Mom Guilt- The Queen of Empty Cups

· Leave a comment ·

“You can’t pour from an empty cup.” Just you watch me. I am the Queen of the Empty Cups, your Royal Highness Ashley

Guilt appears throughout my day leaving me feeling overwhelmed and tired. Guilty for not working enough hours in the day before kid pick up arrives. Guilty for not wanting to play with my child at the end of the work day and wanting to rest. Guilty for eating this or that or not eating this or that. Guilty for purchasing something I wanted and not something that was for the kids or my husband. Guilty for not speaking up, guilty for speaking up. Guilty for not exercising, guilty for wanting more sleep. Guilty for wanting a career, to climb a ladder; guilty for going in on the weekends and taking a phone call after hours.

It’s almost a bad Dr. Suess story- will you be guilty in a box? Will you be guilty with a fox in a box? Guilty, I am.

When you are sick, the guilt feels even thicker. Guilty but now with a time frame. If x = time on earth and y= time spent, then z= is what you have to do despite feeling tired and wanting to free your mind of all its clutter of the day.

When and why did these feelings of guilt appear? When are we enough for ourselves? Why do we feel as if we have to carry the weight of everyone else on our shoulders?

I think the first step is to admit that we feel guilty and to remind ourselves that it’s okay to take care of ourselves. Remind ourselves that we shouldn’t feel guilty. One tiny step at a time. Saying “no” is okay; it doesn’t make you a bad mom, employee, etc.

Resting is a good idea to avoid being too run down and worse, sick. Acknowledging that you have no clue as to when your time will be and living your life is important.

As a type this blog, I am not saying this will be easy. Trust me. I am the worst at pouring from an empty cup until the proverbial cup shatters. I guess what I am saying is to give yourself grace, one moment at a time. With the holiday season here, remind yourself “I am enough.”

Put on some music, your favorite sweats, dance, laugh- love her too. Love her too.

6 7

· Leave a comment ·

Skank, wrap, yo mama, jank, phat, extra, cornholio, punch bug, as if, MTV Spring Break

The millennials essentially ruled the kingdom before 6 7. And we will always be 67 times better.

Plaid, combat boots, spaghetti strap shirts, hemp necklaces, CK jeans, Green Day, Nirvana, Happy by Clinique

Children raised from the flower generation now in our 40s but still wishing we were in our ragged out bell bottoms or new balances and rolled up sofie shorts.

We had angst, but you didn’t hurt our feelings.

We rolled from the club to work wristbands and all. You called in.

No gentle parenting here. The street light told the time. Alanis made us feel cool. Biggie raised us. Live saw into our souls.

God, I miss those times some days. I’m glad we never said 6 7, but then again, we had our own version

Whatever.

Your Light will still Shine

· Leave a comment ·

Just yesterday mornin’, they let me know you were gone– James Taylor

There were so many things I wished I had said to you that day. You were my cheerleader and one of my biggest supporters. You were so selfless- more worried about me- as you told me, “Ashley, you have young children” in referencing my current cancer battle. I told you that we play the cards that we are dealt and friends you played yours so well. Your light shown so brightly for me and others to see.

My friend, you’ve now gone, to watch over us from above. I’m going to miss our talks. Your light has been passed on to me and friend; your light will still shine. The torch of representing this dreaded disease is not extinguished when one of us passes away. It is simply passed on to the next. I carry it with pride for the ones that have gone on before me.

The words I wished I had said: “Thank you for loving me and sharing in your battle. Thank you for being so kind and accepting me. We didn’t know each other in another life but I loved you in this life. Thank you for showing me what grit and determination look like and your faith- well there are no words to accurately describe how faithful you were to God, your friends and family. I love you.”

Rest now friend. I’ve got it now.

-Ashley

VHS Time Machine

· Leave a comment ·

I met younger me for the first time in decades this past Sunday. I asked my parents if they still had their video tapes. They did! It also happened that someone had a working VCR in town. Thanks Tim for letting us journey down memory lane.

Hearing my grandmother’s voice and seeing her house again after 20 plus years was magical.

I began wondering what I would tell younger me at 7, 11, and 16.

  To my 7 year old self, you won’t be this shy forever. Enjoy being a kid.

To 11 year old me, spoiler alert you don’t end up with the guy you wrote about in your Lisa Frank journal, but it works out better. Believe in yourself.

To 16 year old me, don’t grow up too fast.

Then there were my parents in the videos when they were my age currently. Seeing our interactions then and how it shaped me. Thankful is all I can say.

The time machine of home videos made me both happy and sad – missing those that were part of my life. Seeing them, hearing them- oh  my heart.

My oldest son said I still had the same mannerisms. Maybe none of us really do change. We just grow older. 

The Fab Four-Andi, Mom, Dad and Me 

What 40 has brought me..

· Leave a comment ·

I’m now a nick nack person… especially antique nick nacks.

I am saying yes to more things that bring me joy.

I am worrying less about things out of my control (most of the time).

I planted my first olive tree.

I am a door dasher and Wal Mart pick up kind of gal.

I am finding my voice at the career table.

I am keeping my circle tight and close, but anyone is invited anytime.

I am writing more and with my dad. Stay tuned to learn more!

I am trying and failing at being healthy, exercise, blah blah, but okay with me. I maybe even love myself. ❤️

I genuinely love hugs (not that I didn’t before), but COVID made miss hugs.

I am a festival gal apparently. 

I am still a mama and daddy girl.

I am a Sunday dinner with my parents and sister person and sad when it doesn’t happen.

I am a small town girl.

I still love tall boots, long jackets, and hats.

I love being a child of the 90s with my soul in the 60s. My music reflects it – no keeping up with the times for me.

I am happy.

“Do you want it more than you fear it?” – Robin Roberts

· Leave a comment ·

I sat in my cousin’s backyard this weekend in Auburn listening to his wife’s wind chimes. The sun shined on my face. Earlier in the week, after a pet scan, I learned that part of my cancer was responding well to treatment but a new spot has appeared in my left sternum.

At first I was okay but as the day progressed onto the evening when there was more time to think I began to worry over this spot. It made me mad and sad. I tried to tell God but my words fell short.

Fast forward to this weekend and the wind chimes. Somehow they reminded me of God’s presence telling me to stay still, one day, one moment at a time. I finally felt relaxed.

Every 4 weeks I wait with abated breath and then I’m left mentally exhausted. I’ve decided now however to choose how I react and plan for these appointments. I have a choice in my actions.

I choose joy. I choose goals. I choose me.

I choose to want it more than I fear it. I want to be here. I want to do so many things and Lord willing I will. I will.

Dear William Michael

· Leave a comment ·

I watched in awe as you got up at 5:30 before school to practice soccer. Then, you asked to practice on Saturday, and I watched you practice. Neither of these times includes regularly scheduled practices with the high school team on Sundays and Mondays, nor games on Tuesdays and Thursdays with the league.

Your grit and determination at such a young age are truly inspiring. I told myself I’d start getting up when you do during the week to prepare myself for the next year when I plan to attend UAB and get my doctorate in Healthcare Leadership. My reasoning is that when I add coursework to my mom life and regular work, I’d have an extra hour to study, do laundry, pray, or whatever.

I remember the feeling I imagine you are feeling. The rush of playing a sport you love. For me, it was tennis. Like you, I’d get up early and play with Poppy. I loved how the racquet felt in my hand and the feeling of smashing the ball onto the other side or down the competitor’s throat, where they couldn’t return the shot. As the sweat poured from my brow, I wiped it off and reset to serve again, again, and again. I see this in you. I see your footwork, research in the best angle. You reset the ball again, again, and again. I think to myself, “Where did this kid come from?” Surely, not me. I’d like to take all the credit, but you are you.

I write this for myself selfishly, as I do not know what the future holds, but I do know I am here for whatever your plans may be with this sport or whatever you choose. I daydream that one day I am watching you in the stands when they call your name, and they happen to mention mine in association.

I am writing to let you know that I am incredibly proud of you. I cherish every moment we have together- in the car, watching scary movies, and watching you play your sport. I pray God gives me all the chances in the world to be a part of it.

You have inspired me to pursue what I’ve always wanted to do: a doctorate. Now, I have to muster my grit and prepare for the following year. I look to you for that motivation.

Together, at 5:30 AM, we will follow our dreams. This old lady will get her doctorate and maybe have an opportunity to teach college kids (a dream come true). You, my son, will play soccer at a higher level. I feel in my heart and know it in my mind.

Thanks for the inspiration and the reminder that dreams can come true, but they take hard work, perseverance, and determination. Something you already encompass. Don’t lose focus, my son. Don’t lose focus.

I love you, Mom.

The Big Blue Ribbon

· Leave a comment ·

It started with the big blue ribbons that the cheerleaders sold, each with a giant football sticker attached. Then, the annual spend the night company in grade school waiting for the announcer to say it’s time for the “victory” line. We hurriedly took our place to run as the Tigers burst through the decorated banner. The bonfire the night before, with the funeral procession for the opposing team, as the casket was tossed onto the fire. The anticipation of getting out early for the parade. We watched in awe of the older high school students who passed by. They seemed so much older at the time. Then we became old enough to build floats and stuff chicken wire. Getting out of school to decorate these floats at the old armory was a privilege. Riding on your decorated float or walking beside it as you wave to your hometown was a rite of passage. And the thrill of victory tasted so sweet when your float wins the competition as announced at the evening’s football game.

The pride of being selected to be on the court and the preparations of the right suit- yes, that’s right, a suit. The proper evening gown for the parade was often borrowed rather than purchased. The giant mum that adorned that big blue ribbon with a blue pipe cleaner “D” and a gold football ornament attached. Oh, that big blue ribbon! Your hero, your dad, is leading you out onto the field. The dance afterwards. I am so thankful I got to be part of it all.

And to think, it all started with a big blue ribbon. Homecoming.

Team Conrad vs. Team Jeremiah, a Wicked Weekend and rambling thoughts from a 40-year-old millennial…

· Leave a comment ·

Team Conrad versus Team Jeremiah has been around since the beginning of my 8th grade year, when I once wrote on my notebook C or W with a question mark. For fear of finding out my two crushes, I secretly coded them by only placing the first letter of the prospectives’ first names. How brilliant was I? Lol. The Summer I Turned Pretty is a millennial dream. I think it’s Conrad’s hair as it mimics many of the covers of my Seventeen magazines in those days. Maybe it’s how the music intertwines the episodes much like the soundtrack of Dawson’s Creek. I was Team Pacey.

Maybe it comes from a need to find peace in this chaotic world that drags us millennials in. Since 2001 we’ve felt an uneasy that has not subsided. Whatever it is, I am here for it!

It’s nice to get caught up in something else for even a short period of time. After it ends next week, I’ll be searching for the next binge.

Whatever team you are on make sure you choose you too. I am learning that even at 40. Sometimes, we have to do things that bring us joy. It’s hard with work, family, kids but it makes you better when you can make yourself smile every once in a while. Team Ashley is going with friends to see Wicked on stage with friends. In college, in my attempt to be cool, I would have never admitted that I liked this story but as an adult, I have fallen in love with the characters, their development, etc. I watched Wizard of Oz (taped off television with commercials and all) a gazillion times according to my mom, so I guess it’s only fitting that I like Wicked.

Another lesson I’ve learned lately is that I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea because, “darling, I’m champagne!” It’s okay that things don’t always work out the way you planned because God has something better in store.

Spoiler alert, at the end of 8th grade, I chose C then ended up marrying a W. Life is like that. What may seem important at the moment changes as you change. I cherish every moment I have on this earth and the memories that made me who I am. For the most part, I don’t have regrets. Because to live is an awfully wonderful adventure, and I am glad to be here- the good, the bad and all of it. I am soaking it all in.

YOU’VE been selected ….

· Leave a comment ·

The words jumped from the page as I read about the study, I agreed to participate in regarding resilience in people living with metastatic breast cancer. “You’ve been selected” used to mean someone received a scholarship or a job. Now, it meant you’ve been diagnosed with something, and we want to study you. I’m flattered. Ed McMann didn’t present any balloons, just a knock on the door from a sweet lady almost timidly asking if I’d consider while I waited to see the oncologist. Yes, I want to help others, so the answer was a resounding yes but when you read the words it hits a little differently. You- who was you? It was me. I looked around at all the You’s in the waiting room later.

When God selects you for something, specifically a chronic disease. It’s easy to question things, almost automatic. Chronic is defined as a problem that is long lasting and not easy to eradicate. In the simplest terms it means it ain’t going away or if it is you are going to have to fight like hell.

Now mentally most days the word chronic doesn’t bother me as I have no obvious symptoms but when it’s time to see the oncologist, it’s a reminder of what my reality is. People with chronic diseases live everyday with the fact that they may not get better.

Two words that must sustain me are hope and faith while also being realistic. When “you’ve been selected” , a weird type of math plays in your mind. If x = the number of years, then y= how old my kids will be. Therefore, z= what I will be around to see. I understand that really only God knows x but when “you’ve been selected” you are more aware of time.

Time comes into factor with me when I go to the see the oncologist not before. I wait and let out an abated breath when I pass the test of this visit. I leave feeling mentally exhausted and have two hours to mull around the words spoken to me- scans, hope, as long as this works. Then magically, I try reappearing normal when it’s time to get my kids and go to soccer practice.

Well-meant people ask how I am, and I lie telling them “I’m great!” They say things like “you look so good.” Again, all well-intentioned but I know I can and may look worse down the road as cancer looms. Cancer is a bastard as that it can appear to be dormant but still be a seed waiting to sprout. When it’s chronic, it’s just waiting the right conditions and the medicine’s goal is literally to beat the hell out of the cancer so all it can do is lie.

After I have a day to reset and refocus, thanking God for a good appointment, I focus back on what really matters- my family, my work and living the best version of myself. I don’t let the word chronic mock me or cancer try to get the best of me. “You’ve been chosen” doesn’t seem so bad, a battle cry of sorts now, a way to do God’s work.

I’ve been chosen and I will help others with this ugly disease. I am glad to be chosen as I have the support and the means to fight. Chronic, pssh, in the words of the late Tom Petty, “I won’t back down. You can stand me at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down.”