Category Archives: Just Sayin’

41 vs 21.

41.  Today I (and my super awesome twin, Dr. Sissy,) turn 41.

Wait…..  Whut?

Forty FREAKING one.

One of my asshole acquaintances  younger friends said I am just celebrating the 20th anniversary of my 21st birthday.

Oh my damn.

It’s  been 20 years since my 21st birthday.

And hey!  Ya know what – when I think about it like that, maybe I should feel pretty damn good about things…  I have figured a thing or two out (ok, maybe just the one,) in the 20 years that have passed since Dr Sissy and I sampled every sketchy-ass “birthday shot” that the fine establishments of Boulder had to offer before taking turns holding each other’s hair back at different times over the next two days. (#wondertwinpowers)

That got me to thinking, how IS 21 different than 41?  Sometimes I feel EXACTLY like the girl who stood on the bar to kiss the buffalo with her sister on her 21st birthday, and not a day older…. and sometimes I am possessed by a cranky old lady barking at my husband to plug in my heating pad because I slept wrong the night before and “OY! MY BACK!”

What gives!?

Even at 41, I still hear the call of the Taco Bell drive thru when I have a shitty day at work… “Come Keri… get in line Keri… Nachos Bell Grande are the answer Keri.  And a GIANT Mountain Dew.”

But they aren’t the answer…  unless the question is “what is going to give you heartburn and make your damn pants not fit over your ass?”  And people – let’s acknowledge that is NEVER the question.  (I love you Taco Bell…. 4eva.  But you do me so, SO wrong.)

41 year old Keri WANTS to slam endless quantities of coffee drinks, all day and night, like her 21 year old self did.  21 year old Keri practically lived at THE BEST coffee shop EVER (I also love you 4eva, Paris on the Platte, RIP,) working there in the early mornings, and then camping out on a stool at the bar all evening long while Dr Sissy worked her shifts. Then heading back to the single gal condo and sleeping peacefully, NBD.  41 year old Keri just told her coworker today that she has to “watch her caffeine  any time after noon because otherwise I will be up all night.”  What, the actual F**k, universe?  How does that happen?  Now that I am a wife and a mom and have more on my plate than ever – NOW I have to limit my intake of the sweet nectar of energy and decency that is coffee, or risk being up watching Copper Skillet infomercials during the few hours my schedule actually allows me to sleep?  Damn you, 41.

21 year old Keri was ensconced in her perfect, walkable urban ‘hood, living on delicious (horrible) Big Bites and Hostess cupcakes, going to shows and  showing off fresh ink while downing house shots at PS lounge….

Remembering all of that is amazing.  But not the whole story. Nope… not at all.

21 year old Keri was  freshly mugged, flat broke, back and forth dating two guys- neither of whom was right for her,  and couldn’t get the air pockets in her bread to even out in culinary school (which is “rustic” now, but was “wrong” back then.) She was angry and lost and a little lonely.

I was 21 when I was diagnosed with MS.   (Talk about angry and lost… whoa nelly.)

21 year old Keri had some shit going on.    21 year old Keri walked through fire.

21 was actually a major pivot for me – and it had nothing to do with the ability to order  a drink.

And the things that happened that year set me on the path toward where I sit writing this now,  in my dimly lit kitchen,  about to get up and replace the blankets my son has no doubt kicked off, and fill the dog’s water, and kiss The Mr goodnight as he sleeps…  it was 21 that set it all in motion, really.

Andplusalso,  if you look hard enough, the best parts of that young woman are still right here, along with 20 years of hard fought understanding that have come along since then.  21 year old Keri buzzed around in her Jeep with the windows down and the music up. 41 year old Keri does the same. 21 year old Keri loved lingering and laughing over long tex-mex meals with her family,  and that is exactly how 41 year old Keri is celebrating her birthday this evening.

21 year old Keri made bad jokes when she was nervous (and when she was not,) enjoyed looking at the mountains way more than spending time in them, cried whenever she heard Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “Colorado Christmas,” missed her twin sister living(part time) in Indy like crazy,  and was so damn grateful for every step she took, every sight she saw… every awful, wonderful perfect moment she got….

And you know what?  Ditto all of that for 41 year old Keri.

So maybe my not-so-jerky friend was right – happy 20th anniversary of my 21st birthday indeed.

(And to you too, Dr Sissy –  without you I am only half an egg.  muah.)

 

 

 

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Heard it through the grapevine… Just Sayin’

If you should say, for example, feel some mounting frustration at someone in your world :::cough cough:::  I totally mean The Mr. ::cough sputter cough cough::: and feel the need to mutter snide/sarcastic/petty/you get my drift comments under your breath about said person, learn from my mistake.

Before doing so – check the area for your offspring.  Do NOT do so within even POSSIBLE earshot of said offspring.

Because family car rides go from awesome to awkward quicker than The Mr taking a corner inappropriately fast when Jr remarks innocently from the back seat “But daddy, you don’t know where we are going.  You don’t even know your ass from your elbow.”

 

BTW – just because it is awkward, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

 

Just Sayin’.

 

 

 

*also – when you write a blog post… make sure it doesn’t sit in your drafts folder for a couple weeks. Like this one did.  Good tip, Keri.

 

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I have an English Degree. Just Sayin’…

Brunch.

There is no more revered and regarded event within our family’s weekly calendar than the meal which is so spectacular that it straddles the social norms for both timing and menu of TWO meals.

It is serious and significant family bonding time for us.

Yesterday morning at The Post, that family bonding hit a snag, people.

The entire damn family got stumped over the kids menu word scramble. We brought it home, but even minus the glorious glow of my Sunday mimosa, I am still at a loss.
Don’t judge me, HELP ME! WTF is that word:

Btw, if you follow me on Snapchat, you get these gems delivered right to your phone. @reluctntnburbs

I have an English degree, damnit- IT’S A DEGREE IN WORDS, FFS!!

Beat by the brunchy kids’ menu….

That’s a low even an extra mimosa  (almost) can’t repair.

Just sayin’.

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Still not QUITE there. Just sayin’.

I like to think (and I am not even ashamed to admit,) that I have acclimated to my less-than-urban surroundings fairly well at this point.

I can navigate the stores at the comically large local outdoor shopping area with my eyes closed.

During school drop off and pick up,  I show extreme patience for my fellow parents who are, um let’s just say “parallel-parking-impaired.”

We frolic in the wide open spaces – on the trails, in the fields and foothills of our surrounding area.

After all – I was raised here, right?

So we have to have an agreement, my fair and reasonable readers… I will tell you a secret that no one but me (and possibly a King Soopers security guard who I HOPE hadn’t had enough coffee to actually be paying attention to the cameras,) knows:

See this trash can?  It is what we call a “bear proof can” here at the base of the beautiful Rocky Mountains. (In my town it is probably more “coyote and raccoon proof” but we don’t get specific.)  They do NOT exist in the city, I can tell ya that.

For SEVERAL minutes this morning, it was a Keri-proof can.   Could NOT for the life of me figure out how to trip the mechanism in the stupid handle.  Even tried the one on the other side of the door because I thought the first one had to be broken.  No Keri – the user was broken.

After the first minute or so it became a battle of will – there was NO WAY I wasn’t opening that effing can.  And I did.  Then it slammed shut and almost ate my hand.

I guess I still have a ways to go out here if I can’t throw away my pile of fast food shame trash without getting in 5 minute fight with an overly complicated trashcan.

Just sayin’.

 

*PS – I know it’s been a bit quiet around here lately.  Just getting Jr over the “beginning of big kid school ” hump.  Stay tuned.

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Dat Workin’ Mom Lyfe. Just Sayin’.

I spent 4 long days traveling for business last week, a topic that I have rambled shamelessly on about touched on briefly in the past. (You can read about all the deodorant failing, seat companion farting, 40000 ft cocktailing magic here, should you be so inclined.)

It has its positives and negatives, for sure.  I love my team. I love my boss.  I dare say I even love getting to experience Boston.

But I HATE leaving Jr.  Like HAAATTTEEE it.

So after 4 long days away, I was SO excited to see my offspring – imagining all of the cuddles we would share as he drifted off to sleep on my lap, not wanting to let me go for even one second after being without me for so long.

image

Playing with the crab hat I brought him, shortly before becoming a different kind of crab.

All of that lasted exactly 2 minutes “in real life.”

Then he decided he wasn’t tired, wanted to rip his room apart instead, and spent the next 2 hours yelling through his door how mean I was, and that I should go back to Boston.

Queue the horrific mom guilt with a side of Chardonnay and a few tears.

Mom life is HARD, yo.

Just sayin’

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