The Aftermath

When it comes to breaking up, we've all heard the stats, the quotes, things to live by etc. We know. You can't be friends with someone you loved. You either never did or still do. I think what this leaves out is the .0001 percent of the population who are extremely self aware and know what is best for them. It also doesn't account for the kind of love you shared.

We broke off our engagement. We separated households and went separate ways. We were both a bit bitter and filled with regrets. It took a couple weeks for me to see that I don't have space in my life or heart for the hatred. I needed to process. I know the split was needed, inevitable and neither of us could take more blame than the other. We were both guilty. Not many people are willing to invite their ex over to hash out the hatred, but I did. I will not allow myself to be consumed, nor will I let pride conceal my true feelings.

It took 5 minutes conversation for the weight to fall off of both of us. We could honestly say that we love each other, but we were not good for one another. We were a never ending ball of stress and tension. It affected our friends, children, work, habits, everything. We were the miserable couple that put on a good show. We were hot or cold. Nothing in between. Towards the end, every thing was forced. We both had to find a way to relax just to come home, but it was instant stress when we got there. We had to force ourselves to spend time together. There was no affection or true intimacy. We were just going thru the motions.

We weren't good for one another. That doesn't mean I don't love him. It doesn't mean he doesn't love me. It just means we don't love us.

For some the baggage they carry from past mistakes is more than can be overcome. The relationship itself became our tomb. The title built the foundation for ownership. Moving in together and sharing responsibilities became the walls in which surrounded us, and the ring was the lid. The final piece of that cage was the judge telling us we had to be married within 6 months. That was the lock.  We panicked. We started beating harder against the walls until finally we broke free. That freedom comes with a cost, but its freedom none the less.

Truth is, I don't enjoy sharing my space. I have my quirks, and at some point I become controlling. The cycle just continues until we have a wedge so huge between us, no bridge can  connect it. I'm also at the point in my life that I see that my kids need my focus more than anything. He sees that same need in his life. The tension we created was felt by all who entered our home. The first time my kids came home they were completely different humans. They weren't stressed at all. I can only imagine how his son was.

It isn't normal for people to see two people go from engaged, living together, working towards marriage and just be friends. I have to believe we are the exception. We are capable of laughing, talking, asking advice. We parted ways, and the day will come when we both meet someone new, and that's OK. I'm not ready to move on right now, but I want what's best for us. "Us" doesn't work the way it was. We  can't just erase the past two years, but we can learn from it. We can choose to be better because of it. He is one of my best friends. He knows more about me then any other human on this planet. That doesn't just disappear.

I've been called a shitty person, insecure, stupid and desperate for continuing to even speak to him. Referred to as a band aid that just needs to be ripped off and thrown away.  The past is exactly that. It's the past. We  helped each other discover who we are, who we want to be, and that I'll never apologize for. We aren't trying again.. We aren't starting over. We are choosing the relationship we should have stuck with. I won't be hateful because it's considered normal. This life has enough hate.  I choose to love, forgive and grow.

A Collective Failure

I've said too many times to count that I am not the one to offer Relationship advice, because I have yet to have a successful one. Yet, here I am again starting over. I have no idea how many fresh starts a person is supposed to get, but if it's anything like a cat having nine lives, clearly I'm meant to use them all.

It's easy during a breakup for a couple to blame each other. She did this, he did that etc. Truth is you both failed. In my own relationship, I can honestly say as much as he failed me, I also failed him. When a couple stops being a team, they begin to be competition. If you're not building each other up, you're tearing one another down. We stopped being a team somewhere along the way. It wasn't all at once. It was one tiny instance at a time. We stopped communicating. We stopped trusting. We stopped confiding. We stopped apologizing. We stopped persueing each other. We stopped believing in each other. We stopped holding one another accountable. We stopped putting Christ first. We stopped respecting each other. So when I say we failed. WE FAILED. It wasn't him. It wasn't me. It was us. 

In the last days, weeks, months I didn't realize how unhappy we'd become. I felt guilty that with  him driving away I breathed a sigh of relief. I have never felt that really, but I was glad it was over. Please do not mistake, I love him. I still do, but I was no longer in love with him. There's a huge difference. I didn't see how, for lack of a better word, emotionally constipated we had become. It wasn't until an old friend came to visit that it became clear. He pulled me in for a hug, and granted he's just a natural hugger, but I felt love in that embrace. That was a gifted embrace. I didn't have to ask for it. It wasn't forced, and I fell apart. I've been so lonely. I wondered if he felt the same way.

I went thru my phone looking for a certain picture, and I found myself going thru the last two years of pictures. Every single one was a memory of a quarrel. I was reminded of every fight we had. We bickered about money that day. The kids would not stop fighting. That was the day he threw a suitcase at me. He was drunk that day by lunch. That was the night I punched him. The list went on and on, but all it did was make me sad. Every beautiful smile and good day was overshadowed by an ugly word, some I spoke and others from him.

The words that were shouted on our final evening will never be forgotten. They will be difficult to forgive. Most importantly, they say more about the person who spoke them. I won't share what they were, because it wouldn't do any good at this point. After all, I didn't set out to air the dirty laundry. Our relationship has had many omens from the very beginning, but neither of us paid attention. They say love is blind. Its true. I didn't see until the very end. We both wore masks. Over time they fell off, and who we were couldn't be hidden.

Moving forward, I make a promise to myself not to filter. I will not be less myself in hopes that someone can love me. I will not run from love. I will not become bitter. I will try again....not anytime soon, but eventually. I will resist the urge to be petty. I will not ignore the warning signs. I will not allow myself to get lost along the way again. I will not become that monster who yells and complains all the time. I will stay true to myself. I will put the god lord above all, family behind him, and we will succeed.

This is my fresh start, and without knowing how many more I have, I must be careful. I will make the most of it and love my babies and take care of us first. I wish him all the best. I hope this life gives him the peace he searches for. I pray that happiness someday finds him. I wish we could've found all that together, but we were toxic for one another. We brought out the worst in each other. So today, I start again. Lord, guide my steps, take my hand, and lead me to you.

Coach, it's supposed to be team building, not humiliating

I attended a softball game last week, and without a doubt it was the worst game I've ever watched. Ever. And I've watched an over abundance of softball games. By the time it was over I was horrified, irritated, over emotional, just exhausted from all the feelings, and I am compelled to share.

When we sign our children up for sports, what's the reason? Team building, learning to play well with others, a new experience, exercise etc right? Well I have long believed team sports were more about learning to win with grace and lose with pride, but most importantly to have fun. If it's not fun, it's work.

The teams took the field, and it was evident right away who would win the game. Fine and good. One side had 5 coaches where the other had 1 who only left the duggout for 5 minutes. The stands were filled with our team's parents and only a couple from the opposing side. Again fine and good. The first team struck out with 4 batters, and we swapped. When the umpire stepped up to assist in showing the pitcher how to throw the ball, it was evident she'd never played before. Of course this is when you would hope the coach would've told them to take it easy. Did they? No.

No, they didn't take it easy. We would spend the next hour playing the bottom of the first inning. An hour!! Of course, we went thru the line up at least 3 times. I stopped keeping score, but what I did pay attention to was the fact that our coaches were still leading the team in Cheers even after several runs came in. Our coaches were continuing to encourage stealing bases. Why? I wasn't the only parent embarrassed by the lack of class. 

When a team that doesn't have much guidance, very little funding, and even less involvement from parents takes the well groomed field in front of enthusiastic families and an overzealous opposing team with multiple coaches, it's intimidating to say the least, but when they add insult to injury and cheer while  said team makes errors and fumbles thru every play, it's humiliating. Win or lose, they came to play the game, and we had the opportunity to teach them how, but we didn't. The only thing they learned that afternoon was how to quit.

I watched the pitcher wipe tears from her cheeks hoping no one noticed as she tossed what had to have been at least the hundredth ball  towards home plate.  My heart ached as an outfielder in middle school became so disheartened that she sat down in the grass. When all eyes turned to our coaches for mercy, none was shown. The cheering eventually stopped, but we stole every base we could. We continued to walk player after player when the pitcher got so tired she couldn't even get the ball across the plate in the air. Still no mercy.

Several parents asked each other, "why doesn't the coach just tell them to swing? If they connect great. If not, then they at least will get an out or two and the chance at coming into the second inning!"

There were four teammates that never even touched the grass, because they were subs in the game scheduled to come out in the second inning, my daughter included. Four girls went home disappointed that they dressed to play, but never got to.

The other team left the field with so much haste,  while our girls went sliding into home plate, because they didn't get dirty during the game.  That wasn't the worst part.

We are talking about an inner city school. Those girls already don't have all the opportunities or privileges the others did. It was as if we told them "We are better." We aren't better. We certainly weren't that day. That day, I was ashamed. I was ashamed that the people in charge of teaching our girls to play were more concerned about winning and the number on the score board than the pride of others. They were more concerned about racking up points than playing a game. It wasn't fun that day. It was any fun for the people in the stands. It didn't appear any fun for the girls who didn't get to play, and it certainly wasn't fun for the other team.

We should have more class and tact than that. Our children should be taught that humiliating someone just because you can, doesn't make it right. Winning for personal gain, isn't winning. We were going to score more points that day, no matter what we did, but we had the opportunity to help a struggling team get better. We didn't take it. We made a struggling team struggle for an hour and fifteen minutes. We made them wonder why they even showed up. And we laughed and cheered for the better half of it.

Coach,  if you don't have grace and humility to teach the team, you're not qualified. All the talent in the world can't make up for lack of sportsmanship. You have the chance to teach these girls, not just about softball, but life. Teach them to lend a hand rather than an iron fist.
Sincerely,  the mom you disappointed when you failed to show class and chose domination instead. 

By the way, I'll pray for you.

It's time to be you again

I've mentioned many times about my struggle with anxiety. The struggle is real. While anxiety is very much a monster with many masks, some of us experience different forms in different situations. The situations also trigger a different response. I don't write this to highlight the disease, but to share the doorway to the light. I'm not out of the trenches, but I think I've found a rescue, and it's one I feel compelled to share.

Anxiety has plagued me for years now. I've had panic attacks in grocery stores, dentist chairs, even at home when there's nothing to be afraid of. I've been prescribed many different prescriptions and none seem to solve the problem fully. Some have helped, but I can't live my life medicated constantly. It's really not living if you are numb to the world around you, or if you miss a dose or two you become this emotional train wreck. That's not living. That's masking the problem.

A few weeks ago, I was discussing what was going on with a dear friend. There had been a few new developments with me, and I was really just venting. She shared with me that she had been introduced to essential oils, and there was a combination of oils called "liquid xanax" that had practically changed her life. (Now mind you I mentioned in my last post that more than half of Americans were taking some form of mood altering medications.) She had been able to cut her prescriptions in half and was actually being weaned off of them by her doctor!

This wasn't the only miracle she had up her sleeve. She worked in a play school for toddlers a couple days a week and managed to get every one of them to take a nap without fighting. Another oil. She helped a friend clear up her family's allergies. Another oil.

I'll be honest, at first all I could think was "ugh, another at home sales person peddling their crap from their pyramid scheme." That wasn't the case. She genuinely wanted to help me. Better yet, they actually worked.

I know there are others suffering. I'm not selling anything. But I am telling you this, if you want a cure from the numbing agents, I know someone who can help. Just imagine a day when you weren't thinking about having to take the pills, or the weight gain that inevitably comes with them, the horrible side effects, etc. What if it were possible to truly be normal again?

If you want to check it out, go check it out. You can look on the young living website  and read all about it. Now mind you, you're going to see it and think "oh yes! I saw that at the store last week!" No you didn't. You saw a watered down version that's not as great. Go look at what she's got. Read the reviews. And if you decide to give it a shot, you can thank me afterwards. Tell her I sent you.   Her sales # is 11078700. You won't be disappointed. You'll be free again. You'll be you again.

The silence of suffering

We've all heard the saying "we suffer in silence." Why? Why is it that we don't reach out? Why don't we seek help? Or better yet, what takes so long to seek that help when we do?

Is it that we are ashamed? Frightened? Worried we will become a burden? Belittled? Yes. It's all of those. We don't reach out, because somewhere someone made us feel as if it were not OK. And so we suffer.

We hide the pain. We mask the depression.  We struggle through the anxiety as best we can. We retreat from the people we love.  We shed silent tears in the showers. We attempt to cover the postpartum depression. We cover up the nervous breakdown. We tuck in PTSD as best we can. We create the closet of skeletons, and we suffer. Alone.

We do this for so many reasons. We are ashamed. We are too proud. After all what will people think? We are hurt. Maybe we've reached out so many times it feels redundant. Or we've reached out and no one helped. We are insecure.  Somehow we've come to believe we aren't worth the trouble. We are alone.  Maybe there just isn't anyone to care. Whatever the reason, we shut out our love ones. Lie to our friends. Miss out families.  We resort to solitude.

Did you know roughly 60% of Americans are taking some form of mood altering medication? That means that  of 5 people closest to you, at least 3 are struggling. We have to stop this cycle. I don't know how to cure anxiety and depression or anything else on the medical spectrum, but I do know this. If we didn't wait to reach out, if we didn't hide our feelings and let them build, that percentage would drop drastically. Better yet, if we stopped shaming mothers for being down, comforted the friend in a rough spot, offered to help the person with financial difficulty work out a budget, took an extra second to choose our tone  with our spouse, didn't belittle those who need us, and didn't give the impression we were being inconvenienced by another human, I think we'd see a difference in the world.

The good lord said "love your neighbor." He didn't say only if you have the time, or if they're to your standards. He said  "love them."

I too am suffering. I too am ashamed. I'm petrified of being a  disappointment, of hurting my family, and making mistakes.  I have heard more times than I can count to "grow up", "suck it up", "get over it". Sometimes it's not that simple. Sometimes, we need that person to talk to. We all could use a little more understanding.  Pay attention to the people in your life. We all have or demons, but we don't have to suffer in silence.

If you are unhappy, I urge you to say something. If you are lonely, call a friend. If you're worried you don't have a friend, call me. I'll be your friend. If you need a counselor, I know a great one. If you need someone to pray with you, I will. If you're worried the Lord doesn't hear my prayers, I'll point you to someone whom I know he does hear.  If your children are driving you mad, I will babysit. If you need a night out, take one. If you need a drink, I'll pour. Please don't suffer alone. This world needs you. We need the best you that you can be.

In sweet remembrance...

Today was an incredibly emotional day for me. Like most every American, I roll over in bed and scroll Facebook for a few minutes. I may have read 4 posts before I saw the one that was clearly very sad news. While reading the comments my heart fell thru the boxes springs. I was so overwhelmed with sorrow for a family I barely knew. I grew up with the man, but his family I hadn't seen in years. Their little girl had passed away.

Yes, she had health issues. She'd had 2 heart transplants, but I didn't know all the details. What I did know is less than a month ago I was admiring the pictures of them on vacation, and then today she was gone.

The harsh reality of that started to rattle me. Truth be told, I cannot imagine what they are feeling right now. I don't want to. The thought of spending one day on this earth without one of my children is an unbearable thought to say the very least. The seconds seemed to drag on for minutes as the images flashed through my mind. Mother's aren't designed to bury their babies.

As the day went on, I shed more  than I believe to be normal, but I'm OK with that. I just kept looking at the pictures of my sweet tiny humans on my desk and thinking what in earth I'd  ever do. I'm very thankful that my children have always been relatively  healthy. The biggest decision I had to make was signing the forms to have a bone reset. And here this precious family was, having already had to make the choice of life or death for their child. They had to weigh quality of life, religious beliefs, family values, everything. Their worlds had been torn apart countless times. I felt guilty for ever complaining.

They crawled into bed that last evening with every intention of breakfast the next morning, thanksgiving this week, Christmas next month. They had a little girl, and I am certain they planned to always have her. But, instead they left a hospital without her. They'll have to pick out that tiny coffin. They'll listen to the hymns that will cut their souls in half. They'll hug countless people, hear thousands of times how sorry we all are, and listen to how she is resting at peace, but none of this will mend the pain. Not one condolence will bring back the regret of not reading one more bedtime story, or cuddling for 5 more minutes.

Lord, may we ever remember that life is fleeting. May we never take for granted the little things. Yes, we need to raise these precious things to be good humans, but every now and then may we splash in the puddles, get a little dirty, eat dessert first and camp out in the living room. May we hold them a little tighter, a few seconds longer, and be a tad softer. Lord, put your comforting hand in this family's life. Ease their suffering, I pray. Amen.

Memory Lane

I took a stroll down memory lane this week, and by stroll I mean I drove thru my home town. After nearly 15 years of being gone, so much has changed, and yet, so much is still exactly the same. Everybody still knows everybody. The square is still the center of everything, and it's still the kind of town every kid dies to get away from but ends up missing when they're gone.

The memories washed over me like a summer rain, while the emotions hit me like a hurricane. I remember growing up just waiting for the day to move away. Now as I sit in the suburbs and listen to the hustle and bustle around me, and I'd love nothing more than the house with 5 acres in the middle of nothing to call my home.

I miss the Friday night lights and low roar coming from the football stadium, waking up on Saturday morning to see which friend's house got toilet papered, running in to at least 3 people you know every where you went, watching the rows of corn as you drive past, and the dust rolling across the field as they harvest the crops.  All the things I despised then, but I'd love to have now.

My family stayed about 5 years after I left. The last real memory from there was my sweet tiny 2 year old girl running after my sister's van as they drove away for the last time. I've never cried so hard in my life. You'd have thought someone died. Looking back something did die that day; a past time, a life time, my childhood. It was all over. I've been back many times since that day, but that moment is forever stamps in time. That was when home moved away.

It's funny how all I wanted growing up was to get away. I'd give anything to go back now. Getting stuck behind a tractor wouldn't be so bothersome, because it's good to just slow down. This world is in such a hurry. We are all rushing to the next event. It was absolutely amazing to go somewhere, where time seemed to have stood still. I guess for years I've been searching for home, not realizing the people in that van were my home. The house we lived in still stands, but the structure hooks no value. Is the love we shared that cake its weight in gold.

The unwritten chapter of "what to expect..."

As I stared at my 1 day shy of 2 year old boy’s face this morning, I realized they left out a chapter of “what to expect when you’re expecting”, and they certainly left out a few of the toddler year version.  I think if they’d written these portions of the book, birth rates would plummet.

 
No one shares the real story until after you’ve had the baby.  That’s when they sit around sharing the horrors thru their eyes.  Up until then the worst thing anyone ever tells you is how far away from the hospital they were when they went into labor.  Trust me. Delivering the baby on the side of the freeway in the back of the van is miniscule on the grand scale of parenthood.  

This is where I will put the disclaimer in.  I will tell you this is not for the weak at heart.  This story is not for those on the fence about having kids, and it’s not for the dads why don’t want to remember. It’s a tad bit graphic, real, but still light hearted.  But I reiterate, it’s REAL.

Having children is a joyous event.  Not all women are maternal, but for me having kids made me feel complete, and I just wanted more.  Even now, as crazy as that sounds I would have another if possible. I love babies, it’s the attitude that follows I was ill prepared for.

We go through 9 months of misery, and yes, many will criticize me for saying that, but I hated every day I was pregnant.  From being sick, tired, nauseated, fat, miserable, irritable, cranky, ugly, having acne, weird cravings, gas, the whole nine yards, it was not fun for me.  They were each worth it, but I did not under any circumstances enjoy being pregnant.  What they failed to communicate was that that’s the easy part.  

They tell you in the book that you may have “a little extra weight” after delivering the baby, and “this goes away after a few weeks.”  Um, at what point do we decide to share with these ladies that this may never go away?!  First, it’s not a little extra weight.  It’s at least 10 pounds of what feels like loose, cookie dough coated in laundry soap jiggling in plastic wrap.  Veteran moms call this the jelly belly.  Second, you may very well have it 3 years down the road.  Just depends on if you work out. Or did your muscles split and you can’t work out without medical or surgical intervention?  

Child birth puts the “max” in maxi. No other time can I see a reason to wear a 6 inch wide by 30 inch long diaper with no straps, but we won’t go into the details there.  Just know it’s maximum discomfort.   

All of this I’m convinced is to prepare you mentally for the day when the terrible 2’s hit.  Yesterday all the preparation made sense.  Every struggle was getting me ready for this.

Imagine a little boy with bright blue eyes leaned over the arm of the chair staring at my drink.  He’d already drank his, and now he wanted mine. With each word there was a tiny hand that tapped my shoulder.

“Mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap)”

“Yes?”

“I want some.”

“No, you had yours. This is mine.”

“Whhhhyyyyyyy?”

“Well, because I said no.”

“Hmmmmmm….. mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap) mum mum (tap)”

“Whaaaaatt?!”

“I want some.”

“No, we just had this discussion. No.”

“But whhhhyyyyyyy?”

“Because I said so.”

And we began again.  This went on for several rounds, before I finally got up and left the room.  Kids are resilient, but no one tells you that you will have training before you get to the heavy weight rounds.  If these conversations didn’t happen, you’d snap the first time they threw themselves into the floor in the middle of the toy store and had a full out melt down.  You’d have a come apart as well. Instead, because you’ve prepared for this you gently grab your child’s arm, whisper his demise in his ear and pray he doesn’t call your bluff.

 
No one tells you that you will negotiate with terrorism for years. No one shares how your kids will beg for something and then have nothing to do with it once purchased. No one tells you about the naked Barbie phase of the toddler years.  Yes I said NAKED BARBIE PHASE.  It’s the time in life when your child must be accompanied into town with a naked Barbie, sometimes 3.  You’ve purchased tons of clothes, but none are ever found until years after the Barbie’s have disappeared.  Naked Barbie’s will haunt you in the bath tub, in your car, your yard, your bag, possibly your dreams.  There is the crayon in the pocket time as well.  Inevitably you will ruin an entire load of laundry, because you washed and subsequently dried a crayon.  You will wipe snot with your bare hand. You will accidentally stick your hand too far into the diaper and come up with “muddy” fingers.  There is vomit, urine, feces, ear wax, dead skin, finger nails, all this to deal with.  At least once a year your tiny human will  give you a near coronary experience by jumping off something too high, taking a massive tumble down a rigid and insurmountably hard surface, or ingesting a substance they should have known better than to touch but did it anyways.  

 
They’re kids. As I have stated before, they will take you to your breaking point.  It’s all a part of the process.  Once you reach the point when you can hear them cry and just nonchalantly turn and tend the mess, you’re not done.  You’ve just leveled up.  

When losing starts feeling like a win

We've all heard about Murphys law. If it can go wrong, it will. My life is a perfect example of that. I know I've touched on this before, but I'm going to do it again.

One of my best friends in this world always tells me "Liz I just don't understand how you do it. Your life is so hard!"

What's so hard about it? I mean aside from the obvious, I just couldn't figure it out....until I really started to think. Truth is, I have the worst luck. I promise, if I'm running late, every single light will be red.  We run out of groceries every time I have 4 cranky kids in the car on a Friday afternoon. My favorite wine will be sold out on the worst day of the week, because let's face it. Its only sold in 3 stores. Its the most expensive one, and no one has ever heard of it. Why wouldn't someone buy it in bulk?  That's when I started to get it.

There's another me out there that didn't hit that last red light...or ran it. And seeing that last bottle on the shelf was like a winning lottery ticket! She didn't have her kids with her today. She probably got into the store just before the rush hit. And she was WINNING today.

She didn't have a kid pitch a fit for the last yogurt this morning, when it was all she wanted for breakfast. She missed the client that cries every time they come into the office. To the rest of the world, it was just another day, but to her it was the best day. She had just enough hair spritz, just enough time to look great, just enough coffee to fill her cup, just the right fit in those new pants, just enough makeup to look perfect.  Yes, she ran out of all of these things, buy she had just enough for today, and missing the rush at the Walmart meant just enough time to replenish. On any other day, she's the biggest loser, but today she was winning.

For me, it wasn't that day. Ran out of coffee creamer yesterday, but I didn't remember it until after I made coffee. Had a kid refuse his breakfast because he wanted mine. He won. I went hungry. Every light was red. Every driver was slow. No one answered the phone. Everything got shuffled. Missed that goal by 1 sale. Walmart was jamming. Kids argued the entire way thru the store, and on the pasta aisle my 4 year old tossed all of my groceries into another persons cart while I was deciding on a sauce. (She probably questioned her sanity at the checkout, because she straight walked off with my crap) My 9 year old decided to play Tarzan at the register and nearly tore down the gum display. And the meltdown that came when the car seat that had been strapped in that same spot for a year, wasn't in his favorite seat was just exhausting. And the cherry on this peach of a day was our friend dropping by with a house warming gift.....that he drank without me.  Good thing I bought the $5 wine. After a while it went down pretty smooth. Just in time for me size 00 daughter to try on the dress I bought for me...and it fit her.

We celebrate the wins, because we are so used to losing.

The key

So, I work on insurance, and the question came up the other day of "who has a key to your house in the event of an emergency?" Well, as usual my mind began to wonder. Who does have a key? And what kind of emergency are we talking here? Like a I forgot to put diapers in the bag? I got locked out? Forgot to feed the dog? Hey can you check to see if my house is on fire? Like that wouldn't be obvious with the smoke rolling....

It was after questioning the reasoning that I started thinking of when folk did have keys, and I quickly realized why I haven't handed any out lately. 

In my apartment plenty of people had access. My sitter had a key so she could come and go. My best friend so she could borrow clothes or shower if she'd been out late. The maintenance staff also had one. What comes with a spare key tho? 

Well that my friends us the reason of this post. We are taught to give a key for emergencies, but in reality you're more likely to be walked in on while pooping by a friend than a tree falling in your living room. 

It happened so many times. Not the pooping part, but I swear there was an alert system that sent a signal every time I stepped in the shower. Her first day on the job, my sitter walked in on me. My only thoughts were "please don't quit!"  A few weeks later she did it again. And a few weeks after that, her boyfriend did. 

I can't think of a single instance where I had an emergency in need of someone going in while I was out. But if it were a contest to see how many times I could walk out of the shower as someone spontaneously opened the door, I'd totally win!