TBH

The Bees -100 Women Who Care

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This is not my first rodeo; I have been here before, the new girl. Honestly, I am a pro; this is season 10 of my roadshow (the number of zip codes I have lived in). I wave to the group,” hi, I am Monica. I recently moved back to the area. Happy to find a group to play tennis with.”

I am greeted with a sea of smiles. I scan the group. These women know each other. The comfort amongst them was established long before this moment. I notice the trio in the corner of my eye – the ‘sisterhood’ is apparent from the onset. They stand in unison, and their connection is obvious. They give away their position easily; personal space does not exist between them. There is ease as they lean in and speak at close range. This friendship goes beyond the tennis court… they are more than friends. My observations are validated. I discover that for Suha, Amy, and Lisa (the sisters), tennis is merely an intersection, a four-way stop if you will, a home base for all the shenanigans life offers.  

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Piece By Piece

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Unique and never repeated is how the jigsaw puzzle is described on Amazon. Precision cuts, ensuring tight, interlocking pieces. That sounds about right, I suppose, as far as puzzles are concerned. The month of February felt heavy, cold, and grey. By far my least favorite month, apart from celebrating my eldest son’s birthday, it’s typically a blah month. “Winter is coming” is how I mentally psyche myself up (thanks to Game Of Thrones).  The three-year stint in Orlando crushed any chance of a relationship with cold weather. It’s been years since returning to Michigan, and I still dream of the sun and palm trees. My kitchen island, typically reserved as a conversation spot for all the ‘hoodies,’ sits vacant. My term of endearment for the many teenage boys that normally fill these seats, “I’ll have another serving Mrs. C, did you watch the game? It drops tonight.”

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You Didn’t Ask

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Does anyone else think we have diluted the term friend? Notice how effortlessly it rolls off the tongue. When did we wed real friends -the ones who have our back-with every acquaintance that crosses our path? – how did the ladies from yoga, the ones we small talk with, get promoted to the friend category? To me, a friend specifies someone willing to carry a heavy load on my behalf. Is there a litmus test for what constitutes a friend? I know we throw the title around like confetti, but recently I am feeling at odds. Does it matter? Should it matter?  

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What’s In A Name?

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This week’s post comes from an anonymous author- brace yourself for a genuine, honest, and raw voice. Anonymity is essential; her story is personal- I grasp this, and you will too.

It is hard for me not to use a name; personally, I think she’s a rock star. If it were up to me, I’d give her a massive arena with an elevated stage, hand her the microphone and shine the spotlight. It would require all this to fully illuminate her strength and devotion. Protecting her privacy is non-negotiable. Nevertheless, I am inclined to pay tribute to this incredible person and the many who suffer in silence. A modest gesture to say, I see you, and I honor you. With that in mind, I chose to bestow her a stage name, Sage Everett. The name symbolizes strength, bravery, wisdom, and healing. I know Sage personifies all these qualities and so many more.

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Use Your Words

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My younger brother is the male version of me – he is curious, inquisitive, and pragmatic. There is one exception, he infuses fun into everyday life. He is fun(ny) to be around- I am a lot of things, but fun(ny) is not an adjective used to describe me. Friction does not exist in our relationship; we are wired the same. It doesn’t hurt that my sisters and I think he walks on water. 

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Brick By Brick

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Hey, Y’all! Allow me to introduce my friend Stephanie. Our friendship spans decades, and it is hard to imagine my high school years without her. Even though she came in the latter part of high school, she is in every memory and in every moment. The friendship felt organic from the beginning. She fell in the arms of our tight and established crew and blended immediately. Our lingo, our inside jokes, our secrets quickly became hers. I am convinced people flow in and out of our lives for a reason. No doubt, Stephanie and the rest of the crew helped me survive the messy, confusing, and complicated coming of age.  

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If You Could See What I See ~Part One

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Rejection is redirection

‘I am sorry to inform you that we cannot offer you admissions….’ and there it is the No. Weeks were devoted to preparing college applications. Editing essays and creating a portfolio to showcase his academic accomplishments and his personality. The rejection was disappointing; I saw his chest deflate. I respond the only way I know – no matter the result- I celebrate. Can I get a WOOT WOOT? High fives for putting yourself out there, for going for it. A parenting decision made early on; applaud the setbacks, the let downs, the disappointments as much as the accomplishments. Remember, kiddo, rejection is a redirection. I immediately get the look. Too soon, I ask? Yes, mom, too soon. He is perplexed. It is not the time to pull out the cheer squad. Message received. I inch away; he needs space to process; I zip it and back off, my Hallmark moment shelved.

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I Call BS- The Shit Shift

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This Ain’t Daycare ~ Alex Toussaint

Wowzers, 2020 proved to be relentless.

Confession time, I relapsed. The gravity of Rona (aka pandemic, 2020) nearly gobbled me up and swallowed me whole. And for a hot minute, I lost my shit. My happy dance, my mojo, my positive vibes – all of it snatched up.

The Rona tornado made great strides to destroy everything in its path; the collateral damage was felt deeply in families, including yours truly. It did not strike me with physical sickness, but I did fall victim to emotional harm. Humankind disappointed me on a scale that I had never experienced, and it drove me bonkers—consumed by political divide, social injustices, deaths, shutdowns, and isolation. Well, you know, it was a lot, it is still a lot. But what did me in, what really annoyed me, was me. I was angry with myself for quickly slipping into a dangerous cyclone. How effortlessly I categorized people, ‘Oh, you vote this way, you must be this …fill in the blank’.  I became the very thing I deplore in others. I reached new lows and was undoubtedly not finding my joy.  Something had to give; the Rona version of me can kiss my ass.

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No Man’s Land

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Allow your breathing to anchor you ~ Ally Love

My 40’s are whizzing by. My boys are older, spreading their wings, discovering their voice, and requiring less of me. Predictably my hubby shines bright in his profession. It is not faultless; headaches exist. Still, he excels—a success story under any lens. Me, I got stuck, jammed in no man’s land.

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The Peloton…The Back Story

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But did you die? ~Robin Arzon

I purchased the bike under the pretense of a birthday gift for my hubby. Full disclosure is that my besties own one, love it, and always rave about it. I grew tired of listening to their constant chatter; I wanted in on the action.  The Pelo arrived in late January, right before the shit storm of ‘Rona’ crashes our system.  Shutdowns, missed vacations, canceled sports, shortage of toilet paper, sickness, death, masks, political divide, ugly on top of ugly. WTF, what now?

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