To BOO or Not To BOO

Wondering what to do for Halloween this year? Hey, me too! For the past five years my All Hallows holiday has been done G-rating style suitable for my preschoolers. Well, this year, the kids are going out of town so I feel lost in trying to plan for the night's activities. I'm no longer sure how to act like a single adult woman with endless possibilities. My newly single status adds a whole different BOO-factor to Halloween and the months to come. For the first time in a long time, I'll be tackling the holidays alone.

For the past five years I have holiday-shared with another person. It's been a Wes Craven-worthy nightmare trying to decide which set of in-laws to piss off on Thanksgiving. (Just joking Susan, sort of.) My husband and I had a system down, Thanksgiving in NC and Christmas in Nashville and the next year we would flip flop. It usually worked out OK, but it never failed that one of us was always homesick for our families. A lot of fights were spawned because of it. The upside to holiday-sharing is that you never have to worry about a date to a party. You always have the James Dean to your Marilyn Monroe, the Pilgrim to your indian, and the Santa to your Mrs. Clause. I'm realizing how very different this year is going to be.

Now that I'm a widow I'll be spending my first festive season single. I didn't realize how much this would affect me until now that my kids are going out of town and I will be alone for Halloween. We had our night all planned out to trick-or-treat at Johnny and Ashley's. The kids would consume candy, Ashley and I would consume Bergman and the night would end in sugar-high, wine-buzz bliss. So with the turn of events, I am faced with options. I could stick to the plan and have a most enjoyable time with one of my favorite families or I could venture out on a limb and join other ranks of my peers to dress up and pretend that we are 21 again. I do believe that my dear Ashley would never hold it against me if I do in fact choose 2nd Avenue over Old Hickory. She's a mom therefore she understands. :-)

Somewhere deep inside of me is a single party-girl that is simply dying to go out. Party girl wants nothing more than to dress up as a mildly inappropriate super hero, complete with cape, fishnet stockings and knee high super boots. For one night I want to wage a war on the dwindling social lives of single moms everywhere and take Nashville by storm.

There's only one kryptonite that might stop me.

I have no friends.

OK, I know that is a drastically unfair statement. I have PLENTY of friends who are probably very pissed off at me for even hinting that I am a loner. So, to be a little more specific, I don't have many unattached, party goers in my circle anymore. Being that I am a single mom I always seem to be either one body short with my "family" friends or two too many with my single friends. Don't get me wrong, I have the GREATEST of all friends on the planet and none of them ever make me feel left out or out of place, so I hope I'm not hurting anyone's feelings who may be reading this. I love you all. But it's a simple fact that most of my gang will be chaperoning little Princesses and Pirates around to neighbors while I am dreaming of Batman buying me something fruity and dragging me out onto the dancefloor. My other friends, the ones without kids, will be playing dress up with their significant others or flying home from changing the world in Peru or just avoiding the party scene because that's not their style.

So what is Party Girl to do? I'm open to suggestion. I do have one party that I will be attending regardless of whether I make it anywhere else or not. I'm playing with the idea of getting all dressed up and finding new friends for the night, which is a high possibility of what I will, in fact, do. Or I might just play it safe and get silly with Ashley, which is NEVER a bad idea.

However, attention Tennesseans… what's going down in Nashvegas this year???

And who should I be?

Channeling my Inner Hawaiian Tropic Girl

Several months ago I wrote a blog called The Bikini Transformation. Here's an excerpt:

In my heart, I'm a bikini girl. When I think of myself at the seashore, I'm always the Hawaiian Tropic model in the strings and seashells. Maybe not seashells, but you know what I'm talking about. In my fantasy, I'm lying on a towel soaking up the sun rays, spreading oil over toned muscle and beautifully bronzed skin. I play volleyball with my girlfriends and roll around getting dusted with sand.

Snap out of it. (Yeah, I'm talking to you!) Here's the reality: I've had two kids and other than the occasional Mystic Tan, I've been "the white girl" all my life. I've got a decent figure, but I wouldn't exactly describe it as toned and the only way I will ever be beautifully bronzed is if my freckles multiply and run together.

Fast forward to September.

With a complete mental breakdown ready to knock down my door any day, I decided to pack up my bags head to the sunny beaches of Florida with my friend Bridgett. She and I both deserved some serious R & R. The plan was simple: Corona, limes, sand and the sun. For one weekend, we were going to be completely selfish and satisfied and I was hell bent on looking good while doing it.

We all deserve to be just a little bit shallow from time to time, right?

I was determined to channel my inner Hawaiian Tropic girl, so I booked my first ever airbrush tan. Airbrush tanning is like "reality Photoshop". The difference is that you have to do it with your arms up over your head, standing in front of a fan wearing only a hairnet.

The entire process took about a half an hour. The first fifteen minutes was spent in the (nearly) nude, arms out, and legs apart as an "artist" hosed me down with an ice cold mist that choked me like tear gas every time I attempted to breath. Wouldn't you just love to have that girl's job? I mean, that's like right up there with being a bikini wax girl.

The second fifteen minutes was literally being "hung out to dry" in front of a fan. I couldn't touch anything or look anywhere but straight ahead because OMG I could get creases! I quickly understood why the receptionist greeted me with a glass of champagne upon my arrival. Have you ever tried standing for 15 minutes with your arms out like you're on a balance beam? I think I had a teacher in elementary school that would use that as punishment, but she may be in jail now (or should be if she's not).

It's a funny thing being one color when you wake up and a whole different color when you go to bed. And the tan would've been rockin' if my feet didn't look like this:

(No, those aren't really MY feet, but they could've been.)

I solved the problem by just keeping my toes buried in the sand, which was part of the original plan anyway.

People can go to some crazy lengths to feel better in their own skin. For one day I got to be a slightly brassy Hawaiian Tropic bronze.

Anyone else out there made any desperate attempts at fleeting beauty? Any of them worth trying? I'm all ears! LOL

The Mouse and His Giant People Trap

A coworker once told me when I was pregnant with my daughter, "Enjoy it while you can. She'll be grown before you know it." I must have heard this cliché a hundred times in my short while as a young mother but during two a.m. feedings and diaper changes it felt like I was going to have an infant for all of eternity. Canaan just turned five. I'm still in denial over it because there is no way that I am mother to a kindergartener. It seems like just days ago I was cleaning up poop finger paintings in her nursery. Yeah, gross I know. She's turned into this small person with thoughts and feelings and (freak out) opinions. I'm waiting for her any day to give me insight in who to vote for this election.

In her five years on the planet Earth Canaan has lived a lot of life. Much like her mother, she's already experienced joys and losses of people eight times her age. This year has been a confusing nightmare for both of my kids and for Canaan especially. I remember, with painful clarity, the morning I went into her bedroom, scooped her up in my arms and told her that Daddy wasn't going to be able to take her swimming after lunch. It was the worst day of all of our lives.

So about six weeks ago I decided to plan Canaan's birthday party. I looked at all of the possibilities: the bouncy place, the park, the tiny piece of hell-on-earth Chuck E Cheese. None of the options in Nashville seemed suitable for such a big event in her life during such a hard year, so I knew I had to dream a little bigger.

A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. In dreams you lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.

We packed our bags and headed to Disney World.

The trip was one of the best decisions I've ever made. It was a COMPLETE surprise to the kids. I literally told them just hours before putting them on the plane. This year has just been so terrible that I decided it was worth giving my kids the surprise of a lifetime. Sure, it's not my paradise, but Disney is like the Bora Bora for kids. My friend Brenda, knowing me ever so well, said of our trip, "Normally I think being in the "Happiest Place on Earth" would get on your very last nerve, however right now it may be just what you need to level yourself out." She was right.

Our first day there we went to SeaWorld and got to listen to Will sing his own theme song all day, "Who we gonna see? Shampu! Shampu!" And we did! I seriously considered quitting my job and learning to train killer whales for a living. It was amazing.

Day two was at the Magic Kingdom. When Canaan's eyes landed on Cinderella's castle for the first time the look on her face was priceless. I thought she was going to cry she was so excited. We went off on a trek across the park for a prearranged meeting with Peter Pan. Peter presented her with a very special "Happy Birthday" button and autographs from Tinkerbelle, Wendy and all the Lost Boys. Then I made the mistake of taking her on the Pirates of Caribbean and scaring the bejezus out of her. Good one Mom. Apparently Canaan doesn't share my same enthusiasm for a hot, robotic, Cap'n Jack singing "Yo ho, yo ho a Pirate's life for me!" Thankfully, soon after, all was put right with the world when she got to meet all of her favorite princess and Mommy got to shoot a lot of video of Prince Charming. J

Day three we were at Epcot and we stood in line for about twenty minutes to meet Mickey Mouse and all of his friends. My son was so excited when he saw Mickey that he took off in a dead run and nearly fell on his face trying to stop when we called him back. He got to dance with Donald Duck and show off his acrobatic moves, got a kiss that turned him red from Alice in Wonderland and huge hug from Dopey the Dwarf. At that moment, my sister and I both almost quit our jobs and signed up to play characters at Disney. I mean, what better job could there be than this:

Canaan's birthday lasted for seven days. All seven days she proudly wore her Happy Birthday button and was sung to and presented with cake for dinner every night. It was a week of memories that will last for eternity. And guess what folks? When October 2^nd rolls around next year…. I'm screwed.

What If Today Was the Last Day of Your Life?

My life is silent in a chaotic sort of way these days. The past ten months have been an excruciating mix of painful and pleasant experiences that have left me in a cloud, incoherently gliding through life. I've let my actions determine my decisions rather than moving myself toward a chosen goal. I guess I can't beat myself up too much for my passiveness, I mean it's been a pretty effed up year and there's been a lot to keep me preoccupied.

About three weeks ago the cloud began to lift. My tears dried up allowing me to see clearly and I looked around at my life and began to wonder, "What am I doing?"

There is a lot going right in my world. My kids are healthy and happy, I have a wonderful guy that loves me more than I deserve or understand, there is food on the table and a pair of seriously cute jeans in my closet. I just can't shake the feeling that something is seriously missing.

I see myself standing in a dark and empty room. It's MY room, the room where I'm supposed to be happy, safe and secure but all it feels like is a holding cell, a triage of an emotional hospital. In front of me are countless doors. I can walk through any door that I choose and finally make a change that will start a ripple effect for the rest of my days. I am being suffocated by fear. Fear of choosing the wrong door, fear of causing damage to those on the journey with me but mostly terrified by the thought of staying in that room.

There are faint voices all around me, the majority of them coming from myself. "You're a single mother; you're going to screw up your kids. You can't do it all alone. You're crazy for wanting to make a major change with the economy so bad. You're so ungrateful. You're not good enough to live your dream. You'll never make it. You're going to fail…"

I've checked off the major life headlines (as Tiffany calls them, see her blog I've Got A Fever). I've done the marriage thing, bought some real estate, had a couple of babies (one of each gender) and held onto a good job for nearly a decade. Now as I look forward from my 27 year perch I wonder, "Is this all there is?"

Of course I have my children to look forward to and I don't want to seem ungrateful for them. They are growing up and changing so fast and they are the biggest joy in my life. But for me, is this it? Is THIS what I wanted to be when I grew up?

A wise man once said, "If you set a five year goal for yourself and never start moving toward it, in five years you're still going to have the same goal but you'll be no closer to reaching it."
Today I'm not exactly sure what I want that goal to be, but I do have a dream and I have a feeling that dream is on the other side of one of those doors.

One thing I've learned the hard way this year is that life is too short to wait. What if this bleak and rainy Wednesday was the last day of my life?

Madness at 12,000 Feet!

Recently a group of my friends and I went to Gatlinburg to celebrate Eric's birthday. It has been his lifelong dream to skydive and being the people-pleasing (LOL) girlfriend that I am I decided to make that dream come true for him.

Originally there were 5 of us that were going to make the 12,000 foot jump but as the big day approached, one by one our friends backed out. I guess I can't blame them. I probably would've chickened out too if I had allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I'd just paid the deposit to hurl my body 12,000 feet to the ground in a 120 mph freefall. I chose to not think about

Saturday morning we drove toward Bristol, TN following detailed directions that included phrases like "Fish Hatchery" and "Past the old barn with the cornfield". For some reason, I was under the impression that we were going to an airport… silly Elicia. We actually drove past the drop zone the first time because I refused to accept the fact that we really might have just passed a runway that was cut through the middle of the wheat field.

After turning the car around and questioning my judgment and sanity for the five minute ride back we arrived at the site. We parked next to a porta-potty and were greeted by "Bobby" our flight instructor. Bobby handed us our liability waivers that we had to initial next to sentences like "In case of death or dismemberment…" All I could think about was, "OMG, I don't have health insurance" and "Did I remember to tell my sister that my life insurance papers and my Will are in my office?"

During my time of high anxiety Bobby looked at me and said, "Thinking this might have been a bad idea?"

Geez. You think?

We had a five minute class behind the plywood covered platform that served as the office, gear prep area, and lobby. We learned valuable flight terms such as "Aoogah!" and "Fabulous!" and why it is important to kick your tandem partner in the butt with your feet during freefall.

The next lesson I learned in Skydiving 101: You're not doing it right if you don't look ridiculous.

Enough said.

Finally I kissed my children goodbye, told Eric he'd BETTER love me for doing this and Bobby and I went up in the plane. It was a long ride and every moment of it was breathtaking. We were over the Smoky Mountains which ironically were VERY smoky that day due to forest fires. (As if jumping out of a plane isn't enough, let's do it over a burning landscape!) The plane began getting lost in the clouds and as the ground started looking more like a patchwork quilt than terrain I asked Bobby, "So how high are we?"

He checked his gauge. "Just over 3,000 feet."

Oh hell.

Our test jumper climbed out of the plane at about 5,000 feet. It was his job to test the wind to see where we should jump so we could land at the right place. Our test jumper was and eighty year old man. That alone was worth the day. He was my hero.

About seven minutes later Bobby nudged me. "This is it."

I swallowed hard and scooted to the front of the plane. The door swooshed open and the howling wind deafened me. I put one foot out on the wing and clung to the other side for dear life. I was strapped to Bobby so I knew as I dangled out of the side of the plane I had no choice but to go when he went. There was no turning back. We were so high it felt like we were jumping out of a space shuttle rather than a plane, but before I had a chance to get too freaked out we were plummeting to the earth below.

About three seconds into freefall your stomach catches up with the rest of your body and you no longer feel like you are falling. It really is like flying… in a downward direction of course. You can't see very much during freefall or breathe for that matter with the wind rushing in your face, but it's one of the coolest feelings I've ever had.

When the parachute deployed and we were jerked to a stop. I relaxed. It's always a good sign with the chute goes up. Spare any homicidal birds or floating embers from the fire we were out of harms way.

The view was unreal. The fires were still burning, but off at a safe distance and the horizon was spectacular. It amazed me how there could actually be people in the world that didn't believe in a Creator . There is no way I could imagine that what I saw from 12,000 feet was just there by chance.

With Bobby strapped to my back and the harness straps cutting off the blood flow to my legs we continued our descent to the ground. Thankfully when we reached the Earth, I was there to break Bobby's fall. I laid there for a moment taking in all of what I'd just experienced until our camera guy offered me his hand and said, "You can get up now, ya know?"

Canaan and Will were running toward me and my friends were furiously waving from the other side of the field.

So I add the experience to a long list of adjectives for myself. I am a mom, a computer nerd, a skydiver and now officially... a badass.

LOL.

Thanks to our new friends at Skydive Smoky Mountains!
www.skydivesmokymountains.com

Don't Let the Boat Pull You Over

If you've been reading my blogs for any amount of time you're probably ready for yet another meaningless life event blown up into some grand over thought analogy right? Well, you are in luck! This one begins with a tale from The Adventures of Dale Hollow Lake, a book that I will someday win the Pulitzer for… or maybe not.

I love being on the lake, but I'm not an avid water sports woman by any stretch of the imagination. My adventures usually involve a chick-lit novel, a floatation device (worn like a diaper) and a cold Corona with lime. I might get a little crazy from time to time depending upon the heat of the sun and wind up mildly tipsy and radically sunburned, but that's usually where the excitement ends.

This past weekend I was invited on a houseboat trip with some friends. In typical Elicia style, I stretched out on the top deck to get my tan (burn) on with a good book and good tunes. Unlike my usual accomplices on such trips the friends that were with me were much more into activity than relaxation and someone threw out the idea of wakeboarding. After some friendly persuasion, I put down the book and decided to give it a try.

My mind normally convinces my body that it is better, stronger, faster and more agile than it really is. Wakeboarding was no different. I looked easy enough. Relax in the water and wait for the boat to help you to a standing position and then glide across the water. I strapped on my board and floated out into the water waiting for the ski rope to be tossed to me. As I tried to get the board to cooperate with the direction of my feet while I merely floated, I realized quickly that I was sorely mistaken in my perception of the ease of the sport.

As much as I would love to say that I got up on my first attempt, the boat actually ripped the rope from my hands before I even realized we were moving.

The second attempt was strangely similar.

On the third attempt I did actually hang on but as soon I was partially up out of the water I was pulled over and landed flat on my face.

The boat circled around and the captain shouted over at me, "Girl, don't let this boat pull you over! You've almost got it!"

Five blisters, a pulled muscle and twelve attempts later I decided that I wasn't cut out for the world of wakeboarding. My friends pulled my exhausted body back to the boat and I barely made it out of the water before collapsing on the swim deck. I could have easily felt defeated, especially when everyone that followed me was not only able to stand up but could glide, spin around and even jump. However as I recovered and examined my bruised and blistered hands I couldn't help but feel a little proud. I had given those waves everything I had.

Every day for the past few months has had the boat-like potential to pull me over onto my face and leave me wallowing in the wake of my old life. A life that sometimes feels almost like it never even existed. I'm moving on through the sadness and tears, confusion and grief and I refuse to let the boat pull me over.

Sure, I might fail. I might fall flat on my face a few times, but I won't go down without a fight, a few blisters and humming the Rocky theme song.

"Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength." - August Wilson

You Make Me Stupid

By standard definition I am a pretty smart girl. I graduated with good grades with little effort. I like to read and play trivia. I can write and spell and most of the time I am grammatically close if not correct. I enjoy taking practice tests for college even though I never attended. I actually keep considering getting my bachelors but still haven't decided what I want to be when I grow up. I like helping kids with their homework and I enjoy seeing others succeed in education. I do well in my career and am for the most part self-taught. I know this all may sound a little cocky but I'm about to humble myself before you all. The point is: For the most part, I feel like I'm a pretty bright bulb most of the time.

Except the moments when I am stupid.

I'm dating a wonderful guy that has already seen all of the faces that I have. The sad face, the pissed off face, the giddy face and more and more he's seeing my stupid face. In all walks of who I am I feel as though Eric makes me a better person. However, I don't know what it is about him, but for some reason he brings out all the stupid in me!

Enjoy!

Incident #1
I love bubble baths. Eric bought me a nice gift set from Philosophy (guys take note: you can't ever go wrong with ANYTHING from Philosophy!) In the set was Red Velvet Cake Bubble Bath. Yum.

A few days after giving me the present we were having a riveting conversation about ice cream and he brought up Red Velvet Cake ice cream. At the thought of this I made the vomit noise. Nothing about red velvet ice cream sounded appealing. The conversation went something like this:

"Well, if you don't like red velvet I guess I screwed up on the gift," he said to me.

Realizing my blunder and my love for my new bubble bath I quickly back peddled. "Silly Eric, there is a difference between scent and smell!"

Eric pauses and then grins. "Uh… no Elicia, there's really not."

Incident #2
Eric is a Marine. A few weeks ago we went to KY Kingdom for the weekend and in the park we saw a guy walking around in full uniform. Now, Eric is just as proud as the next member of the military, but he doesn't have to flaunt it in order to feel special. Upon seeing this Army boot camp grad he rolled his eyes and mentioned how ridiculous he thought he thought it was that they were allowed to strut about in public in their cammies. I thought it was ridiculous simply because it was about 90 degrees out there and the guy was sweating like a stuck pig!

About an hour or so later we came across someone else in full uniform. Now, I'm sure someday I will be able to distinguish the different branches of the military on sight by colors, prints and emblems but we haven't really been together that long yet… And this guy was wearing a funny hat.

I nudged Eric with my elbow and pointed. "Hey Eric, what kind of Army is he?"

Without missing a beat. "Well, Elicia… that would be the US Army."

Incident #3
A group of our friends went to go see a thriller flick out in Cool Springs. I was a little perturbed because I was there against my will. I HATE SCARY MOVIES. The movie theater was PACKED. There were limos and buses dropping people off in droves and we had to wait in line forever to get our tickets.

He looks around the theater. "What is going on? What's with all the people?"

I roll my eyes. "What do you expect on a Saturday night?"

"I don't know, Elicia. Since it's Friday."

Incident #4
Recently we went on a Hookah bar adventure with some friends. Too make a complicated story short a hookah is a pipe that you smoke flavored tobacco out of. There is a stone that rests in the top of the bowl and we couldn't decide if the stone is what we were smoking or if the tobacco was underneath the stone. If you know the answer to this, please let me know…

Last night on our way to see The Dark Knight we were discussing the hookah stone again.

"Elicia, how could anyone make a stone out of tobacco?" he asked.

I pondered this for a minute. "Well, you know Eric they DO make paper out of cotton."

Again, he doesn't miss a bit. "Actually, Elicia. They make paper out of trees."

I don't know what goes wrong in my head whenever I'm around him. I don't know if my brain cells explode at the sight of his pretty blue eyes and cause me to drop a few IQ points or what. It's to the point now that as soon as I said the "paper is made out of cotton" bit I burst out in uncontrollable laughter before he could even get out his whole statement of correction.

I'm amazed that he hasn't rolled his eyes and dumped me yet for being a complete ditz. He keeps telling me that he likes the fact that I have a good head on my shoulders…. I guess I'm just determined to prove him wrong.