The Principalities
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.
Freelance work isn't for the fragile. Leaving employment security of the professional workforce and risking it on yourself isn't for the slothful. Becoming your own brand, being your own source of income, and navigating financial security is for the resilient. The types of traditional job opportunities, cost of living, and golden year care packages that generations before us have gone extinct. People are selling their farts in jars and making money. The concept of how we view someone's source of income as a measure of merit is bizarre now. Rightfully, respecting those employed when it means their job puts them in danger or duty, and/or they are working to save and care for others. However, asking someone what they do for work is at least a top five, first, meet and greet type of question, and why is that?
I have longed for a while now for a job to come across my weekly searches that will take me from the depths of my stay-at-home work-from-home life and into health care benefits, a routine schedule, and an exit strategy of planned retirement. A sense of income security. It would make me feel accomplished and like a stable provider, or that is what I tell myself. The fickle game of working for yourself is that you have to be all the things. The worker, boss, bookkeeper, social media manager, marketing expert, and administrator. If you don't get the work, it is on you. Based on the skills and services you provide, you may be painted into a more minor corner of clients. Drastically, on the other hand, you could be a dime-of-dozen product or service, and your clients are everywhere. However, either way, you still have to manage to bait, pull in, and retain what you caught.
Trying to justify every continued education or training to master your skill as a benefit and not a waste of time. Make sure you financially invest in the bigger and better equipment and goods to improve your current workflow, and try not to hyperventilate that you did spend the money and that you're not a terrible parent for tapping into the family vacation money like that because you have to pay it to make it, or something like that. I don't know. Most people who do know feel out of touch, like Dave Ramsey. I get some of it, but I'm confident his suggestions and numbers are from the 1980s; you should only eat peanut butter sandwiches if you are in jail, and the callers who are a couple in their 20s making $400K a year, they are debt-free now—well, no shit. I need Dave Ramsey to make a book called "Generationally Poor and Financially Illiterate- The How-To Guide for Those Accepting, that a minimum, They Will Reach Upper-Middle Class" which will include the seven baby step challenges from the first step being: 'Save a single dollar from your paychecks' to that snowballing into the final step of "You can afford to get yourself cremated and leave some cash for your kids." It's more realistic and has a catchy title. Money makes the world go round, and everyone always wants more. It is a status symbol as well as a way of life. Can the pursuit of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness be found in a book written by an influential millionaire with a bachelor's degree in finance and real estate older white man?
Easy now, Disney version of Pocahontas, these white men aren't here to love you. It is a trap. We all know pretty girls like trap music, but the whole thing is scheme-like. Even the eastern European colonizing settler who coined the 'American Dream' phase wrote in his book that mass consumerism and unbridled capitalism took the once sweet belief that anyone can attain their own version of success in a society where upward mobility is possible for everyone. The sense of competition, fitting in, and society's standards and measurements are always in our thoughts and ears, combined with the online lifestyle, greed, and gluttony at our fingertips and consuming our eyes and minds. It sucks you in, and you do have to ride in the vacuum tube unless you watch to detach from the world and become a Monk or Amish.
Harsh truths of small business owners go beyond finances, but that is the most important one. More often than not, people want something free or heavily discounted from you because they take the word free in freelance too literally. Why isn't the "Homie Hook-Up" rate where you pay your friend's rate/fee in exchange for service like you would a corporate company who doesn't even know you? Why not show up, engage, and rally behind a small business, like you do an account with a blue checkmark that only responds to comments from other blue checkmark accounts? My services aren't tangible, so there is another level of complexity when assessing my fee, which a lash tech or a man in any industry wouldn't have to do. Like Big Worm said, playing with my money is like playing with my emotions.
Feast or famine is the wave of self-employed income. So, if you consider dipping your toes in, you must be good at intermediate fasting. Learn how to take a no. Learn how to SAY no. Invest in your skills. Take on pro-bono work for something you're passionate about. Money management over everything. Don't expect anything from anyone. Now, get to work; there are no days off.
Comfort Cami
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.
Fellow millennial females, what are we wearing now? I know it is supposed to be SPF, but literally, what are we supposed to wear? How many versions of contouring do I need to learn? What "season" am I? We need to know this, our face shapes, and multiple eyeliner methods. Our teenage daughters have better face care routines and more products, scrubs, oils, serums, etc., than we ever did or do if you are anything like me. As if any of those will change the fact that I look like a melting candle. Let's be honest people. The combative way to fight fine lines and wrinkles isn't a perfect chemical peel facial like you are some banana; it is Dysport, Botox, and filler, and everyone you see online with envy isn't telling you about that part of their aging face care routine. (Review previous blog entries on my whole idea of being low maintenance and the equivalency of funds to beauty.)
I have to play the mental game of my attire and appearance because my Gen Z girls roast me for my lack of Rizz. Imagine a teen child telling you you can't tuck the front part of your shirt in because tucking your shirt in is “cringe,” and she comes out with her shirt tucked in but in the back of her Nike Pro shorts, claiming it is “different.” *eye twitch* My daughter said that she got these 'vintage Buckle jeans" in a thrifting haul and holds up a pair of 'Dirty' inspired Christiana Aguilar low-rise jeans with the heavy white stitching. Excuse me?! VINTAGE?! And quit renaming things like "flared leggings." They are yoga pants.
Skinny jeans are out, but they make me feel better and arguably are a good fit for my body type, and I will die on that hill. If we can glorify this "leggings for everywhere" culture, we can quit shaming skinny jeans like they are the worst fashion choices to come from us. There was Zebra print, jeggings, and mesh-fishnet layer tops. Come for the front-bang bump we all did. All respect to Snooki. The thing with millennial fashion is that so much of it is back in trend, but it is a fine line of remakes. Uggs are entirely back. Yes, the "boots with the fur" sheepskin moccasins are back, but they're back even bigger; they are platform. Literally, it's clogged up. Everything is clogged or wedged again. The regurgitated shoe game has even brought back the orange Lizzie McGuire 2000's. Once you have figured out the shoe game, you must learn sock-to-shoe math. We are back to pulling crew socks over our leggings, and slouchy calf socks are a must.
I love that bike shorts and '90s oversized sweaters are back in because that is the aesthetic of the stay-at-home mom such as myself. My Orthopedic Reebok dad steppers that help with my sciatica are camouflaged now amongst the youth, and this outfit combo gives me low-key Princess Diana vibes. I will stay on that train of delusion for as long as I wear them. But I need my jeans high and tight. Like, “Where are the bodies, Garth?” High and Tight. IYKYK. Whatever is going to hide the smidge of skin that may show above my belly button when I bravely wear a long-cropped top because your girl has to fold her Mortal Kombat-strength toddler into his car seat like a crab rangoon, and I can't have anything showing. Gag. Makeup is still a struggle since the stain of Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse fades from my skin, and I migrate into the tinted foundation universe. I find hope, from the small hair regrowth of my once Drew Barrymore eyebrows to stopping the crime of using a lighter on a black eyeliner pencil.
Not that my fashion choices really matter. Does the attire of a mom in the parent pick-up line, Stone Cold Steve Austin, shot-gunning a Capri Sun because she lost the tiny yellow straw in the depths of her diaper bag matter? As if that tiny plastic hole will stop me! I am surviving off the last two spoonfuls of the Kraft mac and cheese I made the baby for lunch earlier and spite. Honestly, I might start dressing like I'm a teenager again because cargo pants are so functional; two, these slide-on Vans have me in a chokehold; and three, I have an Invisalign lisp. I will probably be buried in a layered tank top because it isn't just a base layer tank under my t-shirt; it is my comfort camisole. I love my comfort cami! At the end of the day, I'm just anxiously trying to figure out the ever-changing twist it, pull it, bop it, method game of using my debit card and trying not to drown in confirmation bias and imposter syndrome like everyone else.
Intrusive Thoughts
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.
Are you there, God? It is me, Sarah. It seems we are here again, just like in 2002, but instead of a pubescent teen, I come as a mid-thirties mother, asking you, where are my boobs? How are they smaller than when I first got them? Couldn't even keep them even!? What is the plan here? It is not like you gave me prosperous meal bags to begin with. We both agree I barely scrapped by breastfeeding all three times and never made it an entire year with any of them. Cut open my chest, slap silicone on my rib cage, and send me on my way, please! How do I have hooded pug bulge eyes and bags that exceed American Airlines carry-on specifications? Did you know the largest organ of the human body is the skin? Mine now looks like the aerial view of the state of Iowa from my calves to my armpits because I have ballooned back and forth from a size four to a twelve so many times between babies and thyroid disorders.
Do you know what cutis pleonasmus looks like? Crying every single time you shower, that is what it looks like. My stomach looks like a fanny pack built out of a giant raisin. There is a lie that I am supposed to embrace my stretch marks like "earned tiger stripes" while everything shoved in my face is the repugnancy of false advertisement, modern beauty trends, and fast fashion. Somehow, even the marketed 'High BMI Barbie' has me feeling inferior. Do not worry about the grill while we are on the cosmetic end of things. Like Cardi B, I got a bag and fixed my teeth, which was not cheap. Neither are groceries. Please look into that. You know who had jugs was that dental hygienist. We can discuss it because she continuously rested them on my forehead while attaching my brackets. I'm not complaining, but they were such a distraction, and I thought about how it must be to have something so prominent on you that you do not know they are on someone's face. It prompted me to ask about the intimate possibilities of having Invisalign in my mouth. Did my intrusive thoughts go directly from my brain to my mouth? Yes. For what I lack in cup size, I have in declamation. We know humor is just the coping mechanism for the indignation consuming me every time I address my physical appearance.
Do you know what else fills me with anger? School. Time. Traffic. I have felt the urge to send a few people to see you many mornings over the last nine years at different drivelines. Pick-up chaos makes sense because you are filtering hundreds of kids into assigned vehicles by severely overworked and underpaid teachers, but student drop-off is where these parents have me losing MY MIND! UP IN HERE! UP IN HERE! If you must help your child with the door or seat belts, the parent drop-off line is not for you. If you need to hug/kiss your child from the window or car door, the parent drop-off line is not for you. If you need to talk to school staff before 8:00 a.m., the parent drop-off line is not for you. If you, at any capacity, have to remove yourself from your vehicle for your child to walk to the curb and onto campus, in the name of all things HOLY, the parent drop-off line is not for you. Parent drop-off line is for parents who A. Keep their cars in Drive. B. Children have shoes, jackets, and backpacks on their bodies. C. Children are unbuckled and ready to roll out of the car like it is the Ruff Rhyder's Anthem music video. Who did you send to Hell for designing a roundabout in the middle of a K-12 campus? Do not feel bad for that one either because he was, obviously, a total moron. Yes, I assume a man designed it because a mother would never.
Speaking of feminism, you had to have seen by now the trending clips of Uncle Sam drafting women, and listen, they do not want the smoke that is millennial women. Okay? We have emerged from the dark side of 9/11 and grown from the cellphone screen light of the social media boom. We have grown out our eyebrows, and our side parts have been combed away. Do you really want to give a military-grade weapon to the overworking default parents who are shamed out of skinny jeans but see our entire youth style on the racks currently at Target? We get Botox while not vaccinating our kids with the MMR. Does not have to make sense because nothing here really does! There is an older generation who depleted our social security and melted our ice caps, telling us we are lazy and that ice coffee purchases are keeping us away from homeownership. Please. Put a personal boundary on someone over fifty and ask them to download and open a PDF, and they lose their minds.
Meanwhile, we care about people's rising moon and where their zodiac sits when Mercury is in retrograde. But we also know the only opinions that matter are of Experian, Equifax, and Transunion. It is safe to say that a generation who partied in fields off Bacardi Breezers and have permanent lines in our foreheads from the faces we made as we rapped along to crunk music will have no problem when the push becomes shove. Actually, we like pushing and shoving. Ever heard of a little thing called nu-metal? You are welcome. If you catch me fresh from drop-off, Korn blaring from my van, Celsius kicked in (so…typical Tuesday), and the opportunity to forgive my student loans, I might SIGN UP out of impulse. Yeah! I said it. They should bail me out of my debt like they did GM, Chrysler, Wells Fargo, JP Morgan, etc. But then again, I guess I am unimportant enough of an entity. But by entity, I mean an influential powerhouse that can lobby government representatives to make policies, loopholes, and laws that benefit my corporation. Isn't it crazy I am more stressed about student loans than having two baby daddies? All I do is think about money like Biggie Smalls, and we know I am NOT the lady up in this place with style and grace. Anyways, God, where has the time gone!? I guess I got to get back to playing Cinderella.
From your Dollar General version of Helga Pataki,
Sarah Rogers
Low Maintenance
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.
Driving my minivan to pick up my husband's work shirts from dry cleaning, I realize I did not grab my deodorant, even though I was just at Target getting the girls more body wash. Why do I always do that? Maybe my mom brain? Very likely. I have slowly morphed into Krang from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles since birthing my latest addition. I have a tiny villain on me at all times, dictating my every move. It is easy to fall into the desolation of this stay-at-home mom life because of our monotonous daily routine. Survival mode is activated when the overstimulation of children occurs as Ms. Rachel becomes the white noise of my life. I am notorious for putting myself last and am low-maintenance. Some people say they are low maintenance in a flattering way like they are naturally simple. But unlike those people, I am Bane regarding low maintenance. They nearly adopted neglecting themselves. I was born and raised in it.
Did you know shaving your legs in the shower is not considered self-care? News to me. I thought if I fed and maintained this carcass, I was 'self-caring.' I don't wear anything on-trend. I'm dressing more like Adam Sandler. I don't have any additional hair attached to my head or eyes or spend hundreds of dollars on beauty care products, plastics, or injectables. If I put on mascara, I wear it for at least two days. What polish does go on my fingers and toes stays on until it is fully chipped and outgrown. I could not style my frame, get my eyeliner the same on each eye or do my hair if my life depended on it. When I do attempt to make a purchase to elevate my stay-at-home hobo presence, I turn into Mr. Krabs. I pinch pennies because I remember there are taxes to be paid, the rear struts need to be replaced, and before I know it, I'll be back-to-school shopping, so how could I justify that? Makes me wonder if I am actually not ugly, just broke.
This unrealistic daily routine where women must show up as beautiful perfect moms who keep a spotless house, cook meals, and while earning an income puts a lot of pressure on us women. The older I get, and for sure the more children I have, I realize that this internal dialogue of my grading scale of how I am doing in these roles needs to be re-established. So, when the new year started, I broke my goal planner down into four focuses: self-care, financial budgeting, physical movement, and self-employment. Track every dollar in and out, mark all the days I get a workout in, put a bit of time into my business, and give myself a star each time I practice self-care. I literally carry this planner around, meal plan in it, color code days, like seriously committed to mastering my daily choices for long-term gains. Being six months in, I feel disappointed. My efforts feel frivolous, like a rat trying to claw its way up and out, and my attempts are speeding me up to my ultimate demise. I have no clue how to self-care, which is practically impossible in this current life season anyway. I am feeling the plateau effect and am already exhausted about how much more I will have to do to see and feel results. The high-maintenance life may not be for me.
Staying motivated and trying to make the most of what I have is hard. My mind has been hardwired by trauma, choices, and life events; rewiring it to be more positive and pour my cup inward isn't going to be accomplished in just six months. I have to manifest a sense of higher self-worth to motivate me. Reminding myself I am not a cactus that can survive on little water. I need substance, time, and effort. We must steward ourselves into our happiness and not gatekeep ourselves from it.
Female Lead
The excellence that is a woman.
Can we talk about the excellence that is a woman? Women do it all. We are mothers, daughters, and sisters, working bees and queen bees. Women are trailblazers, powerful, emotional, and beautiful. We work, cook, clean, manage, and child rear while battling social influence, gender roles, and the patriarchy. *screams in feminism* But seriously, we women are doing a lot, and I have been struggling with playing all these roles in life and feeling unsure of where I need to be as a woman. Maybe that internal dialogue parallels my recent self-esteem punch since having baby number three, sprinkled with my crippling career fear as someone who is self-employed.
Nonetheless, I have done what I have always done since I was a small girl, and I looked for female leadership and guidance from the women around me. *screams in mommy issues* Who do I know who inspires me? Who do I see working harder? Who do I know who is confident within themselves and their self-employed career? So I slid into the DM’s of female entrepreneur friends who are motivating me. I asked them the same few questions to pick their brains on how they are accomplishing being their best versions. Both personally and professionally. So here are three little introductions of some special friends of mine, followed by a Q&A.
Tonia Agredano
I walk into Tonia Agredano's three-chair salon suite for my first cut and color with her. To my surprise, all the chairs are full. I check my watch, and I am not even a smidge late. Oh no. High possibility I got the appointment date wrong since I booked with her as a total stranger over Instagram. With the fullest set of eyelash extensions, this Lululemon ambassador gym beast of a woman looks up at me from another client's haircut and confirms me and the time, and shows me to an armchair I can wait at. I have never had my hair done by a stylist where I was not the only client, so it was interesting to see how she managed three to four girls. Hug shoutout to Little Miss Daizey, Tonia's daughter, because she now does the prepping, blowouts, and bowl rinsing. Thank goodness because Tonia's shampooing experience is like she is Joe Rogan, and I am a kettlebell.
There is no surprise she cannot shut down her beast mode. Tonia runs her hair stylist shop in twelve-hour shifts five days a week. She teaches Zumba at Mountainside Fitness three to four times a week and is also a personal trainer with her soon-to-be husband, who, you guessed it, is also a fitness junkie. Her studio space is a safe, judgment-free zone where you can spill the tea or sip on the tea. I have gained tidbits of guidance from other moms during my appointments and am always leaving my hair-apy sessions feeling motivated to move more. She is all about being a hot grandma; I love that energy. She hustles so hard for her body and business. She choreographs these booty-bouncing workout routines weekly and genuinely wants other women to feel comfortable and confident to participate openly with other women. Tonia reminds me what it means to put yourself first. Prioritize your self-care, and that is not selfish to do so. Work continuously on your own goals made up from the competition of your former self. Being a strong woman means having self-confidence, courage, persistence, and sometimes a lot of bronze.
Raeanne Thielbar
The sheer excitement and panic that consumed me when I got the special package that asked me to be a maid of honor for my best friend will be one of my favorite memories with Jessica. I coordinated from Arizona for the Wisconsin activities and was adamant about looking my best for the event. Teeth whitening was my top goal, and then a spray tan because I could not be the pasty girl from the desert at the wedding. Luckily, I remembered a teeth whitening sign in one of the salon suites I walk by where I get my hair done, so I popped into AllsmileZ Spa and met Raeanne Thielbar. She is a tiny tot lady in heals with the sweetest energy. Lucky for me, she had just started spray tans, and I was the perfect guinea pig. Two in one deal for me!
I could not believe the vibrant and insanely positive attitude I encountered when meeting Raeanne. SIMPLY RADIANT. She makes me realize how much more joyful I need to be, which is the most annoyingly admirable attribute a person can pull from me. She is a breast cancer survivor with 24 years of dental experience, which undoubtedly contributes to her phenomenal chairside manner and customer care. She lives a busy family life with children, grandchildren, and bonus children. She now operates her teeth whitening and spray tan company out of her own custom husband-made she-shed space that is perfect. Let us also acknowledge that she should write a book on customer retention and referrals. If you need something done, almost anything, Raeanne knows someone and will guide you into good hands. If you encounter Raeanne and do not feel a burst of light, lighten up with a teeth whitening and golden spray tan.
Mikayla Strader
I was looking for a much-needed updated family photo a few years ago. I turned to Instagram for inspiration and suggestions for a photographer when I stumbled upon Mikayla Strader. SCHWING! Before I knew it, a tatted bleach-blonde beauty hopped out of a lifted truck in Vans and was taking our picture in a cotton field a few miles from our house. She has been documenting our family since. When I look at Mikayla, I think of the words “boss babe.” Not in the clique, tacky way. I quite literally mean a boss and a babe. A total babe! A total hustler! She is a mom, has a full-time bank job, is a photographer, and runs what I guess you can call a Western attire brand that has a black metal kick to it.
The thing that makes me gawk at Mikayla is more than the obvious. She IS her band. The raw attitude, dark humor, and brave sense of security and confidence in her femininity. She courageously puts in the work. Her western line, Outlawed Ethics, started two years ago and BLEW UP. Within this time, her social accounts collectively grew to 100,000 plus followers and counting, and she has social media influencers all over the country collaborating with her brand. Imagine running a business where your sales solely rely on social media. The management of that alone is a full-time job. Creating content and designs regularly to maintain that growth without outsourcing the work is a hustler move. Add a growing boy to the plate and sprinkle it with a full-time job. Like I said: Boss. Babe. She stays busy and ambitious with her brand, and like a bug to light, a Bud Light in this case, I will be gazing and following Mikayla Strader.
Question & Answer
What are the tools/resources you use to be a successful female entrepreneur?
Tonia: A drive, a motivation. I've always worked as an independent mom and wanted more financial security, and by staying motivated, I went from having to save up for my kids' expensive shoes to buying shoes when I wanted them to save up.
Raeanne: I did not have a background in business. So, I joined a business networking group with other like-minded individuals. They have been an incredible influence on me, my business practices, and my business policies. They have also given me the confidence to branch up and out and to grow and to leave those comfort-safety zones.
Mikayla: The social media platforms I have grown throughout the years, marketing & connecting with different brands and business owners to continue to gain exposure.
What has been the biggest struggle as a business owner?
Tonia: Not feeling selfish or guilty by putting my self-care first. Having to say no to things and holding the boundaries of putting myself first by getting workouts in, taking that nap, or whatever it is, makes you feel like you are putting yourself care first.
Raeanne: Having the confidence to run a business without a business background. Learning to promote myself (it felt so sales-y and too "look at me")
Mikayla: It has been managing time and staying organized in every aspect of my life as I have juggled several different roles in the last few years.
What is the best aspect of being a business owner?
Tonia: Being able to call all the shots. I have complete control of my time. That time management freedom allows me to maximize how I show up in each area of my life for my clients, grandkids, and even my adult children.
Raeanne: To do a job that I can perform from the heart. I feel like the basis of my business is giving people the confidence to smile or the confidence to feel comfortable in their own skin. I am empowering people or giving them back a little joy in their life. It makes me feel more fulfilled in my work. There is flexibility with my time and challenges every day. The personal development journey and shift to overcome mental blocks and barriers and stepping out of comfort zones.
Mikayla: Waking up and doing what I love. I used my business as an outlet during the hardest times of my life. & just like it was stated, waking up and being my brand and seeing how it makes people feel good wearing the clothing I have designed.
Best advice for a woman wanting to do what you do?
Tonia: I could be more organized, but I have learned to juggle. Do what you love to do. If you are doing something you love, then it feels like something other than work.
Raeanne: Decide today that you want to start that business and eventually will leave your 9-5. You'll start figuring it out bit by bit and making your business your own.
Mikayla: Be your authentic self, find what separates you in the market, and run with it. People don't wanna see a brand exactly like their neighbors; they want something different.
“Women are always saying, 'We can do anything that men can do.' But men should be saying, 'We can do anything that women can do.'”
-Gloria Steinem
Dementor Vibes
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.
DISCLAIMER!
CONTENT WARNING: The following blog entry contains mature content that may be distressing to some audiences. This blog entry is not suitable for younger audiences. Reader discretion is advised. Get your chocolate ready. The author's intent for the following blog is to remember: "Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times when one only remembers to turn on the light." -Dumbledore.
Recently, I had a sequence of events that made me think of the saying 'death comes in threes' and how morbid and sad my brain space has been as of late. The thought of death has always created that little anxiety of inner lip-biting. Well, at least it does for me. I can't even tough out horror movies with my thirteen-year-olds because my husband will have to act as my emotional support savior when I spiral into an anxiety attack hours later. I am a real sissy regarding this, and I am pretty confident I will not go full-on Gryffindor, and courageously face the thought of it anytime soon.
It isn't as poetic as J.K. Rowling painted it to be. "The Tale of Three Brothers" is a story told within the Harry Potter series that metaphors how we should act humble, live for our future and not live in the past and that we all face the inevitable. Another nod to "the threes." My three events end up with something other than three powerful magical artifacts like The Deathly Hallows. But they did make me wish I had an Invisibility Cloak to hide under. Here are The Tales of The Flock, The Panamanian, and The Macklemore.
The Flock
We have been obsessing over buying land and having a little homestead for the last five years. To scratch the itch until we could finally move, we turned a space in our backyard into a chicken coop. I became fully obsessed. I emersed myself in chicken knowledge, my husband did all the designing and building, and I bought three beautiful ladies; Ruth, Christina, and Jill. These butt-nugget-blasting babes are absolute beauties. Cucumbers and blueberries are a favorite daily treat, and collecting a blueish-green egg feels like finding gold. Getting outside every day and bonding with nature does the soul some good. Another major fan of the chickens is the dogs. Our bird-hunting dogs to be exact. The brother and sister duo of German Short Haired Pointers quickly went from 12-hour naps in the sunlight cascading through our sliding door to shaking uncontrollably, stalking a fence line they couldn't see into. Rain or shine, they are completely obsessed. I don't know who was louder when laying an egg, Ruth or Hank. Even the air wafting through the fence cracks has this dog salivating and self-injuring to get a nibble.
A mistake was made. We have no clue how it happened! Somehow, the gate was left or propped open. When the dogs were let inside, a slight panic overcame me as Hank was licking and smacking like something didn't go down. Choking is VERY likely with this dog. (I have rescued this doofus more times than I can count) Helping him, I pull speckled black and white feathers from his mouth. Ruth's feathers. Utter panic and rage consumed me. Scanning the yard and coop with the light on my phone, I asses an injured Ruth and then see Christina and Jill neatly laid next to one another in the middle of the yard. I was devastated. I remember nothing about the rest of the night besides crying myself to sleep. The next day I had to clean up feathers from every square inch of the yard, and as I power washed matted bloody feathers off the inground trampoline, I accepted it. This is a natural part of life, and I was flirting with this heartbreak by making the chicken decision in the first place. Accepting doesn't always mean instant sunshine and rainbows. Unsure of what all the stages of grief are, but I know anger is one of them, and that feeling I know. A little too well, actually. Let's say the Sorting Hat would need only a split second to put me in house Slytherin.
The Panamanian
I have a cliché vision board. Even worse, it is taped to the inside of my 2023 Calendar/Goal Tracker. Ick. One of my January month goals was to declutter my side of the bathroom, closet, and dresser. I had numerous totes and boxes that had just moved from house to house over the years I needed to tackle. One tote I call the "Cry Box." It has all my daughter's baby clothes and shoes, preschool and kindergarten firsts, newborn stuff from the hospital, sob, sob, blubber. I put it all back, find a place for it amongst my newly cleaned shelves, and move on to a brown box. Unfolding the box, I get a blast from the past. Photos from 1997, awards I got as a child, cards, and such. As I am sifting through the souvenirs, out rolls a small vase-shaped urn, small enough to grasp in your hand, with a turquoise wash in the crevasses of the floral designs imprinted on the silver. Grandma.
OH MY GOD! I FORGOT ABOUT GRANDMA! It was one of those moments where you think, "I'm going to Hell for this." How could I momentarily forget about having a part of my grandmother tucked away in my keepsake box? A flood of emotions and thoughts consumed me. It did rollercoaster me thinking about being the grandma tucked away in a keepsake box. I was left thinking about what I would want my own future granddaughter to feel if she were me at this moment. I hope she will feel I was strong and assured of who I was. I hope she says I embraced and moved gently within my energy. Grace. Grace is not a word to describe me in the slightest. I should give grace more than I do simply because I need it more than I'd like to admit. Another vision board ambition was noted.
The Macklemore
Thrift store shopping is a favorite pastime in the Rogers Residence. The girls ask for weekly trips; it is that serious. Goodwill shopping has also saved the day countless times. If you have a child in school, you know that at least once a month, and sometimes for an entire week, there is a themed dress-up day. We were nearing the 100th Day at school, and my oldest son was going to dress as an "old grandpa" for the day. We had almost everything leftover from his Cornel Sanders Halloween costume to reuse, but we needed an old man sweater or cardigan, so we hit the second-hand racks. The distinct stinky smell that is Goodwill turns my kids into hyenas, and they spread out once we hit the blue doors. As I pushed the cart through the kids' section with the boys, my Turd Burglar's demeanor changed. I picked him up, and when asked what was wrong, he said, "I don't want to grow old." I told him I didn't want to either and that growing up is so lame." (Humor should get us out of this.) He says, "I don't want to be old. When you are old, you die."
It was one of those moments where your world stops. As I try to control my own panicking fear, and literal tears, I encourage him not to think those thoughts and tell him that's forever and ever and ever and ever from now. I didn't know what to say, honestly. He then said something that almost created the same effect but in a sense of comfort. "Whenever I think about that stuff, I think about you and dad, my sisters, and the baby." It hit me straight through my chest. I have so much to learn, and I can't believe some of them are in the words and actions of a six-year-old. His response really did change the outcome of the conversation. How easily I would have folded into tears with empathy for my son had he not chosen bravery.
My notebook-sized vision board is growing into a billboard. Is this the beginning of my own journey to destroy internal Horcruxes!? This may be the invitation to a magical journey that I thought I was supposed to get at eleven. Though being strong and resistant was a coping and survival mechanism, I have to shed that part of me like a Basilisk to thrive into a bigger and better Slytherin. I must practice a positive perspective to bring some Hufflepuff sunshine to my internal dialogue. I need to lean into my Ravenclaw side of creativity and wit and have grace when faced with adversity. I think about the GOAT, Albus Dumbledore, with admiration because I want a long life, a legendary one. My daily practices and goals to achieve that feel like a mountain in front of me.
But then I turn around and see the mountains behind me and remind myself I am the Man on the Silver Mountain.
Turd Burglar
A millennial mom’s column about how she may never get it figured out.