Monthly Archives: November 2014


Recently someone from my past apologized to me. Twenty years after this person did something to me that warranted an apology. The something they did was pretty bad. Pretty sad. Pretty hurtful. And had a very big impact on me. It actually changed the way I trusted people, the way I let people into my life, the way I made decisions….it affected quite a few things in my life. It changed me. Made me quite cynical. When someone hurts you I guess it can do that.

So when the apology came I was surprised and shocked and it was very unexpected. And I guess that could have gone either way. Even more surprising was my reaction. Without missing a beat I accepted the apology and replied with “No apology needed, it was forgiven years ago. But thank you and I accept your apology.” Holy shit who the hell AM I? That is certainly not a response I would’ve given fifteen years ago. Maybe that apology came exactly when it was supposed to. And after the words came out of my mouth and onto the message that I sent to this person I realized that everything I said was actually true. I had forgiven years ago. I DID accept and appreciate the apology. You know why? This person meant it. And maybe it took 20 years to really mean it. So Im glad they didn’t say it before now. I REALLY REALLY AM.

When my Dad died there were a few phrases that got repeated that made me want to strangle someone. “God wanted your Dad more than you”, “At least he died doing what he loved”, “he is in a better place” and my ALLLLLL time favorite “everything happens for a reason”. It does not. I am old enough to know that now. There is not a reason for everything. And that is OK. But of all of the things that all of the people said to me then I by far cherish this….my dear friend came up to me at the funeral, hugged me tight and said “I AM SORRY”. And she said it clearly and looked in my eyes as she said it. She meant it. She really, really meant it. She was so sorry for my loss, my pain, the situation. And it is all she needed to say.

I think in ways those three words are both over utilized and under utilized. So strange how that works. How often have I spurted out “oh sorry” at someone and not really meant it? Too often Im sure. I can’t remember. What I do remember are the times I DID mean it. When I hurt someone and I say “I am sorry” I hope it comes across with all that is intended. I hope they know I am sorry I hurt them. And when someone loses someone they love and I say “I am sorry” I hope they know that with all of the conviction and intensity my heart can muster how much I am sorry for their loss. That I know that loss. I know that pain. And I am so sorry they have to feel it.

Fifteen years ago I don’t think I would have been so forgiving. And that is a shame. I think it is necessary to forgive even when no apology is given. For our own peace. My 22 year old self DID NOT feel this way however. It was a very unkind thing they did to me. And it hurt. And perhaps its time to forgive the 22 year old me for the things she did wrong too.

As soon as the words “I am sorry” were uttered recently to me I knew how much meaning was behind it. I saw the 20 years of regret. I knew they were truly sorry for the pain they had caused me. And funny thing is…I had let it go years ago. Maybe because so many sad things have happened to me since then that it seemed like no big deal. Maybe because I grew up. Maybe because I knew they were sorry long before they could say it. Maybe…maybe…I am forgiving after all. Damn maturing thing. Sneaks up on ya sometimes. I forgive. I completely and utterly and lovingly forgive you. I think I already had but those words you mustered up and were brave enough to send 20 years later are greatly appreciated. And my heart is peaceful.

It would be nice if none of us ever hurt each other. But this is real life and that is not possible. Do yourself a favor. Say you are sorry more. Mean it more. And forgive more. Its good for the soul.

And the 42 year old me is smiling for the 22 year old me. Thank you old friend. 😉



I am NOT consistent. Never have been. I’ll readily admit I do not parent consistently, I do not keep in touch with friends consistently, I do not return phone calls consistently and according to the water company I do not pay bills consistently which is in direct correlation to why my husband took over paying the bills a few years back. Apparently these companies frown upon giving you services that you forget to pay for.

I have written before about how I suck at the “follow through”. I do. I start every project with great intentions and phenomenal ideas (well in my head they are phenomenal) and I can envision the outcome and the whole world is at peace. And on Day #1 I am so pumped and gung-ho with balls blazin’ that nothing short of Adam Levine walking into my path NEKKID could stop me. Stupid 20 year old model-child-wife….anyway…

I am a GREAT starter. I am a shitty finisher. This does not bode well in business. Crap. So when this Beachbody Coaching thing started I was all “cool I love working out” (I actually do that consistently-one of the few things), “i love the idea of a discount on products”, “this will be easy”, “what a cool company”, “who doesn’t want to get in shape and be healthy? this will be easy to convince people to do”. IDIOT.

My upline coach and dear friend, Stephanie, recently did a team call with her friend, Melissa, who just happened to go to my high school (Go Trojans)! Yes we were the Trojans..haha…not many jokes I haven’t heard. And you haven’t lived until you are cheering on the sideline of a football game & the rival team is throwing prophylactics at you. Good Times… anyway….Melissa said one sentence that has stuck with me for a week. I cannot get it out of my head. “I was a Monday/Tuesday Coach…Dont be a Monday/Tuesday Coach”. She found her success once she started putting as much effort into her business on Thursdays & Fridays as she did on Mondays. Holy HELL!! Im a Monday/Tuesday Coach. It hit me.

I have had moderate success with Beachbody. I’m not gonna lie. I make more money working a few hours on Monday than A LOT of people who work 40 hours a week. I am lucky. I am also an idiot. I am all crazy motivated on Mondays and can rock this business like nobody. I AM BEACHBODY….on Mondays. By Thursdays Im at lunch with Susie or Lori and shopping and checking my messages once every few hours. By Fridays Im at Wine Day Friday and Im lucky if ANYTHING gets done. If it needs to happen after noon on Fridays it ain’t happenin’. Well hell…

The one thing in my life I am VERY consistent with is my workouts. I don’t miss those. I workout 6 times per week. It is like crack to me. It makes me feel good, it boosts my endorphins, it makes me happy, it helps with energy and my abs look good. Yes Im vain- whatever. But the consistency of my workouts pay off. Seriously pays off. After 9 months of working out 6 days a week and being very religious about getting it done my body is in the best shape its ever been in. Duh. When Im tired, I workout. When Im injured, I workout. When Im bitchy, I workout. When I don’t want to- I WORKOUT. Its not an option. My health is not an option. I HAVE to be around for my kids.

So why do I treat my business differently? Why do I “Monday/Tuesday” my business instead of working it 5-6 days a week? Is it not as important to me as my health? This business, my business is HUGELY important to me. I plan on a future where my kids are secure and I can travel and get a mountain house in Aspen and buy stupid expensive artwork just because. Oh and also help the poor and all that crap but you know what I mean….

It hit me like a ton of bricks that if I treated every day of the week like Monday I might REALLY rise above “moderate” success and just bust the roof off of this thing. Wow. Im a little slow. But thats ok Im teachable…and Im learning. Consistency does not just apply to my workouts. It actually applies to EVERY SINGLE THING in your life. Every thing. You don’t get up and drive your kids to school Monday and just assume they’ll get there the rest of the week do you? I don’t let Gus out to potty only on Mondays and pray his bladder can hold for 7 days. I don’t eat once on Monday and hope that sustains me all week. I don’t tell my kids to do something once and expect them to actually do it….oh wait…your kids do things the first time you ask? Never mind, mine do too!

When the character Andy Dufresne (played by Tim Robbins) in The Shawshank Redemption escapes from prison it is not a result of a last minute decision, a valiant effort of quick and mass execution, nor a spontaneous extra hard push to the end….it was a carefully planned, slowly and CONSISTENTLY executed action done with precision and thought and a boring ass daily commitment to something with no immediate gratification. TWENTY years. TWENTY fucking years he dug that tunnel. With a spoon. There can be no greater example of patience and consistency paying off. In freedom for Andy.

So be it your weight loss journey, your desire to succeed in your business, your relationship with your kids or parents or friends, or a book thats just difficult to get through…don’t stop. One page, one step, one smile a day seems so insignificant in the present moment. But twenty years from now you will have climbed a mountain!



You know that saying…Life never gives you more than you can handle? I call total Bull Shit. I know life gives you more than you can handle you just have no choice but to “handle it”. However you can.

My daughter, Maddie is 14 years old. Several months ago she was diagnosed with Hypothyroidism with an underlying autoimmune disorder called Hashimoto’s Disease. Big fancy words for fat swollen thyroid and exhausted ALLLLL the time. The doctor is great…I like her. She’s young and cute and funny and does NOT wear a white coat. These qualities are a must in a doctor. Even my husband’s new neurologist was picked based on these exact qualities. * An aside note- I have fired several of his neurologist based on lack of humor and insistence on wearing that stupid lab coat. HIs new one kicks ass. She even said “shit” in our initial meeting. I hired her THAT SECOND!

So back to Maddie- the medication her doctor put her on several month’s ago was not working. Her thyroid was growing even bigger and her blood work showed it to actually be getting worse. She was more tired than ever and things were not good. So I scheduled an appointment. For Yesterday. And I took her by myself (which I rarely do) but my husband had to tend to our son’s four thousand activities. You people with more than two kids amaze me!

Me, a hospital, and running tests on my kid = a level of anxiety that my Xanax could not touch. But oddly enough I remained semi-normally calm. At least my face did. I might have had a mini heart attack in the ultrasound room as they were scanning her neck for cancer. Yep- cancer. Fuck. After the doctor examined her she felt the need to send us immediately to radiology for an ultrasound of her neck. To look for cancer. Or some other shit-tastic thing that could be causing this. But all I heard was “cancer”.

My entire family has thyroid problems except me. Mine is totally normal. TOTALLY NORMAL. I know this because I just got it checked. My aunt even had thyroid cancer as a teenager. And as my kid laid there on the exam table with someone running an X-ray ball all over her I sat frozen. Three thoughts went through my head. I remembered 15 years ago lying on a table and having a sonogram with Maddie in my tummy. I remember crying because finally I was having a healthy baby after several miscarriages. I remember finding out she was a girl. I remember all the wonderfully fabulous things I wanted for her future and her life. Not once when you’re pregnant do you envision broken arms, braces, boyfriends, hormones, dirty rooms, algebra homework or your kid laying on an exam table at 14 finding out if she has cancer. Thought two was of that scene in Steel Magnolia’s where Sally Field screams “I can run to Alaska and back but my daughter can’t”. The complete gut wrenching inner plea you have with the universe to please allow you to switch places with your kid. I would in a heartbeat. All parents would.

The third thought was of Sydney. Maddie’s friend that died over a year ago from brain cancer. My gut churned and my heart flipped and I came close to vomiting because I could not begin to fathom how her Mom feels. Cancer fucking sucks.

And I will admit that several times today I have wondered what I did to have all of this crap land on us. MY HUSBAND HAS BRAIN ROT. Is that not enough? Really? REALLY?

I often say Im a tough girl. I am. But my definition of tough is putting one foot in front of the other while crying and barely breathing and wanting to lay in a ball and stab someone. Im THAT kind of tough girl. But I am tough. And my amazing kid is tough too. She is SOOOO tough. On the way to the ultrasound room she said “Im not scared of thyroid cancer…I googled it…high survival rate….it won’t kill me for sure”…and then she added “Mom my only real concern is if I have to have chemo & my hair falls out how will I wear a cheer bow at competition?”

Thats MY girl. TOUGH.

And not 3 hours later we get a call from our cool doctor saying “ALL CLEAR”. No cancer. No fucking cancer. Halle-fucking-luyah.

And my heart goes back to all of those people in Children’s Hospital today that I saw who will not get good news. Sometimes life DOES give you more than you can handle. You just have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other. And if it takes pills or drinking or going crazy or counseling or taking up taxidermy or smoking pot or cleansing your aura or acupuncture or speaking in tongues or running away then SO WHAT. Deal with that shit anyway you can. Survive ANYWAY you can. No one in the world has the right to judge you or how you handle things…. NO ONE! And if you do have an opinion of how someone might handle something like this…if you think YOUR way is the ONLY way.…well…Im waiving a very well manicured middle finger at you right now…BLESS YOUR HEART.

Here’s to all those Moms and Dads who will not get a “good news” phone call. My heart is with you. Go punch a wall…sometimes it helps.



Patrick and I took a little mini vacation together this past week to Aspen. Holy beautiful. What an amazing, breathtakingly beautiful place. We had such a wonderful time. He said we can make it an annual event!! I plan to take him up on that. Aspen has always been “that dream place for me”. So unattainable and far from reality for so long. But I now allow myself to dream about Aspen. About owning a little mountain house there one day. Where I can spend almost all day everyday hiking and writing in a peaceful setting. It is becoming increasingly clear that this “city girl” is a mountain girl at heart. My soul is so happy in the mountains.

And as I work to build my business I dream. I DREAM BIG. Because why not? Whats the point in a small dream? One day…one day…ASPEN!

I had mapped out the way we would drive to Aspen and as I looked at the map a few weeks back I noticed something. Just about 18 miles off of our route is the spot where my Dad died. Eight years ago. He hit a deer on his motorcycle while vacationing with some buddies. Over the past eight years I have not read all of the details of the police report that I have. Never wanted to. I had this picture in my head of what that place looked like. A lonely mountain windy road that took my Dad. Where he died without us.

They say there are a few major events that happen in our lives that define us. That change us. I believe thats true. I had my heart broken once, I had quite a few miscarriages before I had healthy kids, I had two healthy kids, my Dad died tragically, my husband got brain rot. Yep- Ive had a few defining events. They make me who I am. That’s life. We all have our stuff.

And this PLACE where he died. Where he laid in that highway alone without us. Where a stupid fucking deer decided to jump out. Im not quite sure why the idea of this PLACE took up such space in my head. But it has not escaped me that my move to Colorado placed me closer to the PLACE he died. And not accidentally. When looking for a place to LIVE LIFE after Patrick’s diagnosis I could think of nowhere else I’d rather be. There is a reason my Dad loved this place. A reason he visited so often. It’s a pretty friggin’ gorgeous place to live.

So I asked Patrick if he would drive me to the PLACE. On our way to our little mini vacation. Without missing a beat he said “sure, no problem”. Thats it. He didn’t say much else. He didn’t need to. Maybe he needed to see the PLACE as much as I did. After all…this is the guy who read my eulogy for me at my Dad’s funeral because I just couldn’t. And as my friend, Stephanie Richardson says “sometimes people step in for each other when they cannot do things for themselves”. I think that is the true definition of love.

So we went. It’s 18 miles off of the main road. Good God that was a long 18 miles. I wasn’t nearly as nervous or anxious or sad as I thought I’d be. I was surprised. It did not look at all as I expected. It did not look lonely or sad or desolate. As we drove up Patrick just pulled over. It was beautiful. There is a windy gorgeous river that runs alongside of the road. There is a majestic view of the mountains. There are horses below on a horse farm. It is open and airy and peaceful. And the strangest thought crossed my mind. This very view, this exact view, this picture of beauty is the very last thing my Dad saw. And a sense of something washed over me. I don’t know what. It damn sure wasn’t closure. I HATE that stupid word. It wasn’t happiness or sadness or grief. I don’t really know what it was. Maybe just a sense of closeness to someone I miss very much. And I feel grateful that I got to see that view- the same view he saw. What a beautiful last view.

I could not have gone there 7 years ago. Or even last year. I may never go there again who knows. But Wednesday I could go there. Because that was the right time. And Im glad I did. I did not cry. I was not sad. I miss him…but I think tears are only one way of expressing grief or sadness or despair. There are MANY ways, as Ive learned over the years, to express your feelings. Not all of them are sane or rational or pretty. And that is OK. So if going to a SPOT in the road where your Dad died doesn’t make much sense to some or sounds morbid or weird…thats ok. I don’t need anyone to understand it.

There was this cool quote that several people sent to me and wrote on my Dad’s memorial when he died. I love it. Such a poignant quote. It has always stayed with me. And as Patrick & I stayed at the Hotel Jerome in Aspen I was so excited to sit in the J-Bar downstairs and occupy the same space that Hunter S. Thompson occupied to write. He has always been an anomaly to me- sort of this mystical figure I wanted to be. I just love some of his work. So we got back home and I looked for that quote that I had loved that described my Dad so well and holy shit….do you know who said it? Yep- Hunter S. Thompson. How about that…Aspen is in my blood now…no going back. Im not big on “everything happens for a reason” but Im pretty sure Dad had a hand in some of this week.