The Vacation Report

 So. Has everyone been anxiously awaiting a vacation report? Did the Kargas family survive? Was there any fun to be had? Well. You asked for it.

Let's start at the beginning. The airport heading out to Florida on an early evening flight. Our youngest munchkin Julian was getting over a cold which seemed to get exponentially worse while waiting to pass through security. We were a good 45 minutes behind "my"schedule, putting us in an already stressful situation. There may be nothing  that strikes fear into my heart like the threat of missing a flight. Just as we were approaching the TSA dude to check our tickets and Driver's License, Julian started in on a whopper of a coughing fit. Enough to turn heads, and enough to induce vomiting in the little guy, which in turn lead to wailing.  Happy vacation indeed.

The next two days the weather was cool and windy and Julian slept like a newborn waking up every two hours during the night. The boys were anxious to check out the pool, so they braved the water with their dad as I sat and watched, promising to join them in the warmer days ahead.

Tuesday morning the sun was shining and we were planning a trip to Siesta Key, the prettiest beach in the area. But first... a morning jog with the husband. A short run. I didn't want to aggravate anything- just wanted to get the old heart rate up. Big. Mistake. A mile and a half in, a twist of the ankle, the sound of a "snap" (no that was not a branch) and I knew that the only trip I would be making that day was to urgent care. As if the snapping sound of my ankle and the purple tennis ball which instantly appeared above my foot wasn't enough confirmation the x-ray sealed the deal. Broken ankle.

I spent the next five days of "vacation" on the sofa in a Vicodin induced haze. I did attempt a few piggy backs onto the beach and spent some time at the pool and ate a fair amount of seafood-but overall folks it was the worst vacation EVER. EVER.

Luckily there was no puking on the plane ride home.-I did however have to wear my Hello Kitty pajamas all day. I had selected a pair of skinny jeans for our journey home *genius* and instructed my husband to strap the suitcase on top of the car. Didn't take me long to realize at 5am the next morning that no skinny jean was fitting over my splint. So I spent the my time at the Tampa airport being pushed around in my pajamas. I felt a lot like a toddler actually. The experience wasn't all bad. I didn't have to do a damn thing. I even got to ride in one of those carts while the driver screamed at all the able bodied folks to "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY"

And now I'm home and in my hard florescent pink cast with orders to stay put for most of the next 2.5 weeks. L
ater, I will graduate to a boot.

Needless to say I feel entitled to a REAL vacation now. You know.. the kind without puking children, and broken ankles. Maybe like Hawaii? Like without the monkeys? And maybe a suit of bubble wrap just incase.....

Spring Break "Vacation": Pray For Us

You are packing too much.
Why didn't you pack any underwear?
The sun is too hot.
The water is too cold.
I left my favorite Hot Wheel, the one I got from my very best friend on my seventh birthday at the McDonald's where we ate before we got on the plane. Can we PLEASE GO BACK FOR IT?
I dropped my sandwich in the sand and now I have nothing to eat.
I have to go to the bathroom.
Now I do.
Mom, Julian smells, I think he had an accident.
Why does he get the window seat?
I'm hungry
I'm not hungry
Are those the only snacks you packed?
This place is for babies.
This Children's Museum is boring. Mom, we only do stuff that you want to do.
But it doesn't feel like 11PM
Not this kind of macaroni & cheese.
The beach is boring.
We have to leave now? We have only been at the beach for 8.25 hours. That's not fair! You are mean.
I have sunscreen in my eye. I'm going blind. I'm dying.
You forgot to pack Mr. Brown Doggy!
My bed is too hard, can I sleep in yours?
I'm not tired!
I hate you!
I said I'm NOT TIRED!
I'm bored.
I don't want to go home.
Do we have to leave?
I hate school.
Don't make us go home.
I want to stay on vacation!!


Yes folks, the Kargas family leaves for Spring Break "vacation" this Friday. Florida.... here we come!
Wish us luck.

Celebrate the wins: I'll drink to that

Okay. No brainer. I am not a woman with particularly high self-esteem. Ask anyone who has ever spent any real time with me and they will readily agree.

I don't know why that is. I have always been that this way. Over the course of my life I have had a difficult time acknowledging my strengths, and instead I have spent an exorbitant amount of energy studying my flaws. It has come to my attention that not everyone lives their lives this way (shocker!) My husband for example has fantastic self esteem and can shake off imperfections with grace. I, on the other hand, dwell. And dwell. And dwell on the negative. Whether it's a physical imperfection, my poor organizational skills, my sad sense of direction or inability to do simple multiplication, I am more than aware of my shortcomings and I give them great weight in defining who I am. I take every perceived slight to heart, every failure more important than success.

I suck at math.
My house is a disaster because I am disorganized and scatter brained.
I'm weak, unable to build muscle.
I made a mistake, I am terrible at my job.
People don't comment on my blog because it's boring and I'm an awful writer.

You get the idea.

And I wonder. I wonder what my life would be like if I were to focus on my strengths, if I celebrated the wins and spent as much time thinking about the feel-good stuff as I do the feel-crappy stuff. Because guys, it isn't as if I am without any redeeming qualities.

I do good stuff. Seriously I do. I swear, I once wrote a funny blog post. And seriously I just filled a senior level position, I'm a pretty okay recruiter!  So what if I celebrated my wins? Studied my strengths? Could I transform myself from a woman with poor self esteem, to one with confidence? Is it possible?

In a concentrated effort I will now publicly acknowledge some recent "wins." Celebrate my accomplishments that would otherwise go unrecognized, sing my own damn praises.

Let me begin.....

1. I successfully helped my five year old create a Leprechaun Trap for his Kindergarten class with essentially zero materials.
2. I have survived many a night as a single mama to three insane crazy boys. Nobody has died. Nobody has ran away. Nobody has overdosed on chocolate milk or Miralax.
3. Night after night I prepare healthy meals for my children, even when I am met with sneers and jeers: "You are the worst mom in the world! This is disgusting."
4. Everyone in my family generally has at least one clean pair of underwear and socks at any given time. That takes some organizational skills, right?
5. I make sure that every year each of my children has a kick-ass birthday party. That doesn't mean Pintrest-worthy, but kick-ass, little boy fun. That has to be worth something right?
6. I may not be super strong but through some damn hard work I have reduced my body fat percentage from 27% to 21%.
7. I have managed to sit through hundreds of hideously boring animated movies because my boys love it.
8. I have successful kicked my Real Housewives addiction without joining a formal program
9. I have mastered the art of Rice Krispie Bar making... at least according to the little folks in the family
10. I have created a life where I am surrounded by amazing people whom I love, and whom I'm quite sure love me back.

So a silly exercise yes, but hopefully I have made my point... to myself at the very least.

It's easy to see the bad stuff.
It's easy to dwell on the flaws.
But the good deserves attention too.
I have plenty of good when I look for it.
And once I see the good, perhaps the rest of the universe will to.

Cheers to me.
Cheers to what I do right.

I'll drink to that.

Aging Sucks

What I think of motivational posters

I turn forty this year. In 164 days to be exact. I have 164 days left as a thirty-something, and I still remember watching that T.V. drama and marveling at how old everyone was. And now.... I'm leaving my thirties behind and it scares the crap out of me.

I don't feel almost forty, with the exception of the two-day hangovers that have surfaced in the past few years. I still feel like a kid much of the time, but my body and the mirror reflect a different reality. I'm getting older. Fuck.

I know I am supposed to embrace it. I have read plenty of articles written by savvy, sophisticated, successful women forty plus, declaring the positive sides of aging. Some claim to feel "sexier than ever before" or that they are "finally comfortable in their own skin." Yet these articles are in magazines crowded with models half my age.

Truth is I am afraid of aging. I'm afraid of my fading beauty and my weakening bones. I cringe as I hear my doctor utter words like "mammogram." When my nurse recommended a multi-vitamin for women ages forty and above I nearly fell over in my chair, but caught myself before I broke a damn hip.

I never used to take much notice of wrinkle creams and I never used to worry if my bra had enough lift, now... I am a captive audience. I scan People Magazine's annual "beautiful at any age" for women in their early forties, looking for proof that I can still be attractive and vibrant.

I have talked to other women my age and while some have a harder time than others  the general consensus is that aging is fucking hard. It's sneaky and cunning and as hard as you try those laugh lines,  sagging bits,  are here to stay. There is no fighting the clock as it marches on.

As I'm sitting here typing these words I am wondering what the hell my point is. I have no neat conclusion and I don't intend to end with words of inspiration and wisdom which of course, is what every good blog author should do right?

Nah. If you are looking for inspiration go order some of those cheesy Successories. If you want a little bit of sass and honesty you can talk to me and I'm telling you turning forty blows.

Here Comes The Sun

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling
It's been a long, cold lonely winter
Little darling
It feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been here

 

 

 

 

Moving from Oakland to Denver I knew one thing for sure, I would miss the year long mild weather. 

The January afternoons in shirt sleeves. The outdoor running year round. Hell yes. I have missed it, and perhaps I didn't realize how much until the sun returned today. That isn't to say that Denver is short on sunny days. Shortly after moving west from Minneapolis all those years ago,  I got a sun inked on my back to represent our new life in a much sunnier state. But after spending four years in California, I have come to realize that it can be awfully cold in Colorado. In fact, the past few weeks have seemed pretty grey and dark, the cold muted colors seeping through my skin chilling my insides and leaving me feeling as dull and tired as the leafless trees out my front window.

 

Today the sun was bright and warm. We ventured out in long sleeves and light jackets, but  were wishing for t-sthirts only a few minutes into our park visit. I turned my face towards the light and soaked up just as much vitamin D as I could stand. We played hoops, scaled the jungle gym, got ice cream cones and just basked in the blessed sunshine. And the world just seemed.... better.  My mood lifted, today's sun whispering of better days to come, days spent sitting on our front steps and chatting with our neighbors. Mornings in the mountains, afternoons at the pool, open windows, air and light kissing skin and lifting spirits.

 

Here come the sun,

and I say...it's alright

My Funny Valentine

I know it's a mixed bag when it comes to Valentine's Day. It seems that the world is polarized, there are those of us who ADORE the holiday, embracing it as a day of love and viewing it as an opportunity to express what is in our hearts with overpriced roses and boxes of chocolates.  And then you have the HATERS. Those who roll their eyes and wave away St. Valentine's Day, explaining that it is a Hallmark holiday, created out of commercialism and a thorn in the side of those in the lonely hearts club.

I know better than to try and convince the HATERS of the merits of the holiday, so I will save my breath. Instead  in honor of the special day I am going to tell you a little story.

For my 16th or 17th birthday ( I honestly cannot remember which one) my grandmother took me out to Ruby Tuesdays to celebrate. We had lunch and split a desert with a single candle in it. After our meal while still sitting in our booth my grandmother handed me a small gift wrapped package and told me she had a story that went along with it. I unwrapped my present to find a gold cocktail ring with a gigantic red garnet stone. I loved the stone but was taken aback by the size and couldn't imagine wearing that ring on my small fingers. My grandmother then told me the story of her first Valentine's Day after my grandfather passed away. She was alone and mourning and working hard to make ends meet. After work she wandered into a jewelry store, browsing, feeling sad that her valentine was gone. She came upon this sparkly red ring. She asked the jeweler if she could try it on and once she slipped it on her finger she decided she had to have it. My grandmother was not accustomed to buying fancy things for herself, but she realized, that with her husband gone she was her own valentine, and if she didn't purchase that ring, nobody else was going to buy it for her.

And she gave the ring to me. I wish I could say I still had it, but unfortunately it got lost in one of my many moves after college and is now only a memory. But her story was the real gift. It was a tale of empowerment and self love.

I have a lot of valentines. My three munchkins and my husband. And I am grateful for them all. They will each receive some sort of gift from me, but this year I'm also my very own valentine. I'm not buying a fancy piece of jewelry, but I'm taking extra steps to make myself happy. Yesterday I purchased an orchid to brighten up my dreary basement office. Today I packed up my laptop and drove to a sunny coffee shop where I worked for several hours, a change of scenery, something small but simple that I could do just for me.  After the gym I went to my favorite wine store and asked for a good (not cheap!) bottle of Syrah, which I am enjoying right now. ($29.99, Phoenix Ranch 2009)  And I took time out of my day to write this post, because writing makes me happy and I don't do it often enough

So Happy Valentine's Day to all of my friends, loved ones, and even you Valentine's Day HATERS. Be good to those you love. Be good to you.

Warning: Language

How much can I get for this fucking shirt? 

Do you ever have one of those moments where you take a step back and think REALLY? THIS IS MY LIFE?

Well I do, actually I just did on Super Bowl Sunday. Yes. We watched the Broncos get their butts kicked in a blow-out game, and I wouldn't have cared all that much had I not dropped way too much money at Target buying the family over-priced Bronco's attire and had my eight year old son not felt personally invested in the outcome of the game. You see I'm really not a football fan. In fact I can't tell you anything about the sport. I don't really know what a running back or a tight end is, I don't understand the rules and my only interest in the big game is in the splashy commercials. But we were invited to a party and attending just felt like the right thing to do.

Our party hosts were really friends of friends. We had never been to their home before and in fact we were meeting many of the guests for the first time. It was a welcoming group. There were tons of kids. Tons of  food. And booze. You can't forget the booze. Mmmm. So much sweet liquor. It was hospitality at it's finest.

We had a genuinely nice time. Even though the game was dismal and the commercials lack-luster,  the company was good, the kids were happy. We barely saw our children  they were busy chasing each other, building Lego "creations" and stuffing their faces with baked goods. Things were going so damn well that Julian actually came up and informed me when he had to go potty (since I was busy admiring a mostly naked David Beckham in an ad for... I'm not sure what it was.)

As the evening drew to a close, heads shaking, how did this happen?, we began to collect our things and ready for our departure. Time to gather the kiddos together, if we could find them.  But where were they? Just as we began to look for our three monsters they appeared before our eyes. Let me rephrase, we were approached by an unruly group of youngsters, giggling that naughty laugh, among them, my two eldest. I was quickly informed that my five year old Evan had taken a marker to the hostess's daughter and wrote FUCK in crude script across her naked shoulder. Oh. FUCK. Are you kidding me? The kids were all smiles and the parents were stifling their laughter. But this was my FUCKING child! The little girl was quickly escorted by her mother to the bathroom to scrub away the offensive marker and I was left standing there thinking, now what the FUCK do I do?

Lucky for us we were leaving anyway, so I grabbed my five year old by the arm and informed him that due to his poor behavior we had to go. He smirked his little five year old smirk. I felt my face flush. Clearly this kid didn't give a flying fuck about leaving. I kneeled down to eye level with my son and attempted a snarl. I gritted my teeth and tried to appear somewhat threatening. "This is not okay. You will apologize to your friend and her parents, or you will be very, very sorry." I took his hand in a firm grip and marched him to the bathroom where the little girl's back was being scrubbed cleaned by her mother. Evan said nothing. I squeezed his hand a little too hard and demanded from my son "What do you have to say???" He mumbled a feeble "sorry" and that was that.

I left the party shaking my head in disbelief.  How is this my life? How is this my child? He comes from a good family damn it!! I'm supposed to be the one worried about bad influences as I patiently teach my children how to be good and kind. Instead I am now the mom working to craft a humble email to our new friends:

 "We deeply regret our son's poor behavior. We are so FUCKING embarrassed."