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What better time to practice being imperfect?

Week one of the COVID-19 School Closing: We had it all planned out. A daily schedule to provide routine and structure to the days at home of our four school aged children, ages 11-18.  Three mandatory study hours at the dining room table, time outside, and time together playing board games, watching movies, sharing stories.  An opportunity, I thought to myself, to bring us closer as a family doing all those amazing activities together that parents post about on FaceBook.  All of their kids full of smiles, no electronic devices in sight.  Yes - that was going be us!  Pictures of the kids and I doing crafts, cooking, hiking, etc. Week two of the COVID-19 School Closing: A slightly raised voice calling the kids down for breakfast.  Frustration as I try to figure out how to shut off their individual devices for not following the guidelines set during week one.  Confusion as 4 voices at once tell me how much time they earned off their study hour with the extra incentives provided each
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Imperfect Grieving

Be honest.  Be age appropriate.  Be honest.  Be age appropriate.  Be honest.  Be age appropriate. This has been my mantra for the past five years as I have done my best to come up with the "perfect" answer to the many questions my son has had about his father. "Why can't I see my Dad?" Because he has an anger sickness honey and until he takes care of himself and gets better, it is not safe for you to see him. "When is he going to get better Mom?" I don't know honey, but I do hope it is soon. "Why doesn't he take care of himself?" Unfortunately bud that is not an answer I have.  That's on your Dad. "Why was he laughing at you when you said you were going to call the police on him?" Because it was the first time I stood up to him for you and for myself. "When can I see my Dad?" When he starts taking care of himself little man.   Were these perfect answers?  Were they honest? 
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Attaining Imperfection, A Work in Progress

On May 26, 2013, I set out on a mission.  A mission to let go of perfect.  A year ago, had I been asked the question, "what is a word your friends would use to describe you?", among a few, one word would likely have been PERFECTIONIST.  Of course I wasn't perfect, but I pretended to be.  I worked hard to hide the imperfections, namely broken marriage, single parenthood, financial woes, and a very imperfect house that I had no idea how to fix.  Along with starting a blog to help me heal and to hopefully assist others in their own healing, I learned some great big life lessons.  As I sit hear contemplating a really creative way to share those lessons, I remind myself, this entry is not about perfection.  So here are the life lessons I've learned in no particular order, no more weight given to one then the other, and some blank spaces for those lessons I haven't learned yet. And so be it, this is my imperfect list of important lessons: 1. Love with a really BIG
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A Lesson on Love and Resilience from Ingrid Michaelson's Girls Chase Boys Lyrics

"Girls chase boys chase girls"....You've heard the song, right? A tune with a bouncy beat by Indie-pop singer songwriter, Ingrid Michaelson.  You are likely familiar with "Everybody"..."everybody, everybody wants to love, everybody, everybody wants to be loved."  A favorite of mine with a message so true to so many. "Girls chase boys chase girls" is a must listen on all accounts!  It's certainly been my top iTunes choice for the past week or so. Today, I'm driving to my new gym to "center myself" through yoga.  The sky is blue, the sun is out, and the air is warmer.  I have my windows down and I'm blasting "Girls chase boys chase girls" on my new Bluetooth device in my car, thinking this is my summer jam.  This is the song everyone has to hear.  I'm loving the beat, feeling good, when finally after days of listening to this same song over and over, the lyrics start to become recognizable to me and they si
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I Could Have Been A Victim, I Chose Not To Be

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I'm currently reading "A Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl, Holocaust Survivor, Neurologist, and Psychiatrist .  Mr. Frankl is also founder of Logotherapy. Logotherapy is founded on the belief that "it is the striving to find a meaning in one's life that is the primary, most powerful motivating and driving force in humans". In his book, A Man's Search for Meaning, Frankl speaks to his experiences in concentration camps and the techniques he used to keep himself alive.  He believed it was his controlled thought process that made him a survivor rather than victim.  In his book he talks of humor as "one of the soul's weapons in the fight for self-preservation" (Frankl, 1992).  He refers to "conversations in his mind" with his wife, who unknowingly to him at the time had perished in another concentration camp. These "talks" and thoughts with and of his beloved were another motivating force for his survival.  Fra
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Location: Leominster Leominster
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Could It Be Love at First Text?

Could we be swaying away from the days of love at first sight?  The times when two peoples' eyes catch one another's and time stansd still for a long time.  During the standstill of time, each person processes the other beautiful person and sizes up the possibility for love. I hope not as that moment when eyes lock is a moment in time filled with excitement, hope, and lust.  A feeling I have experienced and hope to experience over and over again. But, we do live in a new age where technology has opened up new possibilities for communication.  Trust me, I welcome this!  If it were not for texting, emailing, and Face Book, I'd be one isolated single parenting chick.  I've said it before, technology has allowed me to connect and communicate with new and old friends.  Technology has even gotten me into the dating scene through sites like Match.com, however without much success.  I may be way to judgemental for online dating! I do wonder if it is possible we are learning
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A Broken Family We Are Not

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It's 5pm and I am packing Jack and his overnight bag into my little Honda Civic.  "Can I bring my snow shovel?", he asks.  "Sure bud", I say, "but you'll have to leave it in the car once we get to Daddy's, you can't bring the shovel on the train ride home Sunday".  Easy enough, he seems to understand.  And as we pull out of the parking lot of our new condo complex, a place I am happy to call home, I get lost in my thoughts.  Who would have thought that I would ever be driving my son to his Dad's new apartment with his new girlfriend?  Who would have thought that I would be feeling "okay" about meeting this new woman? Certainly not me.  I float in my thoughts waiting for feelings of jealousy, anger, irritation, sadness to rise, but they don't, they really don't.  I feel okay and okay in a good, steady, contented way.  It's not a "fine", it's simply an "okay".  I sit there in my driver's s
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