The first post that popped up in my feed was a thank you from one friend to another. Not just a simple thank you, but a life-changing, you wrestled me from the depths of depression and gave me purpose kind of thank you. It started, “I think every year, there is someone in your life who comes along, and often unknowingly or without specific intent, gives you the boost or the confidence to take a chance and better yourself. Like a Personal Person of the Year.”

Lovely, isn’t it? Being touched by another human being to the extent that they would thank you like that? Believe it or not, you are that person for me. So, today, on your nineteenth birthday, I’m dubbing you my Personal Person of the Year. Thank you. 

You certainly didn’t know you were going to change my life when you came into the world, but you definitely did. I had a great job and good relationships, but I didn’t have a purpose. Once you arrived, I wasn’t just existing anymore. I was LIVING. And I had a reason to eat, sleep, breathe and bake chicken nuggets. Bonus.

Seventeen years ago, when you were deep in your Barney phase, there was a song about how great it would be if all the raindrops were lemondrops and gumdrops, “…standing outside with our mouths open wide…ah, ah, ah….” But, you and I both know that life isn’t like that. If all the raindrops were lemondrops and gumdrops, it wouldn’t be all that great. Basically, we’d be getting pelted with candy.

That’s kind of how things have been. Life is sweeter, but the road to get here has been riddled with potholes because unexpected nonsense came falling from the sky. And as much as I tried to patch things so you could travel smoothly, I couldn’t. I’m so sorry for that pain. But, I’m so proud of the way you’ve pulled yourself out of those holes and paved your own way.

Two years ago, you were barely functioning. In your nineteenth year, you have been able to leave home, start a challenging college career, begin a new job AND you spend early mornings volunteering. You’ve made new friends, joined a philanthropic community, and continue to be the best daughter a mom could ever ask for. Please lower the bar, because you’re making me look bad to your grandma.

Watching you climb from darkness and thrive has given me the boost I needed. I want to be smarter, kinder, see more, do more, eat, sleep, breathe. I want to be a woman as wonderful as my daughter. That’s why you’re my Person of the Year. You didn’t know you were doing it, but you changed my life for the better.

Happy birthday, baby girl. I’m so glad you were born.

Now they are 15 and 18 and my daughter is getting ready to go to college. And, I am left staring at the same cursor that I’ve stared at a thousand times. It won’t quit blinking. I can’t stop blinking.

If you had asked me in 2007 where I saw myself in 10 years, I would have never answered that I’d be a single-mom with a career in social media. Neither of those would have seemed a remote possibility. I sure didn’t anticipate that I’d be dating the cute guy from my ninth grade history class. Sometimes, though, life is a series of fortunate events.

This space was built on good timing, networking and comedy gold in the form of my children, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the life-changing opportunities BlogHer gave me. I will be forever grateful to them for expanding this blog’s reach, providing sponsorship, and for handing over their Twitter account to a part-time lunch lady who used to tweet from her personal account after taking Ambien. If you think that’s a run-on sentence, you should have seen what I used to tweet.

If I had more time, I’d write a lot more and maybe even finish the novel I referred to in my first post – the one I started writing before blogging was a gleam in my eye. But, even if I can manage to finish that book, I can’t imagine not always having this space to return to. I’m sure I’ll appreciate it when I’m retired and traveling around the country in my RV. Wait until you hear those stories.

Forrest Gump was way off. Life is like a series of blog posts. Some days are funny, others are filled with immense pain, but mostly I’m just happy to be breathing and still in this space watching the cursor move forward. Thanks for blinking along with me.

Divorce is hard. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, but a really beautiful thing happened on the way to the courthouse. I reconnected with an old friend who (spoiler alert) I fell madly in love with. But, before I fell in love with him, he helped me fall in love with traveling again.

A few weeks after we started dating he brought me along on a work trip to Tennessee. I had been to Nashville as a kid, but my only Grand Ole Opry memory was arguing with my mom because I wanted to wear jeans and she wanted me to wear a dress. I think Loretta Lynn was there, but I’m not sure because I was seven, and I WANTED TO WEAR JEANS.

Enter Andy.

So, two years ago, he brought me to Nashville. And, when I write that sentence I get a giant lump in my throat, because it was a turning point on this journey I’ve been on.

I have always loved live music. I’m an experienced concert attendee and have hundreds, if not thousands, of them under my belt. I used to travel all over the country (even the world) to see concerts, but I had never seen anything like Nashville. If you like live music, GET HERE. It’s amazing.

The talent is incomparable. The food is fantastic. The people are good. It’s clean. The weather is perfection. And, they make one hell of a bloody Mary.

But, what Nashville really gave me is a deep love for travel again. It reminded me how much I missed new experiences, and music, and meeting people, and having a spirit free enough to dance. It led to trips to nine more states and Mexico. And, it led to me coming back to Nashville over and over again.

Thank you, Andy and thank you Tennessee. You are both life-changing gifts. I’m just fine with that giant lump. It’s a reminder of how fortunate I am.

1. The Austrian Lindler Folk Dance from The Sound of Music. This is the moment Maria and Captain Von Trapp realize this is more than your typical governess/naval-captain-whistle-blowing-Nazi-rejector relationship.

2. Carl and Ellie’s love story from Up. There’s very little dialogue in this scene. There doesn’t need to be.

3. A kiss in the rain from The Notebook. All that time apart. All that love. The reconnection. Ryan Gosling.

4. The boombox scene in Say Anything. Show me a girl in 1989 who didn’t want a guy standing outside her window blaring Peter Gabriel and I’ll show you a girl who never saw this movie.

5. I can’t find video of this scene from A Beautiful Mind, but this whole movie wins because a love story that endures mental illness is about as romantic as you can get.

Nash: “You once said that God must be a painter because he gave us so many colors.”
Alicia: “I didn’t think you were listening…”
Nash: “I was listening.”

A man that listens? Swoon.

6. The last few minutes of Good Will Hunting is a happy ending like no other and oh-so-dreamy. It also doesn’t show either member of the couple on whom the romantic story-line is based. This is me, throwing you a romantic curve-ball.

7. I know these are kids, but they grow up and get married. They love each other their WHOLE LIVES, you guys! This scene from Braveheart steals my heart.

8. A love you have to let go. Ouch, Castaway. Just ouch. Also, more rain. I have a thing for water.

9. I’m not a huge Tim Burton fan, but the epic beauty and storytelling in Big Fish is delightful. It’s one of my favorite films and this sweeping romantic gesture and field of daffodils makes me weepy.

10. This scene from Far and Away is the reason I was crushed when Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman got divorced.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I hope you find the time to curl up and watch a love story.

You didn’t come into the world serenely.

As I was being monitored in a hospital room, 10 weeks before your due date, a team of doctors, nurses and I-don’t-know-what-else came running in. They shoved meds and catheters in, strapped my arms down, and in a matter of minutes my belly had been cut open, You were pulled out and whisked to the NICU where they put a tube down your throat to help you breathe.

Two days later, I was allowed to hold you. The nurses said I should “kangaroo” you and hold you skin to skin, so I came to the hospital every day and I’d pull the curtain around your isolette and hold your tiny body firmly against mine.

I told you so many stories about the things that awaited you at home. Hours and hours and days and days about our crazy dog, Blue, my Grandma’s rocking chair and your very own room. I sang, “You Are My Sunshine.” Despite my horrible singing voice and your beeping monitors, it was very peaceful.

But, all I wanted was for you to come home.

Of course, in the last couple of years, your definition of home has changed a lot. I’m sorry for that. I hope that by what you have lost, you have also gained understanding, compassion and forgiveness. I’m still working on that last one. Looking for the bright side will serve you well, and when you can’t find the bright side, keep working on it. At least you can say that you tried.

Through your many different homes, and all the chaos into which you’ve been thrust, I hope you have always known how very much you are loved. I can’t really express it by holding you in my lap and singing to you anymore, but if it wouldn’t be odd for me to hold an adult in my lap and belt out tunes, you’re the adult I would pick.

And, let that be your constant. In the future, when life starts an uphill portion of its roller coaster ride, remember that you are, and will always be, my sunshine.

Love,

Mom

I had to revise the order because some things had to be removed for reasons beyond my control, but that’s okay. I can adapt. Here’s where I stand.

1. Graduate from college. (This is in progress. Also, one of the reasons I never have time to write blog posts anymore.)
2. Run a half marathon.
3. Travel across the United States in an RV.
4. Stand under a Giant Sequoia.

5. Hike into the Grand Canyon. (Two weeks ago I hiked around it, but I’m not counting that.)

6. Get published.
7. Become a Certified Interior Decorator. (#retirementgoals)
8. Paint a picture.
9. Camp in a tent, on a warm beach.
10. Visit all 50 states.
11. Visit the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
12. Get a tattoo.
13. Go skinny dipping.
14. Grow my own tomatoes.
15. Take a dance class.
16. Learn how to properly skip a stone.
17. Sample 100 types of beer.
18. Breed a dog and keep one of the puppies.
19. Learn to play guitar. (I bought a guitar, so I’m one step closer!)
20. Go on a winter campout.
21. Hike in Zion National Park. (This right here? Is why this Life List was created. GO THERE. Trust me.)

22. Learn to golf. (With some accuracy.)
23. Participate in an adventure race.
24. Learn to paddleboard.
25. Visit the Vatican and attend mass at St. Peter’s Basilica.
26. Float in the Dead Sea.
27. Sit in a natural hot spring.
28. Take a photography class.
29. See the Northern Lights.
30. Ride a snowboard.
33. Go whitewater rafting.
34. Learn to play the drums.
35. See a concert at Red Rocks Amphitheater.
36. Ride a Segway.
37. See a Broadway show.
38. Canoe or kayak down the Colorado River. (A couple of weeks ago I saw where they drop the boats in the water. I stood there and cried.)
39. Write a screenplay.
40. Go snowmobiling.

Now for some new additions. Not to be confused with New Edition.

41. Visit Chichén Itzá. (I hear it’s awesome.)

42. Hike in Yosemite National Park. (Zion was just the warm-up.)

43. Do 50 push-ups in a row. (Don’t laugh. I can’t even do five.)

44. Learn to knit.

45. Brew my own beer.

46. Visit Chile. (When I was young I saw pictures of Chile and wanted to move there. That hasn’t changed.)

47. Go sailing.

48. Go whale-watching.

49. Watch a baseball game in Fenway Park.

50. See the sunrise from Acadia National Park’s Cadillac Mountain (the first place the sun rises in the United States).

Had I known how amazing some things would be on a recent trip I took out west, I would have included a lot of them on this list. They will have to be bonus items, I suppose. I will be sharing those details soon.

Have you started your list? What are you waiting for?

No, I was looking for a specific photo and couldn’t find it on my phone. It must be on Facebook, I thought. It wasn’t. I scrolled through thousands of pictures, but the one I wanted wasn’t there.

I cursed and moaned about technology. No one needs this many pictures! Why are they in all different places? My iPhone, Flickr, Facebook, Twitter…ohhhh, it’s probably on the blog.

So I came here to look, but what I found when I got here was not what I came looking for.

I haven’t been her for awhile and what I found as I scrolled through the categories were post after post that I don’t even remember writing. There are unbelievable memories here. I was laughing at witch penises, and how my son used to insult me, and how my son used to threaten animals. And, a whole lot of other things my son did.

I was reminded that children grow A LOT in nearly a decade of blogging. My daughter is getting ready to turn 18, for crying out loud! Also, I was right about this. I was also reminded that her talents are limitless.

What I found is almost 10 years of life documented. I found something I’m still passionate about even though it feels harder to write these days. I can’t write all the things I want to and that’s awfully hard, because I have a lot to say. My life, however, does go on. Beautifully, in fact. It’s time to start documenting that again.

I never found that picture, but I take back all the cursing and moaning I did about the technology in which it’s buried.

Long live this blog.

Mine are typing this post right now. They have typed, or handwritten, thousands of stories, letters and postcards to friends and family all over the world. They have held crying babies, laughing babies, and a dying baby. They have cooked countless meals and, in the case of tonight’s dinner, burned a few as well.

I used to watch my grandmother’s as she rolled out her own noodles, or carried my handicapped cousin through the house. My children have used theirs to make me homemade cards. My dad used his for manual labor. My mom uses hers to work logic problems, or wrap her loving arms around the back of her very dirty grandson.

Hands create, they comfort, they caress and they betray. I can’t help but think of the love they promised, the ring mine wore for 18 years, and how they held the pen that signed that all away. I remember another relationship when they were used to hurt me. I think of the guns they fire and the harm they can do.

And, I can’t help but think of the new hands I hold; stronger than any I know, calloused and worn, but gentle and giving. They have rubbed my shoulders during tense times, held me in the midst of darkness and danced with me in the light. They have been quite wonderful at prodding me to do new things in this new life. I love them.

They say eyes are the window to the soul, but I think it’s the hands. Next time I see you, take my hand and give me a glimpse into yours.

They are often silent, watching shows on a tablet with headphones or reading in bed. But, they are here.

They frequently argue about silly things to the point you think you can’t take it anymore. They make messes. They use all the hot water. They leave their shoes and balls by the front door where everyone trips over them. But, they are here.

And, it never gets any easier when they aren’t. It doesn’t matter that life is really good; work is fulfilling, school is going well, you’re in a great relationship, you have friends and family you can always lean on. None of that matters when they aren’t here.

So, you tell yourself you’ll stay busy. You go to the gym, you study, you run errands you’ve been putting off and end up at Target trying to spend the $75 you always spend.

Instead you come home with empty hands and an emptier heart and there are the shoes, and the ball, and the messes. Now the ordinary silence is deafening because they aren’t here.

And it never, ever, gets any easier.

You, alone, have been through a lifetime of trials, but lately your trials have outweighed your triumphs. Having health problems is hard. Wearing hearing aids is hard. Being on the spectrum is hard. Having surgeries, getting blood drawn, switching schools, starting new medications, your mom starting a new job, and your parents getting divorced? All hard. And, that’s just the last nine months.

When you put it all together, it’s clear that you are the same kid you’ve always been. You roll with the punches and always come back. Slowly, but I like to think that’s because you want it to be perfect.

And, even with all the chaos you made such strides in your 13th year. You learned how to swim without vomiting! (The other people in the pool appreciate that very much.)

You learned to smell vinegar without vomiting, too! And, you even LIKE pickles now. That was a big one. Of all the advances you’ve made, I think I like not vomiting the most.

You did other amazing things too, like hiking nine miles through the mountains in California, going for a dirtbike ride, riding waves in North Carolina and seeing your first concert. It was a joy to see you experience new things. Like when you pulled the fire alarm in the hotel at midnight. Good times. Good times.

I am so proud of how resilient you are. I’m so happy you were born. Happy 14th birthday, buddy. And, just so you know, you are totally not driving anytime soon.