Monthly Archives: October 2015

Pajama Day


Today was Pajama Day! It’s one of my most favorite days. It’s the day I replenish. I’m an introvert and going too much exhausts me.   Some people thrive and excel with busyness. Not me. It drains me…emotionally and physically. Don’t’ get me wrong. I love my friends and family and spending time with them. I just have to have time to catch up with myself and lately my life has been super crazy. Most days, I’m gone from my home more than I am in it. I don’t like that. I like being at home.

So this morning…

I woke up, stumbled in the kitchen, made myself a cup coffee and crawled back in bed to enjoy. Because it was pajama day!!!!! And I love pajama day!

Did you hear a familiar tune in that sentence? It reminded me of an old song I listened to as a child and it made me smile…

“Tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition and yawn and stretch and try to come to life. Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumpin’, out on the streets the traffic starts jumpin’ for folks like me on the job from 9 to 5.”

 When I was younger, I used to listen to that song over and over on an old eight track. That seems like light years away.

 Pajama day is the day I don’t leave my home at all…all day long. I claim it! It’s my day and I don’t leave. I don’t fix my hair, put on makeup or get dressed. I shower and put on my very favorite soft comfy pajamas and I do things I need to do to replenish and regroup. I leave my outside self undone to work on my inside self. It’s amazing. It’s the day I try to regain my sanity.

I wander from inside to the great outdoors to back inside again. I go back to my bed frequently to read, work through things, think, and process. It helps me replenish all that I have poured out in all of my many roles over the last few days, weeks or months since my last pajama day. Lately I’ve been dreaming of escaping to a little cottage by the sea in England or Scotland. Doesn’t that sound dreamy and relaxing? But the truth is my most favorite place on earth is my home.

Today for Pajama day, I worked on catching up with online classes, blogging,  preparing for an oil class I have tomorrow afternoon, thinking and processing through junk.

Then, in the middle of trying to regain my sanity, I was notified of something that I don’t believe was handled in the right way or within policy. I was so frustrated and upset – not for me but because it wasn’t fair for someone else. I sent out a couple of texts to my “crazy whispers” because my crazy was brewing and I needed help. Things that are unfair and unjust seriously make me crazy. I know…that’s life. It’s crazy and it’s just not fair. I understand that really well. But some things are controllable and people just do dumb stuff. That’s the part that irritates me. Especially when their dumb stuff affects others in a negative way. I was frustrated. No, I was beyond frustrated. I was very irritated. It wasn’t handled appropriately. So I made a phone call to find out what the next step was.

I dialed the number. I knew it wasn’t the department I needed to speak with but they could give me guidance. A sweet girl answered the phone. I started explaining the situation. She was kind. I liked her. She was listening. I explained more…bottom line – policy wasn’t followed and a son was separated from his mother in a business (I know this doesn’t make sense but I can’t explain- without sharing too much. Besides – it’s not the point). I asked “Am I making any sense?” She replied with a sweet “yes.” I kept going… Then in the middle of explaining… I started crying. Whoa! Where did that come from? In the middle of explaining to that sweet girl – I was crying. Then out of nowhere I blurted out… “and my mother just died in April.”  Holy Cow! I shocked myself and desperately wanted to scoop those words up and put them back in my mouth where they came from. What the heck did that have to do with anything? That sweet girl was kind and compassionate. She gave me the information I was seeking – about who to contact. I wondered what that sweet girl would have said if I would have told her I have a blog and the name of it included the word crazy. The thought made me laugh. I needed to laugh. I was thankful for that conversation. Even if I was mad.

Unfairness mixed with frustration always make me cry. But just maybe the root of my tears was deeper than this. Maybe me blurting out that awkward statement had to do with my grief. Grief I wasn’t prepared for. My mother and I had been separated by a dumb decision – her dumb decision to begin using drugs and alcohol. And here I was today in a totally unrelated situation that had nothing to do with my mother, my relationship with her or drugs and alcohol. But somehow deep down – I think they were related in my mind. The mind is a powerful thing. It’s deep, I know. It’s pajama day. Pajama day is deep. Really deep.

I vowed not to stop until the wrong was righted. And I won’t. I’m resourceful. That’s something I got from mother. I’m determined and stubborn too.

Grief is a crazy thing. The sadness, guilt and mix of emotions rear their ugly head when you least expect them. And aside from grief – we all have a little crazy. We try hard to push it down and tame it. But sometimes it just creeps out and starts showing itself. It’s important to surround our self with other people who help us through the craziness and don’t fuel it. It’s important to help others through their crazy too. We’ve all got it. It’s the ones who think they are totally sane we should be worried about. They don’t recognize their own crazy. But others do. Because we all have it.

Last week I showed up for a meeting with some girls I love. I started by saying – I shouldn’t be here. I really should be in therapy. I’m seriously losing my mind. They were awesome. They listened. I cried again. The next day, I had a pajama day. I felt totally rejuvenated.

I’m so thankful for pajama days, crazy whisperers, friends, family, sweet compassionate people, humor and tears. Tears are cleansing for the soul you know.

Have yourself a pajama day.

Finding the sweet side of crazy!






I Miss Her


I’ve been too busy. I’ve been going strong for too long. I’m tired. I need to regroup.

My guys are gone. I’m home alone on a beautiful fall day. The windows are open and a cool breeze (60 degrees) is flowing through the house. I’m still in my favorite pajamas. Christmas Spirit, a delightful blend of essential oils is diffusing a cozy scent throughout. I’ve snuggled up with a cup of warm green chia tea with maple syrup (a new favorite) alone with my thoughts. I’ve needed this. I’m in my zone. This is my best way to regroup and recharge. Alone. In my pajamas. Quiet. Cozy. Clean house. Great scent. Great food. Great weather. Alone.

It’s been just over seven months since I received the call informing me my mother was found dead. Alone. In her apartment. After repeated uncontrollable drinking binges, she bled out. She couldn’t stop herself. She drank herself to death. She knew it was killing her. She would call me crying and tell me she was scared because she was bleeding again. But yet, she couldn’t stop herself. She refused to go to treatment. She hated the things she did when she had been drinking or using. Sometimes I wonder if she really hated herself. Maybe she wasn’t able to separate the things she did under the influence from the person she really was…her sober clean self. Or maybe she no longer knew the real her. Maybe it had been too long and the real her had been destroyed by the devastating disease. I really never knew her. Not like most people know their moms. She was Mother. She had never really been mom.

My family says I grieve late. When my Papa died it took me almost 10 years to deal with it.  Because of mother’s addiction I learned how to compartmentalize and box up my feelings. When bad things happened, I didn’t have the ability to deal with the hard heartbreaking feelings at the time things occurred. I had to parent my parent who had a chronic debilitating disease and made bad decisions. I had to box up those tough feelings and put them away until later…when I had the time, energy and resources to deal with them. When Papa died, I boxed up my feelings. It was too much for me. He was my everything.  I was young and didn’t understand compartmentalizing or have any idea I even did it. One random day, in my early twenty’s the box which held all my emotions and feelings from Papa’s death exploded. Almost ten years later. It couldn’t be contained anymore. One minute, I sat talking and doing life with those close to me and the next I was crying like he had just died. It was crazy. Since then, I’ve tried to be aware of my compartmentalizing. I try to open those boxes a little at a time and deal with things so I don’t have another explosion. My family and I laugh (because that’s what we do at hard stuff) and say – don’t worry – she’ll (me) deal with it in a couple of years.

I’ve done the same thing with mother’s death. I’ve put my feelings in a box. But it’s different. Before Papa died, I had never thought about death. But since his death – I think about it often. His life and death made a great impact on me and how I live. I never expected my Papa to die. Not really. But because of Mother’s addiction, I expected her to die. I tried to prepare myself for her death for years. I knew she was dying. The truth is…it was shocking that she managed to stay alive for so long because of the way she lived. I know that sounds mean and cruel but if you’ve loved an addict – you get it. They live such a hard lifestyle that most days you wake up thinking…I can’t believe she is still alive. Then you feel guilty. Because feeling guilty and loving and addict go hand in hand.

I can feel myself avoiding thoughts and feelings related to mother’s death.  I find myself crying a lot lately. As cruel as it sounds…my feelings and tears surprise me. I thought I had done well to prepare myself for this. But you can’t ever prepare yourself for the feeling’s you experience after someone’s death. Not really. Thoughts of her pop into my head at random times. When I’m traveling several hours in the car for work, I think of calling mother because that’s when I would call her. When I’m in a hotel, I catch myself packing up the little shampoo, conditioner and other bath products to give her. When I hear something about a drug, I want to call her and ask her about it. When I have leftovers, I catch myself thinking I need to freeze them for her. The other day when I listened to “Gone” by Meagan White, I cried. I thought of my new friend who lost her mom to suicide/addiction only 3 months after I lost mother. I cried for her and I cried for me.

When mother was alive, I wanted all the phone calls and the pain and the heartache to stop. For me and for her. I wanted to find some peace and not have to worry about the constant phone calls from her and others. I wanted to be able to stop worrying if she was safe, had food or if she had been beat up again. I wanted to be able to wake up in the morning without 7 million voice mails about mother. Her life was out of control. I wanted some relief from the burden her addiction had placed on my life and my heart. And hers. I tried to prepare myself for her death but I never prepared myself that I’d miss her. But I do.

I miss her.

I miss her humor.

I miss listening to her laugh.

I miss the answers I never got to the questions I never asked.

I miss listening to her say Kandy Lyn real fast.

I miss listening to her say “you listen here SCCCCCCCCOTTYYY” when she was mad at him.

I miss knowing I could pick up the phone and hear her voice and hang up really quickly if she was drunk.

My heart hurts for the things she never got to know and enjoy. My heart hurts for the things I was robbed of because of her addiction. My heart hurts for the things I never wrote to her but wish I had.

My heart hurts that she died. Alone. In a nasty little apartment that smelled.

I’m mad. I’m mad at her. I’m mad at addiction. I’m mad at how we treat and view addiction. I’m mad that I deleted all of the voicemails before she died. I long to listen to hear her voice and some of the voicemails that made me laugh. I’m mad at myself for not taking extra time with her or for not hugging her a little tighter the last time I saw her. I’m mad that she didn’t go to treatment and work through the hard stuff.

But mainly my heart just hurts. For mother. For me. For my boys. For her brothers and sisters. For her mom and dad. And for everyone else who is experiencing, will experience and has experienced this terrible heartbreaking devastating disease.

Addiction sucks!

I’m so thankful for all of the positive wonderful people God has strategically placed in my life. I’m so thankful I somehow by the grace of God ended up on a completely different path than mother.

I’m thankful for all the hard lessons I learned that taught me to live intentionally and with purpose.

Today, I’m especially thankful for the small things…quiet alone time; my favorite pajamas; a much needed day where I didn’t leave my cozy, clean home; great food; great weather and great scents.

I miss her…and I never prepared for that.

Finding the sweet side of crazy!


Because life is brutiful I got siblings


I wasn’t born with siblings. But because life is brutiful (like Glennon says) God gave me a brother and two sisters.

Through the ugly craziness of addiction I gained the sweetness of J., T. and D.  My first cousins became my siblings. My mother and their mother were sisters. My aunt along with my grandparents helped raise me. She took me in and raised me like I was hers. I am blessed.

I love my J., T. and D.  During the darkest, hardest, brightest and best days of my life, they are always there. ALWAYS. Even when we are mad at each other. We are always there for each other. We tell each other exactly what we think. For real. We do dumb and crazy things sometimes. Or often. Like really crazy. One time we had a little impromptu wrestling match in the middle of the night. It was super crazy. One of us had lost our mind and the rest of us showed up to help them find it. Because that’s what we do. We show up. When one of us is going through something – we are always there for each other. Sometimes in person, sometimes on the phone, sometimes it’s in prayer but we are always there. Sometimes when things get really crazy some of us hide out until some of the crazy is gone. We fuss at each other. We tell each other when our crazy is showing or when we are acting ugly. We get each other’s dumb jokes and laugh at crazy stuff together. We fight. We talk to each other. Real talk. We laugh at each other. We get mad at each other. We cry with each other. We do really dumb stuff and then we laugh. We get real. I mean really real. I love them.

The truth is…I wouldn’t make it in this old world without them. We all know no matter what – we always have each other’s back.

D. has a heart of gold. She is the momma hen. You mess with any of us – she’ll get you. She doesn’t care if she’s just cussed us out herself. If you do something to one of us or our families…she will let you have it. She doesn’t care if we are wrong. We are hers and she’s not going to let anyone mess with us. But she’s quick to apologize too. We love her. Once, when we were young…after she had had enough of someone who wasn’t acting very nice toward us…D. chased the girl outside. When the girl got in her truck and locked the doors…D. jumped in the back of the truck, busted open the window with her fist and grabbed that girl by the hair. I sat there with my jaw down to my knees.    D. hates it when I tell that story but I was so proud of her. That girl was mean and hateful and she was hurting someone we loved. I’m still proud of her. Secretly – sometimes I wish I’d handle mean people a little more like D. did.

J. is spontaneous, easy going and fun loving. He is protective of us girls. He doesn’t like too many plans. He doesn’t stay anywhere to long. He likes to move quickly. I think us three girls drive him nuts and he tries to keep his sanity – being the only guy…can you imagine? We girls got/get on his nerves. He’s like most guys and doesn’t like to talk a whole bunch and certainly not about feelings and junk. When we were little, us girls were always asking him all kinds of questions that guys hate. Like – did so and so say anything about me? Do you think he likes me? Should I wear this? Should I say this? Guys don’t like those kind of questions. He had to endure it on his own against us three girls. Poor guy. J. was a great wrestler. Once when he was little, we were at a wrestling tournament. There was one kid who was his biggest rival. T. and I found that little boy. We wanted to scare him so we told him our brother was going to pin him in nothing flat. We gave him a good earful. T. and I were so proud of ourselves for scaring that boy. When the time came for the match, T. and I watched in horror as the little boy we had just unknowingly pumped up pinned J. in nothing flat. After the match, being clueless – we told J. about our conversation with the kid. He was so mad at us. I mean really mad. We didn’t do that again.

T. is smart, thoughtful and kind. She is the baby. Although you wouldn’t know it. She’s kind of bossy like she’s the oldest. I mean…she’s a leader. She keeps us in line. We used to accuse her of tattling on us when we were younger. She never really got in trouble…not like the rest of us. I guess she was smart enough to learn from us and our mistakes. In middle school, there was a girl on the bus that was giving T. a hard time. She was being really mean to her. It made me mad. So I decided to write a note and leave it on the bus for that little girl to find. I was going to teach her a lesson. Don’t mess with my sister. I wrote…”Rosanna is a…” and then I just scribbled. A bunch. I was always scared to get into too much trouble. But I wanted to scare that girl. She found the letter. And she took it to her momma. My aunt who worked nights got woke up by a phone call from Rosanna’s very mad mom. My aunt wasn’t happy. She called me in there and asked me if I wrote a cuss word on a piece of paper. I told her no because I didn’t. I explained what I did. My aunt was furious. We loaded up in the car and drove to that little girl’s house. Her mom came out and was as white as a ghost. I don’t think she expected visitors. I was scared and felt bad for all the confusion my note had created. My aunt gave her the what for. That lady was shaking. We got back in the car and drove back home. I never did do that again.

I love them just like they truly are my blood siblings. We make each other crazy, furious, and want to pull our hair out. Like most brothers and sisters – we have pulled hair, punched, cursed, spit, wrestled and said hateful words. But you mess with any of us and we’ll all get you. We tell each other things flat out. We call each other out when we are doing crazy things. We hold each other accountable…trying never to let any one of us become a victim. We get mad at each other but no matter what…we love each other. We can say anything to each other and we do. We are real and we tell each other like it is. But we like that. I know when my crazy comes out – one of them will quickly let me know. When I’m quick to become fixated or upset about something – they’ll listen and talk me down. They help keep me straight. They help me be the best me I can be. No competition. Just love. They love me. And I love them.

I know I’m blessed. But I haven’t always known it and took it for granted for a lot of years.

As I thought about my relationship with them…I realized in their younger years…my mother’s siblings were a great example for us kids. They taught us a lot. They showed us how to be siblings. For most of their lives they had been close. They showed us how to stick together and how to call each other out. They showed us how to show up. There were six of them and they were a tight group. We spent a lot of time together…weekends, family reunions, talking on the phone, holidays and any chance we got we were all together.

When one of them was in trouble – all or some of them showed up to help whether it was going through a divorce, financial trouble, loss of a loved one, their own end of life diagnosis…they always showed up. When my uncle was on his death bed, my other uncle brought him to his house to be cared for during his last days. His family – his wife, children, grandkids and the rest of us, gathered around him and listened to his brilliantly funny stories. Many were there when he passed over into Heaven.

That’s the kind of relationship I want my boys to have. I want them to be close and always have each other’s back. I want them to be real with each other. I want them to be able to tell each other the hard stuff. I want them to hold each other accountable – to keep each other in check. If one was acting crazy – I want the other to be able to tell him. You need someone who you know will always tell you the truth and not just what you want to hear. I want them to show each other kindness and love and do good for each other.

When they were little we told them not to tell on each other unless it was something really important…like if they were doing something that could hurt them or someone else. We wanted them to have each other’s back and take care of each other.   We also said … Madden – if you want your brother to want to be around you and take you places – you have to be a good little brother. Don’t be annoying and don’t tattle on him all the time. Mason – you need to be a good big brother. Include him and take care of him. Look after him. I’ll never forget Mason being around 8 and Madden 4. I looked out the window to see Madden chasing and hitting a kid who was about 13 with a plastic bat for “being mean to my bub.” To this day – it still makes me laugh.

Life is brutiful. Because of the ugliness of addiction, I gained a brother and two sisters and another mother. I am blessed!

Finding the sweet side of crazy!