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40 Days

Posted on November 28, 2011 Written by Tonya

I dread his birthday, our anniversary, Christmas, Father’s Day and every other occasion that requires a gift because my husband is IMPOSSIBLE to shop for. He buys everything he wants and he’s very picky.

There, I said it out loud and for all the world wide web to read.

Trust me, it’s nothing I haven’t already told him over and over and over again in the almost nine years we’ve been together.

Well, Todd is turning 40 on December 29th and I knew I had come up with something extra special, especially since his birthday falls so close to Christmas and he has always thought he’s gotten the short end of the birthday gift stick because of it.

To make this milestone birthday memorable, I decided for the 40 days leading up to his birthday I’d give him a small gift (Starbucks gift card, movie tickets, trivia cards from the year he was born, funny books, his favorite ~~beer~~ treats, lunch delivered to work, etc.) each day.

What was I thinking?! It’s not easy to come up with 40 gifts, but so far we’re on Day 10 and he’s enjoyed every one and I’m having a lot of fun too. Lucas has even gotten in on the action and “reads” the daily cards that hold a clue to what the day’s gift might be: “Dear Daddy, Happy Birthday. I love you.”

I need to finish big, so PLEASE send me any ideas you may have!

Letters To KLZ

Posted on November 15, 2011 Written by Tonya

My Letters For You guest this week is the very pregnant KLZ, otherwise known as, Kristin, who writes the hilarious blog Taming Insanity and if that isn’t enough, she is also one of the co-founders of Eli Rose Social Media.

Plus, she can rock a pair of reindeer antlers like nobody’s business!

Dear 8 year old self: that perm is a terrible idea. At least do us all a favor and if you do forge ahead and get it, please destroy all visual evidence.

Dear 13 year old self: just because you saw a model wear nearly black lipstick does not mean it is fashionable nor does it mean you can pull it off. You’re making an ass of us and you’re too stubborn to admit it.

Dear 16 year old self: stand up for yourself now or your feelings will get so pent up that they’ll explode. Trying to be “nice” is going to backfire.

Dear 17 year old self: I didn’t mean stand up for yourself quite that much. That’s what I meant about things backfiring. PS the shade of lipstick you’re wearing now is fine. Keep it.

Dear 18 year old self: yes, your hair has some wave but you can’t pull off “curly” or really even “wavy”. You are the only one buying this hairstyle as legitimate.

Dear 20 year old self: get over him.

Dear 21 year old self: slow down. Bigger things are coming.

Dear 23 year old self: marry him. Even though he’s going to make you want to stab him sometimes, you will get back more than you ever expected.

Dear 26 year old self: you’re welcome.

Dear 28 year old self: you’re overwhelmed because you take too much on. You expect too much of yourself. Also, you’re welcome.

Dear 30 year old self: no big deal.

Dear 39 year old self: be careful. You have a teenager.

Dear 40 year old self: still no big deal.

Dear 50 year old self: Seriously, this age stuff is no big deal. What is a big deal is that some of your kids are out of college now.

Dear 53 year old self: If you’re concerned about the way that your ass looks, go to the gym and quit whining. Even I can’t stand listening to you.

Dear 67 year old self: Life happens outside of books too. Be sure to get out there and live, you dumb slut.

Dear 80 year old self: You better not have messed this up for us.

Death

Posted on October 24, 2011 Written by Tonya

People don’t like to discuss death.

In many circles, the topic of death and dying is one of those taboo subjects, right up there with religion and politics, however, when it comes to death, there is no debate. Death is final and it is going to happen to all of us.

Death is the great unknown and thinking about our mortality makes us uncomfortable.

Death presumably can never affect us in a good way.

Death represents loss; loss of a loved one, loss of everything that we know.

Death is equated with fear; fear of losing someone and fear of how it will happen to us when it’s our time.

Death is a mystery and makes us question the unimaginable:

Will I go quickly?

Will I be in pain?

Will I see a white light?

Will I have done and said everything I need to when my time is up?

What kind of legacy am I leaving behind?

Will I go to heaven?

Will I ever see my loved ones again?

Will anyone attend my funeral?

How will I be remembered?

Trust me, death is far more than Elisabeth Kübler- Ross’ Five Stages of Grief.

I am convinced that if we talked about death more, if it wasn’t such an off limits subject, it wouldn’t be so scary or hard to face.

Having lost my parents at such a young age, theirs (60 and 58 respectively) and mine (35) and serving as the executor of their estate, I implore you to think about your wishes after you die and discuss them with your loved ones.

Openly.

Candidly.

Luckily, my parents did have a Will, but it had been created 28 years before they died and there were a lot of blanks and unanswered questions. With the help of many people I trusted, their estate is now closed, but it took the better part of three years.

Imagine my shock when I discovered on my father’s last “To Do” list a line item that read: Update Will. He thought he’d have time to revise it.

I also encourage you to talk to your aging parents and/or grandparents about their Last Will and Testaments in addition to their material possessions.

When my sister and I cleaned out my parents home, we separated the things we wanted from the things to be donated and the things to be sold through an estate sale, and still filled a 4′ x 30′ dumpster to the very top with junk. 16 years of paper mostly. My parents it seems were pack rats.

Death is no fun, but it is inevitable and the sooner we stop tip toeing around it, the better.

If I’m Lucky

Posted on March 10, 2011 Written by Tonya

I am pushing 40 with both hands.

40.

I remember when 40 was old.

I’m not dreading growing old(er) all that much. I honestly don’t mind the numbers of years I am because I don’t feel a day over 33. I believe aging is both a state of mind and a physiological fact.

Sure it takes me longer to bounce back from the flu, lose the customary holiday five pounds I gain and hangovers feel like death, but I still feel 33.

It’s hard to believe that in just 15 short months, I’ll be ringing in a brand new decade.

Some of my best friends are already there, the big 4-0 and they exude high energy, vitality and youthfulness. They look amazing and I hope to be just like that in June, 2012.

Too bad there are always the ugly voices. You know the ones…. the voices in our heads that tell us that everything of value is young and new and I’m simply not anymore.

The voices that both criticize and curse every new wrinkle, flaw, blemish and gray hair that sprouts up.

The voices that convince that jumping out of an airplane, getting a tattoo, taking up pilates, learning a foreign language and getting Botox will make us feel and look young again.

Some days my face feels so disorganized. Everything is shifting and it’s almost as if it’s been hanging in the closet for too long. I feel unattractive, haggard and tired. Perhaps it’s just motherhood? I don’t feel that way on the inside, so it’s hard to witness the changes occurring on the outside.

If I’m lucky, every once in a while the voices subside and I recall why I have crow’s feet, furrows along my brow and lines around my mouth and I see the pure and simple beauty in them.

I’m proud of my lines and my age because I’ve earned them. I’ve laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed. I have lived, loved, lost, fell down, picked myself back up, traveled, read, seen, met, stuck my foot in my mouth, tasted, heard, touched, experienced, shared, learned and still want more!

I love each and every single line on my face because they make up my beautiful life. All 38 years of it, but only if I’m lucky.

This post is for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, Red Writing Hood. This week’s prompt was to write a short piece, either fiction or non-fiction, about something ugly – and find the beauty in it.

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40 Days

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