Funny, though, even in the middle of the ocean with limited access to the Internet and TV, it came up in conversation.  A lot.

I said goodbye to IBS…temporarily.  (Editor’s note: I once vowed to speak of digestion – especially mine – if, and only if, it was relevant to the story.)  As soon as the carpool lines, lunch boxes to pack, gifts to wrap, teeth to brush, homework to decipher, dishes to clean, bills to pay, whining to endure, groceries to buy, and cars to clean (I could go on and on here) faded into the distance, my perpetual digestive discomfort totally and completely disappeared.  Until the day before we came home.  Interesting.

I cruised, therefore I “bingo-d” (therefore I wasted a lot of money).  I played bingo with a glass of Chardonnay every afternoon on the ship.

cruise2

Those are my very unlucky bingo cards.  I remember playing and winning Bingo on previous cruises, so my misfortune this time was difficult to handle.  This one kid, Aidan (I’ve changed Adam’s – oops – Aidan’s name for security), won Bingo, like, every day. On Thursday, he won twice in one session. After his second win, no one cheered or clapped.  We all kind of wished he’d graciously pass on his second win (over $180!) so someone else could have a bleeping chance, but we all really just wished we were Adam Aidan.

I didn’t take a lot of pictures. Surprise, surprise.  But the few we took are evidence that we really, truly got away.

Free at last!

Free at last!  Glass of wine in right hand!

That's me impersonating Dylan's swagger.

That’s me impersonating Dylan’s swagger.

JT & MT

We took a picture just like this about a dozen years ago.  It felt good to recreate it.

We’re home now. The boys were fine without us for 120 hours, my parents are (exhausted) angels, and Christmas Eve is upon us.  There are presents to wrap, food to cook, and cookies to bake. On top of that, the house is a mess, laundry is backed up, and my tummy hurts again.  But, I’m a Grateful, Fortunate, Happy (Tired) Mama for the great gifts in my life – my kids, my husband, my family, my friends, and my tan.  The best way to describe the feeling is that it’s a lot like…winning bingo.

Despite these blessings, I have a new and unfortunate health crisis to tend with. I have a really bad case of PVSD. You can read all about it here.

Merry Christmas Eve!

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Happy Stories 2

Blogging about the shooting in Connecticut doesn’t feel right.  Not now, anyway.  But as I watch the tragedy unfold in the news and I find my find myself unable to stop thinking about the innocent children who died and the grieving families who lost them, I’m reminded of a post I wrote a while back called “Happy Stories.”  It was about my newfound obsession with owls (and my need to purchase them in abundance), but it was also about “The Little White Owl,” a book about a white owl who has no parents, no name and few possessions, but he doesn’t mind because his head is full of happy stories.  Despite his heartbreaking circumstances, he chooses to be happy instead of sad.

I’m not suggesting the families who lost a child, a friend, or a loved one in the school shooting should simply think happy thoughts or choose to be happy instead of sad.  No.  What they are experiencing is unimaginable. Inconceivable.  Unthinkable. Period.  But for the rest of us (like me) who are unable to peel ourselves away from the news, who are wondering if its safe to leave the house, or who are feeling sad, anxious, helpless, or afraid, thinking about happy stories – about joyful, meaningful, purposeful things – might be a good idea.

I’m thinking about the sound of my boys’ laughter. I’m thinking about how our Christmas tree is bottom heavy with ornaments because of my two little helpers. I’m thinking about Riley’s magic tricks and how he makes things disappear (except they don’t) and how he says “abracadabra” every time. I’m thinking about how good it felt to carry Dylan’s heavy, sleeping body from the car to his bed last night after an evening spent with family.  I’m thinking about the cruise I’m taking with my husband to celebrate ten years of marriage and about the chance we’ll have to rest, reconnect, and – just maybe – read a book.  I’m thinking about my loving (and brave) parents who will take care of the boys while where away.  I’m even thinking about owls.

owlchristmas

Our hearts are heavy, our trust is broken, and our faith is being tested, but we must move forward. We have to believe that good triumphs over evil, that every innocent life lost is a lesson in compassion and courage, and that every one of our life experiences, including the really awful ones, adds richness, wisdom, understanding, and, eventually, happy stories to our souls.

You can read the original  “Happy Stories” post here.

Editor’s note: Okay, maybe I did just blog about the shooting in Connecticut.  I hope it’s okay.  Sending prayers, light, love, and (eventual) happy stories to the angels and their loved ones in Connecticut.

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