Author: Dre

Categories
Blogging Business Life in general

Welcome to Life on a Tightrope!

Here I am, in my new home!

Don’t mind the boxes, or the echo you hear as your feet hit the hardwood.

It’s an adjustment, moving. Declaring ‘I’m Home!’ as I walk into unfamiliar territory, all the while feeling inspired, excited, and anxious.

Home. It’s where your heart is, they say. Where you can feel comfortable, with your toilet paper roll hung exactly the way you want.

I hope that’s what Life on a Tightrope becomes for me. I love my old home at The Sweet Life, but I felt stifled there. Like I was a visitor, or better yet, a tenant who owed back rent and who had made more holes in the walls than was allowed.

I know my life is sweet. I know that. There it is on paper: life is good! Appreciate it! Count your blessings!

But I’m darker than that. I don’t wake with the dawn and sing songs along with the birds. And so, writing there made me feel somewhat fraudulent. Like I couldn’t freely say, ‘dammit, life is hard sometimes!’ because is that what you say when you’ve declared to the world that life is vanilla bean sweet?

For the past three years, I’ve tried to write what I think people would want to read at a place called The Sweet Life. I’ve been writing authentically, yes, but what I really want to do, is write what crosses my mind as I let the steaming hot water run rivulets down my spine in the shower. What dwells in the deepest part of my soul when I go through one of my rough patches.

My life is the tightrope – sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, always hanging over a deep chasm promising to swallow me whole if I fall. Here, I will talk about finding my balance.

The wonderfully talented Jenn created this beautiful space, just for me, and she captured me perfectly. Thank you, Jenn, a hundred thousand times, thank you, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I can’t even put into words how amazing it feels to be here… to be home.

At last.

Categories
Blogging Business Life in general

On Fire

A fire burns, low and deep, embers glowing red.

It hides behind my eyes, averted, burning holes into those who look too long.

Cool to the touch, an icy facade, the fire is mine alone.

Fire and ice, fire and ice, battle to the death beneath my skin.  Burned raw, sprayed with mace.

Sweet, sweet victory.

Dre.  I am.  Fire and ice, burning bright.  Look.  See.  I am setting her free.

Finally.

*********

The Sweet Life is being retired!  The uber talented Jenn is creating a beautiful space that is much more… me.  Details to come, soon!

Categories
Kids Parenting

In Good Hands

                   

Those three own my heart. 

They occupy every nook and cranny, day and night, awake or asleep.  My every breath, my very soul is consumed with them.  I know no other way.

And so, of course I will miss them when I go to San Diego this weekend with my sister and our cousin, Jenn, who happen to be two of the funniest people I know. 

I will miss them while I’m laughing and sipping wine and lounging on the beach.

I will miss them while I’m eating tasty food and doing all kinds of shit without interruptions.

I will miss them while I’m sleeping in and taking a long, hot shower.

I will miss them, yes I will. 

But I have to trust that they will take care of each other while I’m taking care of me, myself and I.

Categories
Life in general

Only a Minor Annoyance

Rencently I read somewhere that you should blog about the things that keep you up at night, because, chances are, those things are keeping someone else up at night, too.

I wish I knew where I read that, so that I could credit the genius who said it, and also so that we could all go soak up some more of his or her wisdom.

So, I’m working on a post that’s going to take me awhile to get just right.  It’s something that I wasn’t sure I’d ever write about, but it’s a subject that has kept me up more than a few times in the last few years.  Maybe it keeps you up, too?  Or not.  Either way, I’m working on it.

In the meantime, I’ll tell you about a minor annoyance I’ve been dealing with for the past year. 

My brother-in-law lived with us (well, technically not in the house, but in the guest house, which was bad enough) for about 6 months last year.  We were happy to help him while he and his wife were separated*.

Without going into too much detail about the man’s personal woe’s, let me just say that there were quite a few collections agencies and various legal-type persons trying to get ahold of my brother-in-law.

Which doesn’t really effect me, right?  It’s his business, not mine.

Except.  When he moved out, somehow every. single. one. of the people trying to find him suddenly had our phone number as his, our address as his.  I find it very interesting that he would give out my home number, when there isn’t even a phone line in the guest house.

Every day for 365 days, I have received, at minimum, 10 automated collections calls for my brother-in-law.  My phone rings all damn day, 7 days a week. 

It’s gotten to the point that I don’t answer my home phone.  It’s never for me, so why should I bother?  And since it’s automated, and they begin the call with, “If this is not *insert brother-in-law’s name* please hang up.  It is illegal for you to listen to the following message.”  I can’t even stay on the line to try and get a real person who could take my freaking phone number off of this particular account.

I’m thinking about changing our phone number, because every time the phone rings my blood pressure goes up.  Especially when I’ve just gotten the kids to bed, you know what I mean?  They do tend to prefer calling between 7-9 in the evening, when I need the house to be quiet.

Yes, I’m mildly annoyed.  And I’m considering giving my brother-in-law’s number to every single charity

*It should be noted that when I say “we” I really mean my husband, and I happen to love him.

Categories
Flashback Life in general

Where Did You Get Engaged?? Um…. Sizzler.

Let’s lighten things up around here, shall we? 

Everytime we pass the Sizzler in our hometown, Jeremy points to it and says, “Hey, there’s your favorite place!” and then he laughs for at least twenty minutes.  Ha. Ha. Ha.

The Back Story:

When I was a senior in high school and knew everything there was to know, I had a boyfriend.

He was a few years older than me, but was… how shall I say… inexperienced in the ways of women.  I mean, completely inexperienced.

I found his perceived innocence to be rather endearing.  A guy like that is kind of like a puppy, right?  You get to train him before he develops any bad habits.

We had been dating for about 5 months when he asked me if we could take his mom to dinner for Mother’s Day.  This guy, you know, he was a natty dresser and drove a cool car, had impeccable grammar and spelling, a nice smile, wonderful manners.  But none of that could be attributed to where he came from, capisce?

So I was loathe to take his rather loud mother, who had a knack for making inappropriate comments at the most inopportune times, to a nice restaurant.

I suggested Denny’s.  A place where she’d fit right in.

He said we needed to take her somewhere nicer than Denny’s.  He wanted to take her to my “favorite restaurant”, and all I had to do was name the place.  I had learned my lesson about taking his mom to nice restaurants a few months earlier – it just wasn’t going to happen.

So I said Sizzler.  That was as classy as I was going to go, and I wouldn’t budge.  No way in hell his mom was going to set foot in my favorite places, I liked those restaurants and didn’t want to be embarassed by her. 

I was 17, remember?  And I knew all there was to know.
 
Cut to the Sizzler parking lot.  We pull in, and I notice my good friend’s car.  Puppy says, no, it must just be a car that looks like hers.  Five months in and he hasn’t figured out I have a photographic memory, yet?  That’s her license plate, which means, duh, that’s her car.

He says, hmmmm, I don’t know, we’ll see if she’s inside.  She isn’t, which should have clued me in that something was going on, right?  But it didn’t.  So much for knowing all there is to know.

We were taking his uncouth mom to dinner at Sizzler, and that’s all there was to it.

Except.  During dinner, the server brought over a bowl with a box in it.  In the box was a ring.  Puppy proposed, one knee resting on the filthy floor of our local Sizzler’s.  In front of his mother.

The whole place applauded.  Which was deafening, given the cafeteria-style accoustics in the Sizzler dining rom.

Let’s just say, Puppies?  You don’t necessarily need to marry the first girl who teaches you a few things.

And girls?  Just cause a guy is a Puppy doesn’t mean he’s innocent or incapable of hurting you. 

Even puppies nip.  And pee on the rug in front of your friends. 

And pick up a few bad habits from their mothers.

**I’m guest posting  over at Let’s Talk Babies today!  Head on over!**