YOLO

You only live once. A mantra recently inspired by my former boss [and team]. A great boss, at that. And no, I’m not just saying that because there’s a good chance she might be reading this. She truly was the kind of manager every person should have the opportunity to work for at some point. Work is hard enough without all the unnecessary afflictions that a crappy supervisor has the ability to create. So if you’re lucky enough to work for someone who recognizes what you [can] do. Trusts you. Supports you. And has your back. Then it makes the world of difference. Especially if you’re not doing what you love but know that you need to contribute to the needs of your family.

My previous pregnancy. Wore me out. And made me sick. Like, really sick. Multiple trips to the bathroom that were disguised as stretching (since I hadn’t revealed the news yet). It didn’t seem too far-fetched since the company was pushing the whole wellness at work thing. But oh, for the love. This baby better be cute. And there it was…just another routine day. Except that whole heightened sense of smell had kicked in something fierce. The same day that your coworker brought hard boiled, leftover Easter eggs to work. Deep breaths. On second thought, maybe just don’t breathe at all. But he’s a stand-up guy and he’s hungry. Completely legitimate. So you hold your breath, hope you don’t pass out and take a phone call. It’s a dude. Who sounds like he might be going through the second phase of puberty. He’s upset. Misdirected. Insulting. Cussing like a sailor. Not because you did anything. But because he can. And those pregnancy hormones can’t take it anymore. AT ALL. So when he drops another F-bomb about his experience with your company (the one, you know…that you have ALL control and power over) you tell him he needs to clean it up or else you’re disconnecting the call. %$@! Yep. Second phase of puberty, indeed. {That whole maturity thing was missed the first time around}. You tell him you’re hanging up. And you do. End scene. Wow. Did I really just do that?! Sure did. I blame my uterus. So there I sat, glancing at the certificates I’d been awarded the previous year; for my outstanding client/customer service. Hmmm. Now what?? Damage control. Which means you go to your boss and tell her what’s happened. Because you know very well that SOB just added you to his hit list. And sure enough. Two days later that’s confirmed. But you know what? There wasn’t a moment that my boss didn’t have my back. Did I deserve to listen to that garbage? No. Does anyone? Not at all. But could I have endured it longer and just suffered through until nature called him otherwise? Probably. But life doesn’t have room for jerks like that. And YOLO.

Halloween. Of course we celebrate it in this household. After all, who doesn’t love a good gut rot? For a month. Who am I kidding? That $hit is gone in two weeks. Mornings are filled with a kid who’s finally realized sleep is a good thing and can’t get up unless you physically push him off the bed. Roll. I mean gently, tenderly roll…  And then you have the other child who likes to party a couple times in the middle of the night and has not yet figured out that sleep is actually amazing. So therefore, you’re walking around in a foggy haze while your toddler has already found the musical toys. All of them. And they’re all on the loudest setting. Of course they are. You walk into the kitchen and look at the mess in the sink that’s waiting for you. Then you look over to your son’s backpack. Dang it. Your kid forgot to show you his folder the night before. And you need to sign that parent planner. Oh. What’s this in here? A smelly shirt that’s been bunched up into a ball and stuffed inside for God knows how long. Lovely. Who needs caffeine? That stench will wake you up quickly. And the neighbors. At this point you’ve gone over to the bottom of the stairs to yell up and make sure there’s life. And that life is moving. And then you remember life has selective hearing. So you shout even louder because walking up the stairs is far too much work right now. Life finally responds. Agitated, you walk away making note that you should really look at installing an intercom system where you can attach the speaker directly to a person’s ear. Yep. That’s my next project. I’m sure Apple could market it profitably… On the way back you accidentally kick a musical toy and off it goes. Or maybe it wasn’t really accidental and you were really just hoping you had kicked it hard enough that now it doesn’t work. Nope. So now you’ve just got a sore toe. The echoing of “A is for apple”. And the remnants of that stinky shirt still lingering in your aura. Awesome. SO, where’s that Halloween dish bowl crater. And what kind of cavity can I give myself today?! After all, YOLO.

Dreams. Sometimes they’re just a way for each of us to retreat to another place and enjoy the bliss they create. Sometimes God uses them to speak to you; reconnecting you back to the man He intended you to end up with all along. And sometimes they’re something you spend much of your life chasing. Until that moment you decide to stop chasing. And actually just follow. After all, chasing implies it’s out of reach. This blog hasn’t even been published for a week yet and it’s already received some incredible support. I’ve been humbled by all the kind words and encouragement that many of you have provided. Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to do what I love. Write. Relate. Inspire. And make at least one person smile each day. Because smiling creates joy. And joyful people make this world a better place. Is it scary? For sure. Does it present me with the unknown? Absolutely. Putting yourself out there is unnerving to the nth degree. But as my husband often tells me, does it make me happy? Yes. Then who cares what anyone else thinks. Because…you know it…YOLO!