My Truth

My sad truth is my house is too small. And I've known that for a while, but I didn't want to admit it—I've had to be the one to fight for our little home when my husband wanted to move, because it financially didn't make sense. It still financially doesn't make sense for us to move (shout out to child support payments, daycare, Children's Healthcare of Atlanta and the student loan administration!) but I am suddenly starting to be a little OCD about the mess. The walls *might* be starting to close in a touch.

Too many mammals live in my house.

And too many train tables.

And too many pieces of furniture my husband insists we have.

And too many little things I've refused to get rid of because I might need it at some point and doesn't everyone decorate for St. Patrick’s Day?

My guest room used to be a room with spare things that we didn't have another place to put. It has now mushroomed to be so much more. You can hardly walk in there. I keep meaning to get it cleaned out, and I have the best intentions, but then it will just mushroom again and like my life, I never seem to have control over it.

But the real thing that's irking me is the mess in the rest of the house thanks to two busy little boys and their beloved big brother. Every time I put one train car in the bag, three more crawl under the sofa.

Every time I find six Nerf bullets, another six roll to the bathroom.

A few months ago my mother sent me this quote, when I first started to complain about the mess the twins could make in no time flat.

I remember clucking and thinking that it's hard to say I’ll miss this stage. Two is no joke. Two times two is really no joke. But every day when I go home at lunch and clean up the morning mess, I think how oddly quiet it is without them. When I am home alone for prolonged periods it feels like something is missing.

Perhaps the quote is right, the mess is like fairy dust and when it goes away I won't be less tired; I'll long for the little boys who would scream for their momma to cuddle them in their "Bubba Nest" so they can fall asleep.

Or maybe one day I'll step on a spare Percy, then trip on a bunch of Nerf bullets and land head first into a stuffed animal and I'll just crack. 

Either way, I'll one day miss this stage.

New year, newish me

I realized during my hiatus from this slice of internet that I missed sharing myself. It's funny, as a full-time writer, I cranked out more stories in 2016 than I have ever before (final count isn't in yet but it was probably close to 40 full length features with at least 10 opinion pieces and at least 5 columns of other sorts) but my heart wasn't always in it. Perhaps that's why I let this little blog of mine slide. I felt like I was always "too busy" to ramble about my kitchen disasters or semi-unwieldy craft projects.

But if I am being honest, it's because I just got lazy and let everything else become more important. This slice of the internet is for me, and I would be lying if I didn't look back on some of the entries from when I was in college and laugh. The girl who wrote those had no idea where life would take her.

Perhaps that's why I am starting fresh.

I love my life. Not in a smug, I'm a better mother/wife/writer/friend/volunteer than you way, but in a very real I am content in my labels as mother, wife, writer, friend, volunteer way. Each and every day I wake up tired with an arthritic back and bad hips, but I feel decently happy to try to conquer my to-do list at home and at work.

2016 wasn't my best year. My marriage wasn't always social media perfect and I struggled. I really struggled in who I was and what I wanted in all aspects of my life. I like to think that mimicked the state of our country—some days were good, some days it was total hell in a hand-basket chaos.

I still struggle with who I am and what I want. But in this, effectively the first "real" day of 2017 I am starting fresh.

In a handful of days a new person will assume head of our country, and while he wasn't my pick, Lord god he wasn't my pick, I love our country and I am raising two children of my own and offering (sometimes unwanted) opinions on the raising of two more, so for all our sakes I hope he matures, grows and leads with love. I want the same things for my life in 2017: I hope I mature, I grow and I lead my life with love.

My intentions for this year are simple and follow along with my desire to just be "better." I intend to show myself more grace, try to retain more patience with Fitzgerald and Alexander, finally take 500 pure barre classes, read more, say a rosary with Fitz and Alex once each week and stick to sharing more of my true self in everything I do (at work, at home and on this blog).

I'm going to share my kitchen disasters. (And successes, there are lots of successes!) I am going to blather about sales I want to shop and the drive-myself-insane projects I do with the twins and my stepkids. I am going to blog my books so I can hold myself accountable to the intention of "read more." It takes 21 days to form a habit, today is day one.

Forward Progress

Raise your hand if you're at work today…just me?...it feels like its just me. #privatesectorlife

I love this quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. that Oshkosh Kids shared on instagram earlier. I've noticed over the last 16 months that not only has everything changed in day-to-day life since F&A were born, duhhhh, but that my mindset has changed.

This quote made me think of all of the times over the last year where I thought we weren't going to make it; where it was just too damn hard, and yet, we woke up the next day and tried again. I frequently tell our daycare director, "There's always tomorrow; we'll be better tomorrow," when I forget sippy cups or nap mats or that one time Mark dropped Fitz off with only one shoe on… We don't always fly, but we always move forward.

via Oshkosh kids insta

It's Not Easy: Mothering, Malro and Me

From the moment I found out I was pregnant with the twins I went through a few really difficult times. When you live in the Bible belt and don’t do things in the conventional way, people talk. And people judge. And people suck.

In fact, as clear as a bell I can think of one girl who was so jealous that I got pregnant, she was, and continues to be, mean to me. It took me a long time to realize her jealousy was why she was so wretched to me, and while it makes me sad, it also makes me angry. Angry because mothering is freaking hard and I got enough of my own guilt about working and being a good mom and a good wife and making it to Church on time that I don't need a bitchy acquaintance.

But mainly it makes me angry because of December 5, 2014: The day I handed my newborn son to a stranger with the very real feeling I might not see him again. How dare she take out her jealousy on me that I got pregnant "easily with twins" and everything fell right into place.

For the entire time the twins were in-utero I was in incredible amounts of pain in my hips, back, fingers and belly. I was unable to eat for days at a time. I struggled to walk. I didn't talk about it because it wasn't anyone's business and it was just part of an extremely high-rick pregnancy.

Yes, I delivered them full term, vaginally. I also lost so much blood I had to receive a blood transfusion and came very close to receiving it through a PICC line. There’s always more to the snippets of things you hear…

Then there was December 5, 2014. Yea, it was so easy to hand a two-month-old over for surgery and not know what was going to happen. To be in actual hell for four hours while a nice man you met four hours prior was moving your newborn’s intestines around to save his life. Yea, that was real easy.

 

I don't want this reflection to come from a place of anger—I am so incredibly thankful for CHOA-Egleston, Dr. Meisel and God for watching out for Alex; for making Alex "all better." We were so incredibly blessed throughout Alex's entire malrotation surgery and recovery; I have a lot of guilt when I think about it. He hit the milestones he was supposed to right on track.

But what I didn't think about would be the after. The indelible mark I would be left with. In the immediate days after we left the hospital I did nothing but cry and worry and feel sick to my stomach. I watched Squeaks like a hawk.

Overtime my fear abated, but never left. Every single time he eats, I feel nervous. When he goes a few days without regular loose bowel movements I wake up in cold sweats, go into his room and make sure he's still breathing and not covered in green vomit.

I hear myself constantly say, "You have to be careful with Alex," which is nearly always countered with, "Stop being overprotective."

The worry faded, but it never went away because for those three weeks we waited for surgery and the week we were in the cocoon of CHOA-Egleston 4226, everything went smoothly. So, obviously the other shoe is going to drop and rock my world.


Except it hasn't really. A few days ago, after a few weeks of Fitzgerald struggling to make dirty diapers of any kind, Mark asked me, "Do you think we should have him tested?"

There it was, the other shoe. I survived one malro baby; I could do it again. But Fitz isn't showing any malro signs. He eats like a horse. In fact, he eats too much bread, which is why he's always constipated. I frequently catch him snatching crackers off Alex's plate. That's why he's clogged and he enjoys daily doses of milk of magnesia.

Intestinal malrotation affects one in 500 live American births. It is a congenital condition that happens during the first trimester of pregnancy and can show signs immediately after birth or never at all or sometime in between. It's a scary thing to deal with. Once you've survived a malro baby, it never ever leaves you.

Yea, it might be easy to have sex and get pregnant, but mothering? The day in and day out? It might seem easy on instagram but it actually is really, really hard.

Tomorrow marks one year. I don't know how I will feel as the day progresses. I am so glad I listened to my little voice, that I fought for my son, that Dr. Meisel saved his life and gave me a ferocious toddler who loves Peeps and ice water just like his momma. But damn, it hasn't been easy.

There is one element of tomorrow that will be extremely easy. As a family of four we will all watch the SEC Championship game together, no machines, no cords, no nothing. Just us and our beloved Tide. I'm so grateful for that! Roll tide, beat the gators!!

 

Paris

I don't think I am in the place where I can say anything about this without wanting to cry, or without really feeling like it's my place to say something. See, I feel like here in Alabama, far away from Paris and New York and Brussels and London and all the "big cities" we're sheltered. No one is going to target us—for all they know, we are a bunch of hayseeds. Hell, we kinda are. 


But my heart is still heavy, how could it not be? 

I won't try to say anything except that I love this cartoon. I love everything it stands for, everything it means.

In an old house in Paris that is covered with vines, live twelve little girls whose country still shines.

Benjamin Schwartz, The New Yorker, Daily Cartoon

Mothering Without Noticing

Fitzgerald and Alexander will be one in six weeks. Six weeks. I've been a mother for nearly one full year. I don't think any of it has really hit me. I've just been moving—constantly moving—towards the next day. I don't spend every day thinking, oh how sweet is this milestone or that. I've just been doing, been mothering, without even noticing.

 

Sometimes I am acutely aware of the fact that I don't have these moments of being extremely grateful and happy to be a mom. I'm just too damn tired and too damn busy.

 

But then earlier this week it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m their mom. Like, that's it. Me. I'm the one they got.

I normally am not the one to pick them up from school, so by the time we're all at home together, I'm unloading the dishwasher, getting their bath ready, trying to figure out something for Mark and I to eat for dinner…there's not a lot of play time. But it's been different this week, and one day I was the one that got them at 5:40.

Fitzy is cutting two teeth and has been extremely clingy. So when we got home from school, he just wouldn’t settle down. Of course this is happening at the same time Alex has an upset stomach and has been barfing all day. #twinlife 

So instead of dumping them in their exersaucers while I got laundry going or did the dishes or prepped for dinner, I sat on the floor with them. We all played with wooden blocks. I watched them play together and try to play with me. Fitzy took wobbly steps towards me, hands out stretched, shrieking. It hit me.

I'm their mother.

He wants me, because he's hurting and I'm his momma.

That night I did everything I used to make fun of "moms on social media" for doing. I felt #blessed, in the most non-ironic sense of the word. I completely ignored my emails, the piled to the sky laundry, the dirty dishes and the television. I read three BabyLit books aloud and threw a light up beach ball at my son to his peals of laughter.

It was a good feeling.

Flashback Friday

One of my closest, and sweetest, friends posted this graphic on Facebook last week and it got me thinking about just how true the words were. Like disturbingly, uncannily, reach into your soul, true.

 After E posted it, we started g-chatting about just how weird life ends up happening—a year ago she didn't know her now husband; three years ago I didn't know mine. It is funny how things work out. And, even more importantly, it's funny how they don't.

After our conversation, I went rooting through the archives of this little ole blog of mine. My, how things have changed around here. I found myself reading the post I wrote the week I turned 21. How proud of my accomplishments I was, yet completely aware of the fact that I really had done nothing with my first year of being a twenty-something. I feel like that's how I could sum up the middle of my twenty-something life too. I'm so proud of my accomplishments over the last year, yet I am acutely aware that, compared to others, I've done nothing and I have nothing to complain about and everything to be grateful for.

Not that it is easy to remember that day in and day out. 

Plus, I just love this picture of me from a trip to Disney World with an old boyfriend.

Note: I still have both those shorts and the bag. Classic white never goes out of style right?

Where did four years go?

When I first accepted this job, decided this would be my next adventure, I had no real clue. I thought it sounded fun and I was desperate not to have to move home. Love you Momma, but can't live with you!

The original #montgomerymove was like a comedy of errors. At the end of a whirlwind weekend, I was officially a permanent resident of the state capital. And I hated it. But it slowly got better, I found some friends, I found a groove at work, and things got better.

I learned what the hell a skidder was, how to properly fake interest in a fiberboard production line, and just how ridiculously important to the world the forest products industry really is.

Did you know, thanks to improved forest management practices, we have more trees in America today than we did 100 years ago? Working forests not only provide jobs for millions of Americans, including me, but they are good for the environment providing clean air and water, wildlife habitats and carbon storage. Plus, do you really want to wipe your ass with a pine cone?

I don't think that first year, or even really the second, it sunk in that I lived here, that I wasn't leaving.

The plan was always to leave.

Then I met a boy, and he decided I should change my last name and change all my hopes and dreams for the future. I actually found myself agreeing.

Now, I'm here. I live in this place I hated for so long. Hell, I'm on every major television network encouraging people to vote for our next mayor. My family is comprised of seventh and eighth generation Montgomerians.

I go to the same sushi restaurant at least three times a month and they know my order without me having to speak. I have close friends here. My sons will make their first close friends here. Mark and I are in the process of buying a bigger house here. We have couple friends here. We go to dinner parties; I’m in a book club. I met my husband at the same table we sit at every Wednesday evening when our friends gather to catch up on our lives and enjoy the Southern weather and a few adult beverages. Our lives are here.

I'm not leaving.

I always thought when my fourth anniversary at Hatton-Brown came I would be in the interview process somewhere else. Instead I spent it in the low country of North Carolina, meeting with a couple of loggers and going for a late night treadmill run in the Rocky Mount Candlewood gym. I take fuzzy selfies all around the country and I love on my 78 lb. German shorthair. I have one husband, two sons, two stepkids, four dogs, nine turtles and one helluva life. 

I'm lucky: Even when it doesn't always feel like it.

To the Woman at Target Saturday

I'm sure you didn't mean to. I'm sure you weren't just another one of those people who love to start “Mommy War” battles. I'm sure you were just a person with an opinion.

See, at first, Woman at Target, when we bonded over the terrible baby tank tops, I thought I found another annoyed mom. Because, seriously, WTH with the tanks Carter's? Instead, you jealously asked, “Aren't you relieved you don't have to actually take care of your kids?”

When the look on my face changed from a frustrated smile over what I could possibly send my boys to school in for class picture day to “Are you kidding me?” You followed the unanswered question up with, “Well, I mean, since you send them to daycare.”

Still, nearly two days later, I'm speechless. You're right, I don't change my son's diaper at 10am on the average Tuesday. I'm not the one that gives him his baby puree at 3:30. But, I am the one that takes care of him.

I work so he can have clean diapers, and so we can pay it forward a little with Every Little Bottom. I might not have the afternoons alone with them to hang out and go for a walk when it's nice. Instead, I'm listening to my interview tapes, furiously transcribing: living out the dream I had before I became a mother, the dream I still have, the career I love.

See, what I didn't say when you asked me that question Woman at Target, when I elected to sputter  about needing diapers and hurrying away, was that for all the pity you have for me, I have it for you too.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the women that stay at home, y'all push me to do Pinterest crafts and bake reguarly. Without you, I would probably re-watch every single episode of Grey's Anatomy. But you seemed so hell bent on making the distinction, that I don't take care of them. You must have such a closed off mind.

When you saw me I had my infants solo because my husband was off with my step-daughter. She's no Mia Hamm, but she's chosen soccer as her sport and we try to make sure he goes to nearly every game. Instead of dumping them at my in-law's for some free babysitting, I wanted to get them out, experiencing the world, showing them sights and sounds they wouldn't see from the comfort of our living room.

But I knew it would mean getting almost run over in the parking lot (twice this past weekend, but whose counting?) Watching people let the door slam in my face, or not give me room to push my double stroller. If I wasn't taking care of my kids we wouldn't have made it out of the parking lot, much less through the doors and to the back of the store, to the baby department.

You should know, Woman at Target, that when I did finally make it to my car after pushing my double stroller with diapers balanced precariously on the top, I cried. Because part of me wants to be the one to give my son his baby puree at 3:30 Wednesday afternoon. But a bigger part of me wants to be making plans to head to South Carolina in two weeks story gathering. Who are you to tell me which way is better?

I'm a great mom. I'm sure you are too. Isn't that enough?

15 for 2015

via

I recently saw a post on a blog that got me thinking…what exactly are my goals for the new year?

I've never been a huge resolutions/goals person. Maybe that's because I'm lazy? But I always seem to get the things done I want to get done…eventually. So this year I'm going to try something different, you know since I'm someone's mother now I should maybe be more of an adult am going to hold myself accountable for things?

Maybe I should add take pictures with my DSLR camera instead of my old, crappy iPhone to my list?

On January 2, 2014 I had no idea what the year ahead would hold. It's been a helluva ride to say the least. This year I plan to be a little more intentional with my time, enjoy my babies, enjoy my husband and really be present in the moments. I'm usually pretty good about that last one but damn, these days I am TIRED.

"What do you mean your tired? Sleep is for the birds"--My child, probably

So, here goes...

15 for 2015 

Hit the Pure Barre Montgomery 250 Tuck Club…I’m so close! 

Spend another long weekend in Curacao 

Show Fitz and Alex the beach 

Read 15 books 

Take an entire month and not buy a single piece of clothing (or accessory) for myself 

Finally re-decorate our living room 

Update my phone software...my phone's pictures are horrible!

Visit Kimber, Gentry and Saylor at the farm in Pennsylvania 

Go home for Alabama Homecoming 

Write my Nanny once a month 

Try 15 new recipes 

Completely clean out my closet 

Take about a zillion more pictures 

Clean out the storage unit and sell the furniture we are never going to use 

Show Mark Philadelphia and the Porecca family 

Boys, don't hate me.

Today I went back to work. I left you. But don't worry, I'll be back!

Spending six weeks at home with you guys was something I will never forget. Not just because of the sheer boredom I sometimes felt, or the bone deep exhaustion, or the time that Fitz got poop on my sweater, the wall and his own feet, no not because of that. Well, maybe because of that. 

But now I'm back to work and you're hanging with Miss Fannie. And being your momma is just one of my many titles, not my only title. I have thought about this day for many months and surprisingly it wasn't the hot ass mess I thought it would be. I was only marginally late for work. Fifteen minutes is total progress! I didn't cry when I closed the door, or when I was in the car. In fact, I felt oddly at peace—like this was how it was supposed to be. Which, honestly, I haven't felt in, uhhhh, seven months or so?

You're going to grow and change so much under Fannie's watchful eye and I am going to miss it. I'm sure I will miss some small milestones, big ones too. I know I will have plenty of "Momma Guilt" when those things happen. But I also know that when I come home at night I am going to be so much more present with you than I was these last few weeks. I will no longer take feeding time, when you stare up at me with those big brown eyes, for granted. I'll even be more present for your diaper changes. Okay, that one's a lie, I’m still pawning off the green shit on your father as often as possible. 

There are so many adventures we've yet to go on, so don't worry, every morning when I shut the door, I will be back.

A New Normal

October was a pretty big month for me. I had some babies.

Homeward bound!

That's so weird to actually say. On one hand, it feels like it was just the middle of the summer and I was a hot pregnant girl dreaming of October. Now it's November: Fitz and Alex are nearly a month old! WOAH. I also lost nearly 60 pounds in eight days. WOAH.

I won't go into too many gruesome birth details, because who really wants to know that the first words out of my mouth after seeing Fitzy was “What the F are we going to do with a baby?”, but I will say I'm really glad I'm not going through that ordeal again anytime soon! If ever.

Though, I would think that losing three liters of blood, and subsequent blood transfusion, would turn ANYONE off of an activity...

The hospital was a blur after their birth but look at how awesomely cute they were.

Oh look my husband is super cute too!

They've already changed so much. They've already grown so much. They are just so awesome. 

I'm not going to even pretend like I remotely know what the hell I'm doing. But I do feel pretty lucky to be their Momma. Though maybe not at the 3am feeding time. 

It's almost time for me to go back to work, five weeks sure did fly by, and while I'm excited to get some adult interaction again, I am going to miss mid-morning snuggles and long afternoon walks to the park.

Finding a “new normal” has never intimidated me, and over the next few weeks hopefully we will quickly fall into our new normal. If not, well, there's always gin. 

That's not even half the bottles we go through in a day...

Dear Boys, be fearless.

Y'all aren't even here yet, and I already have so many things I want to teach you, show you, give you. But as I think about how different everything is going to become in the next few weeks, for you and for me and for your Daddy, one thing sticks in my mind. I want you to be fearless.

I won't pretend to take your health for granted, so if you are listening in there, stay in as long as your little lungs need I'm sorry it's so cramped..., but I want you to be fearless starting right now.

This morning we will go out into the woods of middle Tennessee and you will experience yet another logging operation. you'll feel my heartbeat quicken when I first get out of the car and smell the diesel and fresh air, and again, when I hear the feller-buncher, delimber and skidder, and all the other big machines working for the first time—all the machines you'll one day become fascinated by, I hope. But then you will feel my whole body relax as I find my rhythm with my interview, as I move about the tract taking pictures. As I find my own fearlessness.

Momma has made her fair share of mistakes. Daddy, too. You'll soon learn that we're all stained with Original Sin and nobody is perfect. We will all continue to make mistakes. But it's not letting these mistakes define us that is truly important.

It's about finding that fearlessness to try again, after we fail. To learn when to push. To always be pushing. That's what makes us great. That's what makes us fearless.

Plenty of people in your life will help shape you into whomever you'll end up being. I personally want you to be a smart set of tennis players with sweet smiles and a little mischief in your eyes. I have a feeling that Alex will end up being the one, besides me of course, that knocks some sense into you, Fitz, every now and then. But what do I know? We don't know each other extremely well at this point.

I do know that over the last eight months, the three of us have been through Hell and back. We've struggled. We've been sick. We've been sad. We've traveled. We've gotten stuck in an ice storm. We've eaten every chocolate chip cookie known to man.

I've tried to be fearless: For y'all and for me. So now it's soon going to be your turn. Be fearless for me. Don't let someone tell you you can't do something. Don't ever accept no as an answer. Have the heart of lion but the compassion of a lamb.

Learn from my mistakes and my successes. Give me some slack when I can't give you everything you want, because of this reason or that reason. Recognize I am just trying to handle the uncharted waters of being y'all's Momma. I will always fight for you. But, for it to work, we've all got to be fearless.

Are you ready? Because I think I might be.

I've been keeping a secret...

It's a big one. And I've been terrible about keeping it. Because I have never been one to live my life in the slow lane, the #johnsonandersonadventures are about to change in a big way.

The Anderson fraternal twin boys, yes fraternal twin boys, will be making their way into the world smack in the heart of Alabama football season, in the middle of September.

Twin! Boys! Holy! Shit! Nothing to do but laugh at this point.

After the initial shock wore off for some, if it will ever wear off for me I do not know, the entire Johnson/Rubin/Anderson family has fully embraced this new normal.

I'm definitely excited, and I definitely had fun messing with my Momma doing a little "gender reveal."  

Her twin boys oh-shit! face

There are still so many uncertainties, so many things I have no flipping clue about. I find new things to worry about every single day. Like the babies aren't even here yet and I'm worried about buying them each a car for their 16^th birthday, might be an example.

Don’t even get me started on the whole mess of actually being pregnant. So many things about the miracle of life really, really suck. I had a really rough time for the first four months or so, but now I think I’m cruising along, relatively speaking. I still hurt pretty much all over, all the time. And I still struggle with the wearing elastic waist pants on a daily basis thing—but my god! Those things are like manna from heaven on my widening body.

I don't know what the future will hold. I don't know what it's going to be like tomorrow, next week or next year. But I do know that I am surrounded by love and that's all I can ask for.

I have a feeling these twins are going to love the people twins.

Well, that and a few more hours in the day to more adequately adjust my pure barre to cookie eating ratio. Yes, I'm still keeping up with my daily pure barre routine, because I really need the exercise AND the cookies to keep me sane. 

 ____________________________

Special thanks goes out to my sweet friend Shelby for taking these fun pictures of me and hue studio for having some floaty preggo friendly tops in their massive sale last week. 

Dear Fifteen Year Old Jessica:

Well, you’re going to make it.

That’s the most important thing you need to know. Ten years later, and you’re still standing. You’re still a hot ass mess. You’re still a terrible driver. You still have terrible handwriting. Mallory is still your best friend. There are many “stills.” Life is going to go through so many not-the-same-as-it-was moments, little changes and big F’ing huge ones.

But in ten years you’ll see parts of the world you didn’t know were out there. You’ll fall in love. You’ll fall out of love. You’ll show yourself how strong you truly are.  You’ll survive driving down long dirt roads in the middle of nowhere scared out of your mind. You’ll realize how much you need your Momma. You’ll stop being such a complete pain in the ass to Mark and actually apologize and tell him you love him, because he deserves it. He’s just as much of your father as your Daddy is. You’re still standing because of them.

Dr. Engle’s advanced junior English class will change your life. Let it. You’ll write down everything and learn that writing will soon be the key to your future. Then one day you’ll meet your mentor, a little late in college but she will be there, and you will find your true career calling. You’ll become an interesting mix of pink fingernails and steel-toed boots. (Look up “logging” and “timber processing” on the internet, you won’t regret it.)

You’ll make plans with men, you’ll think you’re ready to change your last name, but then it will fall apart. And that’s going to be fine. You. Will. Survive. It will hurt like hell, but you will survive. There will be others, plenty of others you saucy minx, but one day, the most unexpected one will pop up and you’ll get butterflies.

You’ll quit that terrible smoking habit you seemed to have picked up, thank God. You’ll soon graduate from plastic bottles of vodka to glass bottles of gin. You’ll get too drunk. You’ll make stupid choices. You’ll have dance parties in your living room. You’ll be ok.

Finally, dear sweet naïve Jessica, hold on to your fire. You’ll lose it every now and then, but you’ll have it ten years later. That fire will push you and shape you and scare you but it makes you, you. Don’t ever forget that.

Remember to pray to St. Theresa, she is your Patron for a reason.

As Momma says: be safe, be smart and remember who you are. (No, she won’t ever stop saying that to you.)

I love you,
Twenty-Five Year Old Jessica

Three Hundred and Sixty Five

365 days ago my life changed, in a very big way. I don't think I really took time to let it sink in that I was moving, that I was no longer going to be in a town I called home for so long. That I was no longer going to be comfortable in my own life. That I was going to struggle like I never thought possible. (That, one year later I would still struggle like I never thought I would.)

365 days of waking up and wondering if today would be the day I snapped, packed up my crap and moved home.

365 nights of going to bed in an apartment I pay all the bills for, myself.

Today I turned in the keys to my first grown up apartment. I am slowly moving away from my old self.

I'm becoming a real grown up. Not the fake one I've spent a few years pretending to be. I wonder what the future will hold. When I moved to Montgomery I had no idea what to expect. I thought I had things pretty well figured out, but I don't—I have no flippin' idea what I am doing, where I am going and who I will become.

The dogs are alive and well. I've managed to pay most of my bills on time. I don't have insurmountable credit card debit. I'm doing better than the national average. I know who I am. I have an idea of who I want to become.

Things aren't perfect, but I'm learning to let go of the perfect ideal I had in my head and roll with what is actually happening. Roll with the punches, isn't that a famous Jerry Maguire line?

I've never been good at looking back: I just get melancholy; I am not a person that really likes change. Ironic, because I love adventures and yearn for the day where on a whim, with some planning, I can just up and travel the globe.  

But here I am, looking to day 366 of living in Montgomery in a new (to me at least) house, with boxes and tote bags and my prized possessions shit everywhere… I'm sure it'll get unpacked and organized eventually, just like my life.

For now, I'm going to enjoy having a porch swing and some early Summer weather. Or at least try to.

New Year, New Me

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I won't wax poetic on New Year's resolutions. I've never been a big resolution keeper, and with Lent seemingly right around the corner it always felt like I was giving up a bunch of stuff all in the beginning of the year. There are some things I would like to be better at with 2013 just beginning. I've seen the people that do little checks on themselves as almost mini resolutions, for each month, of course, I thought about doing that as well. 

But this morning when my alarm went off at 6am for my run, and I successfully pressed snooze until 7:23am I felt…happy. Rested. Ready for the day. So I didn't do the early morning run, whatever. I was in a much better mood. My hair was much messier though.

So that's becoming my New Year's resolution: stop pushing myself to do XYZ. If I do it, great. If not, it will happen some day, some how. New year, new me...sorta. Just like when I discussed how I plan to start using Pinterest, I'm going to take this change one day at a time. While I am making this effort, I'm going to be revamping the blog, saying good-bye to my little bird and hello to a regular posting schedule.

I vowed to make 2013 my year. So as each day passes, as long as I live it to the fullest, I've made that day my day. And little by little I'll make it my year.

I hope to start if off by celebrating another BCS National Title.

Roll tide my friends. Roll tide.