Thankful at 26

I'm alive.  I've made it one more year.  I am 26 years old.  Yesterday was my birthday, and I have to admit that I felt a little off.  Not sad, or angry, or anything else that I could really figure out...just off.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until I heard a terrible story, and then I figured out what it was. 

My mom works at a church and she has the very difficult task, sometimes, to assist with funerals.  She's had to help with baby funerals, teenage funerals, elderly funerals, you name it.  Well, yesterday, on my 26th birthday, she had to work the funeral of a 26 year old young woman.  This young woman was married with two children, and believed to have accidentally overdosed on painkillers.  Now, I have always believed that everything happens for a reason, but it's hard to see the reason in this.  Was she an addict?  I don't know.  Was it truely an accident?  Don't know that either.  All I do know is that a way too young woman died from something I could have died from many times.  Hearing about this, at first, made me sad.  I got really sad for her husband, really sad for her kids, really sad for the rest of her family, and really sad for her.  And then I got angry.  I got really really angry.  I wanted to cuss someone out.  I wanted to cuss out the doctor who prescribed her the painkillers, I wanted to cuss out the companies that keep making stronger and stronger painkillers.  And last but not least, I really wanted to cuss out the Devil. 

Now, I don't know this girl's history.  I don't know if she was an addict, or if she was just in so much pain that she just took a little too much of whatever it was she was taking.  I don't know the details of her life, or anything like that, but I know mine.  And I know that this death hit so close to home, it made me feel sick to my stomach.  I saw myself lying in that coffin.  I saw my daughter looking into it screaming for mommy to wake up.  I saw my beautiful husband comforting my daughter while tears ran down his face.  I saw my parents, my brothers, my sister, my grandma, my aunts, everyone who loves me, and I thanked God for one more year.  I thanked God that it wasn't me.  I thanked God that my daughter still has her mommy, and that my husband still has his wife.  I thanked God that He has helped me see that I have a problem so I won't end up in the coffin before it's my time. 

I see, more clearly than ever, that Satan hates me.  He hates me so much, and he wants me in that coffin due to drug abuse.  I realized that the "off feeling" I was experiencing yesterday was my addiction rearing its ugly little head.  This was the first birthday since my 20th (pregnant with Anahi at the time) that I have been sober, and it was uncomfortable.  God showed me yesterday that one more year is something I should be thrilled about.  One more year for someone like me is a slap in the devil's face.  One more year for me is a victory.  Hell, let's face it, one more DAY is a victory.  I'm not going to let this addiction take my life away, and I sure as hell am not going to let this addiction ruin my childrens' lives.  I have to be stronger.  I have to fight with every ounce of myself.  I have to suck it up when I feel shitty, because I have made it one more year, and I have many more to go.  I refuse to be another statistic, and I refuse to let this addiction, to let the devil, take my life.  I have way too many birthdays coming up.





(God bless the family of this young beauty who died much too early.  I don't know you, angel, but I thank you for the gift you gave me on my birthday, and I will pray for your children and your husband for the rest of my life.) 

Learning to Cook

My husband is awesome.  For many reasons, this is true, but for the moment, I am referring to the fact that he is a chef.  He is a sous chef at a country club, and he has never had any formal education.  He has a passion for food the way Oprah has a passion for hearing herself talk.  Now, if only we could get the millions that she does for her passion...hmmm. 

Anyway, he has recently decided that he wants to teach me how to cook.  We've been together for 6.5 years, so one may wonder why I haven't learned yet.  Let me just say to that; why would one paint a picture while living with Picasso?  I mean, really, there has been no reason.  Until recently when I decided that since I'm a wife now, I should probably start to do some wifely things, and stop making him cook 24/7.  Although he does love it, cooking all day at work, only to come home to cook again for me and Anahi is just a teensy weensy unfair. 

Today was my first lesson.  I have half of a chicken roasting in the oven as I type.  It smells delicious, and am hoping that it will taste just as good.  I'm a little worried about it, because as I will soon elaborate, I don't like to do things half-ass.   I had a conversation with my seester (that's "sister" in normal people talk) about how I need to stop trying to make my days, and my life this "all or nothing" type of situation.  I agreed with her, and definitely noticed at the time of our little chat that I do have a tendency to do this in almost all areas of my life, but it became real as I was shoving my hand inside of the chicken.  I got scared. 

Indeed it is a bit scary to discover all of the little tidbits left inside the chicken to pull out with your hands, but that is not what I mean, surprisingly.  I got scared that I was going to mess up, and I immediately felt the urge to give up.  All or nothing...there it was, in the form of chicken jiblets, staring me right in the face.  The fact that if I don't think I can do something perfectly, I don't want to do it.  This is often how I feel (I've come to learn) in my every day life.  This is probably one of the big reasons I struggle with addiction.  When I'm high, I feel capable.  Let me now emphasize the "FEEL" part, because in all actuality, I'm not much more capable than when I'm sober.  I most often would sit on the couch, feeling capable, but doing absolutely nothing about it.  The difference is that I'm ok with not doing anything about it.  I don't feel guilty.  I'm ok with my laziness when I'm high.  I'm ok doing the "nothing" instead of the "all."

So, I've come to realize that it's better to feel incapable, while getting some stuff done (no matter how imperfectly) than to feel capable while not doing a damn thing with myself.  I want to learn how to mess up and be ok with it.  I'm thinking that learning to cook will help me to do that, and I look forward to it. 

LAZY!

One of the beautiful characteristics of mine is laziness.  And one would think the answer to "How do I stop being so lazy?" would simply be "Get your ass up and do something."  I guess that is the answer, but for some reason this is extremely difficult for me. 

I grew up in a home where regular chores were not assigned.  And when my mom told me (or any of my other siblings) to clean my room, I could usually wait her out until she got so frustrated with how it looked (or maybe smelled) and she would go to town.  I would get home from school and she would present it to me and say, "Now keep it this way!" And of course I would give her a big ol' hug and kiss and thank her, and about a week later, it was right back to the mess it was before.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly blaming my mom for this character flaw of mine, but I didn't exactly have a whole lot of motivation to pick up after myself as a child.  You've ruined me, MOM!!!! (Just kidding!  Love you, Mommy!)  :)

Now, let's be honest, I'm almost 26 years old, and expecting my second child.  If anyone's to blame at this point, it'd be ME.  Unfortunately for me, I decided to go ahead and have some kids, and get married, so now I'm the one picking up after people.  (What the hell was I thinking?!)  I hate cleaning.  HATE IT!  And my husband does not "go to town" after I neglect a mess for so long.  Believe you me, I have tried.  In fact, my husband would really like me to keep up with the house, especially since I'm not working anymore.  He really doesn't ask for much from me, so I guess I should at least TRY to make sure he has clean underwear during the week. 

Sometimes I really wish I could be one of those perfect little housewives who keep their house spotless at all times.  Walkin around the house barefoot and pregnant, keeping everything in tip top shape.  I got the barefoot and pregnant part down, but usually it's barefoot and pregnant walkin around with a cupcake.  It doesn't help that I can be distracted by, say, a fuzz.  According to my doctor, I have attention deficit inattentive disorder.  This means that I can get distracted by absolutely nothing at all.  Most of the time, I stare off into space, and my mind starts up.  When that happens, I'm doomed.  My brain goes through thought after thought after thought at the speed of light, and before I realize it, I've wasted an hour, staring, and thinking.  This is one of the reasons I write.  When I write, I force my brain to SLOW DOWN!  It actually can give me headaches to do this, but it feels good to have accomplished something when I'm done.  I just have to find a way to slow it down and motivate it to focus on cleaning.  This mixed with pure laziness is a recipe for, well, nothing at all. 

At least I am aware of this flaw of mine, and so I have no excuses not to try and fix it.  Ya know, I may never fix it.  I think I've realized that this is just part of who I am.  However, I believe I need to throw in some self-discipline to that part of who I am.  (Actually I could use some self-discipline in some other areas as well, but that's another blog post.)  All I know is it's a good thing I got God, because this is something I'ma need a whole lot of help with.  But this is where the cool stuff happens, when you realize you've got something that needs a little bit of tweaking (or a lot of tweaking) and you ask God to change it.  He will.  I have to do whatever I can, and then back up to let Him do work.  Any good change that happens in me is done in exactly that way, and it's pretty awesome to see the results of the creator of the universe taking the time to help me clean up my mess.  It'd be nice if He would clean up the mess in the house, but I guess I'll take what I can get. 

So, laziness, I'm comin for you!  (Mean face)

Ugly Mommy

Being a mom can really suck.  Not because of my child, but because of myself.  I’m responsible for rearing this human being.  I’m going to mold, to an extent, her personality, the way she deals with conflict, the dealing (or not dealing) with emotional stress.  I am responsible for this.  Me, the addicted chic that has a real hard time with all of the aspects of life as it is for myself let alone another human being.  That sucks.

Of course being a mother is my greatest joy, as well.  It’s a strange thing, motherhood.  On one hand I feel like screaming up to God, “Yo!  You know who you just gave this child to, right?  You sure about this?!”  And on the other hand, I am brought to tears just watching her sleep; just looking at her little face.  She’s so beautiful and lovely and caring and she’s mine.  Something this beautiful came from me.  This big ol’ mess of me is where this perfect little angel came from, and is where she runs to for comfort when she’s hurt, or sad, or confused.  That’s the beautiful part…and the sucky part.  She counts on me.  She relies on me, and trusts me.  I can’t even rely on or trust myself half the time, and now I have this little person to love and protect and lead in the right direction. 

But then again, there she is; my beautiful little angel, reminding me that I am loveable.  Despite my flaws, and despite the fact that I was ugly to her that morning getting ready for school, she comes home to her Mommy.  She quickly forgives my ugliness and wants to tell me about her day.  She’s just happy to see me.  I suppose I should just enjoy the love now, before she becomes a teenager, and hates my very being.  I’ll take the passes on my ugliness for now, in hopes that maybe by the time she’s older, my patience will be highly evolved; patience mostly with myself, that is.

So, although sometimes being a mom is something that can tear you down to such a raw and weak state of mind, it’s also something that reminds you that you’re only human.  One day my little beauty might be a mommy and she will call me hysterically crying because she was just ugly to her child, and I’ll be able to smile and gently tell her that if I could get through it, and come out the other side a better, wiser, more patient person, then she can too.  I guess that should be my hope.  That all of the ugliness will teach me, and that by the time she’s an adult, I will be a better, wiser, and more patient person. I guess that’s all any of us can hope for, really; that the ugly, nasty imperfect parts of us will fade away behind the knowledge that we’re only human, and there is a light at the end of the ugly tunnel.

Here we go...

I'm Kelli.  There are many things about me that I am still discovering and hopefully utilizing this blog space will help me to discover some things.  Some things I already know about myself...

• I'm 25 years old (26 next month)
• I'm a mother of a 5 year old beauty (Anahi) and am pregnant with our second beauty, another girl (Aidee).  She will be introducing herself to the world around Thanksgiving.
• I am married to an amazing man, Josue, who is a patient husband and amazing father.
• I like to write and draw.
• I am one of four siblings, and we are all pretty close.
• I love Jesus.
• I am an addict.

Just a short list to get started.  This blog, I hope, will be the outlet I need to start to come to terms with that last point there.  I guess the fact that I'm admitting to be one already means I am on my way, but things are still a little messy.  I am still a bit of a mess, which I guess is ok, because who isn't? The part that's not ok, is that I haven't quite learned how to love that mess yet.  I tend to try to shove my mess in the closet or under the bed instead of looking at each individual part of that mess, and putting it where it belongs; in proper perspective.  Possibly being able to, at some point, organize that mess into a lovely thing.  Writing helps me to do this; to be able to stand back, look at all of it, and separate the mistake from the me, instead of looking at me as the mistake. 

This I hope will happen through my writing/venting about my daily struggles, situations, victories, and failures.  It will, I hope, give me the proper perspective while learning how to love the mess that is me.