Tag: life

Dear William Michael

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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.

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

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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.

Let it Be

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I found myself this afternoon in a melancholy mood. I found The Wonder Years on Hulu and watched the first episode. In the first episode, Kevin Arnold starts his first day of Junior High. Winnie loses her brother to the Vietnam War. I wanted to cry. I had seen this episode at least a dozen times. It hit me differently today as I could see the loss of innocence in the death of her brother. I felt like innocence in today’s society has long been dead. When AI calls and threatens an elementary school on the first day, it’s a sad state of affairs, which we Demopolites all know too well from last week.

In these moods, I find myself yearning for a simpler time, pre-Columbine High School. I long for my children to grow up in the same world. Alas, when the towers came down in 2001 and the iPhone was created in 2007, there was no turning back.

I found myself ripping down old shingles off our shed that I’ve been wanting to knock down today. The only problem is I am a 5 feet 1 inch tall, 40-year-old woman who has no business ripping away at an old shed. With each swing and whack of the hammer, I released some frustrations out Twanda style. I am not sure why I get into such a state of unrest. I believe it’s genetically passed down from my grandmother, through my father, and to me.

Maybe it’s the anticipation of the next round of shots and visit to see the oncologist that has my mind in a mood. Perhaps it’s the menopause I was put in at 36. I’m not sure. I’ll get out of this funk. I talk to God about it. He knows already.

For now, I’ll reminisce, dive into writing, or into a book. I’ll miss the sense of wonder that existed so long ago. I might cry, laugh, and smile, or do all three. I’ll hug my boys, protect them a little longer. I’ll do what Paul said and let it be.

Yea! Alabama!

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I didn’t know what a straightener was until 2005. I moved into the sorority house in the fall of my junior year. I bought one and have been using one ever since. Gasp, that means I survived Rush with just a blow dryer. Aw, the inhumanity of it all! Living in the sorority house meant sharing a room with a roommate that contained your clothes, computer, personal belongings, and sleeping in a sleeping porch (basically a room with nothing but beds). The bathroom had multiple showers and sinks. We watched a lot of Sex in the City in those days in the sorority house from DVDs borrowed from a sister. All of a sudden, the guys I dated got nicknames like Carrie’s men. Once upon there was a “John” and another time a “Bartender”. Real names were not used to protect the guilty. I didn’t call long distance until after 9 PM when it was free. There wasn’t much texting, and Facebook was only available if you had an @bama.ua.edu or any other college address. You weren’t checking Facebook on your phone because it was probably a flip phone, a crackberry (my favorite), or a Razor. Pictures were blurry at best on your phone, and no one was posting their life story online- only a bunch of “poking” and writing on people’s walls. I miss old Facebook- no politics, just college fun.

Going out meant jeans and/or jeans skirt with a spaghetti-strap shirt, think The Hills from MTV. Game days meant cocktail dresses with heels, with flip flops in tow. We frequented the original Houndstooth, then the Red Shed when it came into town, the Booth, Venue, and, as freshmen, the Jupiter and 4th and 23rd. Wednesdays after chapter meant half wine and pizza downtown at Cafe Venice. Thursday nights were for El Rincon. One margarita would kick your tail. Some weekends, you went to Harry’s for a crazy bucket or to Nick’s in the Sticks for a Nicodemus and an $8 filet.

The Fall was the best time of the year at UA, even in the pre-Saban era of many coaches named Mike. You went to the game- you wanted to be there- win or lose. It didn’t matter. Homecoming pomps actually covered the front of your house and not some small side piece. You worked stuffing those holes in that chicken wire like your life depended on it as freshmen. Being an overall winner in Homecoming was a big deal in my sorority. We lost one year to another sorority and were mad. All I can say is that particular sorority had a ringer- daughter of the legendary Joe Namath; he rode on their damn float. All we could do to console ourselves (which was petty) was to say she looked like Joe, and that provided some type of solace. I apologize, Joe, and to your daughter. I cannot be held responsible for my 19-year-old self.

Formals meant Zaps and decorating a cooler and/or cup for your date and you. Pregaming happened before the bus, on the bus, and most of us slept on the way back. Chants at parties between classes were a thing.. Here’s to the Seniors, the Seniors in hopes we get laid! We were classy.

I met some of my closest friends back in those days, and I still talk to them today. Every time I do, I am transported back to Dixie Land Delight, Sweet Home Alabama, and Sweet Caroline. I am walking down sorority row, headed to class, at a bar with friends, or eating at Buffalo Phil’s because they take dining dollars. I am yelling “Roll Tide!” praying for a win and singing “Yea! Alabama!” I am eating at the Crimson Cafe (dining dollars), City Cafe, or the Waysider. I am dreading standing on a chair trying to clap in time with a dress on and doing a damn door song. I’m learning from my favorite professors in my favorite program in HES.

I’ll never forget my time at the University of Alabama. I’m grateful for that experience, and as the days count down to the Fall, I will remember a time and a place. I’ll smile. I’ll text my friends from those days. I’ll thank God for them. Roll Tide and yea, Alabama!

Rise Up (I will).

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One, two, three, four, and how many centimeters are each? What does a centimeter look like? Damn. Why can’t they just use inches? I’ve never been a big fan of math (your dad is a math teacher). Thoughts swirl around in my head like a tennis match —the thoughts are the tennis balls. In which is this located?

Two recent CT scans with contrast show some possible signs of recurrence of cancer; one area being my lungs. I’ve been using Chat GPT to read my reports; ironically, its explanation is more human-like, and the radiology report seems more AI.

I was skipping down the yellow brick road again, and now I’ve veered off back into the dark forest. I thought we had killed this wicked witch; I thought the broomstick was in my hand.

My first DNA test was done on Thursday, and in ten days, it will show whether or not the cancer is back. It is referred to as ctDNA. I also have a pending date for a biopsy. The issue is the tissue. So, I’m chasing the rabbit back into Wonderland, so to speak, with peak highs – “I’ve got this!” to “Is this it?” Satan takes pleasure in the unknown, so I busy myself at work and home, but at night, the tennis match starts over.

I know that my mind and faith are my biggest weapons. I deploy them as often as I can. I am only human, so it waxes and wanes. 40 stares down the road next week with many, many questions. Hopefully, answers will come soon, but until then, I choose to live and rise up despite the uncertainty, fear, and fatigue (the kind that comes with dread).

I hesitated to share this time for some reason. It feels like I have to confess that I failed. However, it’s not that I have failed (I repeat over and over again). God gives us all battles. This is my battle.

We don’t know what we don’t know. I pray it’s not cancer. I accept that it is probably cancer. I call out to my lion, tin-man, scarecrow, and Toto. They, without hesitation, join me to find the yellow brick road again and prepare for battle again. I can’t do this alone. I dust off my ruby slippers. I let the rabbit run away as answers will come soon enough. I rise up (and I will continue).

Grace and Joy

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I was talking with a dear friend earlier this week. She needed encouragement from a mistake she had made. I told her to give herself grace as she works hard. I think women need to be offered the gift of grace often, especially during the holidays. Women typically take on the bulk of the shopping for presents if not all and tend to host families. This additional stress coupled with every day work and childcare can take the joy out of the season.

I’m not expert on work life balance. In my twenties, I thought it was possible but now as I face my forties, I realize that sometimes you have to triage situations and do the best you can. I think by allowing yourself grace and accept the imperfections (no my house does not look like the cover of House Beautiful), you can invite a new friend in- joy. I saw a poem earlier in the week that exemplified Joy. She does not look for perfection but rather in the beautiful messiness of life.

Women, I invite you to accept two new friends in your life- Grace, accepting you are not perfect and are doing your very best and Joy, enjoying the little things and not waiting for the big things to happen to be happy. In the end, it’s all a choice. I choose Grace and Joy.

This week has been particularly exhausting as our little guy had his tonsils and adenoids out. It’s been tough to give myself both grace and to find joy. However, they are good friends that found me when I needed them the most.

Merry Christmas to all the women out there that are the magic of the season for their families. Thank you! And when you are exhausted and think I just wish.. (insert here), remember your two best friends-Grace and Joy.

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