It's Summer. . .

Which means Violet is 9 today. And officially in the 4th grade.

Sarah is officially in the 1st grade.

And John is officially a kindergartner.

And I am officially old and living in some sort of weird time warp. Because I'm absolutely positive that just yesterday John was born, Sarah was 15 months old and Violet was 3 1/2 years old.

I'm positive.

I know that I have just put the girls in these sparkly dresses for Violet's 4th Birthday bash and forced them to hold a sleepy eyed John.

The rest of the world has moved on but we have not.

Anyway. Summer also means that it's time for the end of softball, the beginning of  swim team, the girls dance recital and long, lazy days at the pool. Which I love, because let's be honest, if we are at the pool 1) My house isn't getting trashed by three rowdy children and 2) I can't clean if we are not home. That's a win - win situation right there.

John briefly flirted with the idea of swimming on our swim team, but in the end the playground was far too attractive. So he's not swimming this year - which is totally fine, even if his swimming would have alleviated my  mommy guilt of his sister's being in summer activities and his not being in one. I'll just have to let that go. Let.It.Go. (and repeat.)

Swim team means Swim Meets, which means cue me becoming 'that' crazy poolside mom. Yes. Oh yes. I may  stand at the end of the lane, on occasion, ( OK, like every time they swim) and cheer and yell for my kids and their friends. Loudly. And jump around. Like a fool at a Josh Groban concert. Whatever.

It may also highly embarrass my husband. Which I just may find pretty entertaining. But the thrill of seeing those kids finish a lap for the first time? Or seeing their face as they touch that wall, winning time or not? Priceless. So I'll be throwing my 39 year old body all around the pool deck again this season, waving my arms and screaming like a fan girl.

It's all good. :)

My February Song

Where has that old friend gone

Lost in a February song

Tell him it won't be long

'Till he opens his eyes, opens his eyes

Where is that simple day

Before colors broke into shades

And how did I ever fade

Into this life, into this life

And I never want to let you down

Forgive me if I slip away

When all that I've known is lost and found

I promise you I, I'll come back to you someday

Morning is waking up

And sometimes it's more than just enough

when all that you really need to love

Is in front of your eyes, it's in front of your eyes

And I never want to let you down

Forgive me if I slip away

Someitmes it's hard to find my ground

'Cause I keep on falling as

I try to get away from this crazy world

And I never want to let you down . ..

This is my song. My anthem. It's the song that pulled me through some of my deepest, darkest moments during my depression. The first time I understood the lyrics I had hope -- hope that I was not alone. That hope echoed through my soul. "I am not alone."

The Girl Who Didn't Run

On Monday I will board a train and head for NYC. Two hours later I'll be in Penn Station. And with a very, very great friend of mine, Karen. Six hours later we'll be at the closing concert of Josh Groban's Illumination tour. Did you miss the important detail there? Karen is the important part. Not Josh.

[caption id="attachment_1592" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Our Philly concert. Karen is on the far left."][/caption]

*gasp*

I met Karen three and a half years ago online. Right about the time I was really losing my mind I started talking to her. Since we only talked online I was able to paint a pretty normal picture of my life. But as we got to know each other better and our talked turned from, "OK, Josh's first CD makes my kids sleep. What's his latest??" to "I have a therapist." She was clued in.

And she didn't run.

Then I went into the hospital. The mental hospital. And I told her.

She didn't run.

I even said to her, "Now I really am some crazy person you met online!"

We met in person, and just laughed and talked for hours. She asked how I was. If I was seeing my therapist. If I was taking my medication. If I felt well. She cared.

And I was some crazy person she'd met online.

Nine months later I called her again to say I'd been back in the hospital. She already knew. My husband had told her when she'd called to check on me because she hadn't heard from me.

Again, she didn't run. She just made sure I was still coming to her house for our girls weekend.

No fear, this girl.

In July we spent our third girls weekend together and went to the Josh Groban concert. Yes, it was a thrill  to see him. But the bigger thrill? Spending that time with Karen. And now, here we are another four months later ready to do it all again. Heading to NYC for a mere 24 hours to act like teenagers, giggle, dance and scream  for this random singer that literally brought us together.

But the greatest part? Karen. The girl who didn't run.

I Have Great Moves. And Wave Like Prince William.

And I'll take it. I'll so take it.

Because Josh Groban said those words to me. Yes.he.did.

::headexplosion:: A thousand million large ::headexplolsions::

You know I went to the Josh Groban concert on Friday night. If you don't? You've been living under a rock. And? I went to the Josh Groban concert on Friday night. I've been saying since we bought our ticket that they were so incredible, I could wave and he'd wave back. And I did. And then he did. ::no words::

I'm dying all over again.

Wells Fargo Arena on Friday night. It was amazing. Obviously. The man talked to us. So, yeah, pretty amazing, duh. We knew he'd answer three texts from the crowd, so we prepared our questions on the way.

When we got there? I panicked and couldn't get mine worded right. So I sent in Mal's. (Which I totally owned up to immediately.)She sent it as well, but it didn't go through. The time came for the Q and A portion of the show. He answered two texts, it was cute. Funny. We laughed. Then this happened. My thoughts are in red.

He says, "The next question is from Kim *how funny, her name is Kim. We'll totally laugh about this later, like, he was totally talking to me!* in section 114 *huh, that's our section. Too fun!* row one" *wait, that's us.* seat 3 *omgomgomgomgJosh Groban is right there looking at US at US at me he's looking at me! He sees me. He picked me he chose me he loves me OMG OMG OMG. I should stop jumping up and down now. I should stop screaming. I should totally stop screaming. I should stop. Really. I.should.just.stop.

I instantly became a 16 year old fan girl at a Justin Bieber concert. And I loved every minute of it. (But I do not want to see any video of my reaction. No, just no.)

His reaction, to my reaction? Uhm . . . yeah. He was a bit, surprized? See, we were really close. He'd already seen us. And then I literaly jumped around and waved my arms like I was the next contestant on the Price Is Right. I'm sure he saw me and thought, "Awe.some. This is my target audience?  The 38 year old moms who use my music as a soundtrack for make out sessions with their husbands. Yaaaayyy. . "

The five of us screamed so loud, all at once, that our voices carried across the arena. And he thought it was just me, my voice, that loud. Excellent. I mean, I went insane. Totally and completely lost it. But even I couldn't do that without a little help. And I had help, yes I did.  

The coolest thing is, this happened to us, the five of us. We planned this concert for almost 4 years. He chose our question, talked to me, I answered him, and he did it. A Josh Groban concert isn't exactly the event for the wave. It was epic.

Here's the video, from YouTube. It's not our video, because this is a better angle and shorter. And you can hear him better in this video. Because you know, I'm not screaming like I just saw Elvis and he gave me his sweat soaked scarf *gags*
http://youtu.be/RSuB8zbeGk0

But after my text with Josh Groban? I was totally fine with him ending the show with You Raise Me Up. Totally.

Where I Say "Thank You & OMG It's Happening" All At Once

Don't click out because you think this post is about Josh Groban. It's not. Really. *rolls eyes.* (But This post is. And so is this one. )

I'm leaving this morning for my annual girls weekend. Four girls and I sit around for four days and talk all things crazy, play silly board games, catch up on a year of kids, romances (three of the five of us are single), and yes, Josh Groban. Although, to be fair, he is the last thing we discuss.

Except this year.

This year we go to The Concert.

*squeals like a 13 year old* *shut up, I know I'm 38* *nobody asked you*

You must understand, that these girls, these women, are awesome. Awesome with a side of awesome sauce. Before we met -- in person (because, yes, I met them on line.) I was hospitalized for depression for the first time. I told them. And they didn't run. In fact one of them, Karen, met me just a few months later. Alone. The other three kind of shrugged their shoulders and said, "Yeah, stuff happens. Are you alright? What can we do from out here in the interwebs?"

And then they spent long evenings and late nights chatting with me on AOL Messenger -- and no, not all about Josh. I got a care package. Phone calls. So many, many  laughs.

Support, that's what I received. So much of it.

And when I went into hospital the second time, they continued to support me. I met them in person, a few short weeks after. They hugged me and showered me with love. We giggled and talked and giggled some more. They treated me as though I was normal. (ha!)

So, this morning I pack up and drive to Pennsylvania to join Karen, Linda, Mal and Keren. We'll stay up late talking about all things silly and serious. We'll play Dirty Pictionary. We'll exchange funny gifts with each other. On Friday we will get dressed up big time, get lookin' all hot, take tons of pictures and go to the concert together. And I? Will totally cry. Not because I'm seeing Josh Groban. But because I'm with these girls.

Thank you. I love you all.

 

This Is Me

I have exciting things to tell you today! First, I'm (somehow) guest posting over at Daddy Run's A Lot ! If you haven't ever visited John, you MUST. Not only will he inspire to run (a lot), he is funny, honest and amazing. He has a great story to share, a wonderful wife, and two small children that are words can't describe adorable. So, go check out John, because he is awesome and because somehow, someway he asked me to guest post and I'M over there today!

Second, in 10 short days I will be with those wonderful women I get together with each year and we will be seeing that guy in concert. Josh Groban. *sigh* And we have really good seats. Have I mentioned this before? Like, I can wave and he can wave back. *Which he will. He totally will.* 

Anyway. Over here, today I want to tell you about this.

The other day I was reading a post about depression and anitdepressants by Jodi Edwards Wright over at A Darker Shade of Blue. As always she addressed the questions surrounding that issue so well. It's about people questioning those of us on antidepressants and us becoming 'addicted' to them. I've encountered this question in real life and in the blogoshpere quite a few times, and thought it was a good time to explain a couple things.

To begin, I'm not on antidepressants any longer, I'm on a mood stabilizer. There is a difference, in that a mood stabilizer is an anti depressant combined with an anti anxiety medication. As I understand it, somehow the body metabolizes the medication differently when they are taken combined versus in two pills. I've had just about every anti depressant out there prescribed to me. And for me, they didn't work. And I took them with anti anxiety medication. That didn't work. The mood stabilizer? Well.  That's my pace maker. That's my insulin. My heart meds. My anti rejection meds. My anti seizure meds. It is not my meth. It is not my cocaine.  

It is my life.

Do you see the difference?

My brain does not produce the correct amounts of serotonin (as I understand this disease).  The mood stabilizer provides it with this. I take it each night. I wake each morning and I'm a normal, happy person. I'm a loving mom and wife. I'm a friend. Before it? Not even close. Breathing was all I could concentrate on, and I did that poorly. My body does need this drug, yes. But it needs it to be healthy. To be happy. To thrive. To remember my children's lives.

That is not an addiction.

This is me.
This is my brain.
This is my brain on drugs.
It's a beautiful thing.

Dear "Friends Of Josh Groban": Really??

Warning: this is rant! Oh, yes it is!!

Dear "Friends Of Josh Groban,"

If you are here from 'the boards'? Keep reading. You won't be disappointed. I promise.

For the rest of you, my 'normal' readers? Neither will you. I promise.

Pre-sale tickets went on sale for Josh Groban's concert yesterday. The Internet was a-buzz with anticipation. As was I. Over at FOJG (Friends of Josh Groban)? Insanity. Some friends and I, knowing about pre-sales etc, had established a membership (yes, a membership, as in a fan club membership) to 'Friends of Josh Groban' last year. And for you here from the boards? YES, a group of us went in on one single membership. *gasp* Then the details were released and we discovered that the ticket limit was four and we needed five tickets. Cue many special words. So I sat down in front of my computer and bought another blankity blank fan club membership.

FOJG members, do not think I am making fun of your friendships, your connections, I am not. I have been on the free boards, the boards you do not need a membership to be on, for 4 years. Those boards are where I went to find those first gems of info about Josh Groban when I discovered that he made my children sleep. It was there that I met a beautiful group of women. A group of women who have supported and loved me these past four years through some trying and difficult times. We talk all the time. We meet at least once a year, and this year when we meet we'll be going to a Josh Groban concert together. So no, don't even think I'm knocking your friendships.

The procedure for abtaining said pre-sale tickets was unclear at first. I spent a day on the computer figuring out what to do. A day. I am an educated woman. I was not launching a nuclear weapon. I was purchasing concert tickets. But it seems the powers that be over at FOJG do not see it this way. It was a mess of questions, chat rooms, emails, more questions. I.was.buying.concert.tickets.

Did I mention that I had to buy a fan club membership? Yes, yes I did. As a member of "Friends of Josh Groban" I received a code which allowed me access to a pre-sale of tickets.

[caption id="attachment_438" align="alignright" width="150" caption="My membership packet. It has a laminated card. Jealous much?"][/caption]

(I also received a patch. A patch. To put on a coat. Yes. So I can proudly display my love for Josh at any and all events I attend. So that when I'm there and get asked, "Are you on the boards? In that snarky, snide way we've all heard, I can show my patch off and prove my solidarity to all things Josh. *Excuse me while I go vomit.*) I was able to buy tickets two days before the general public -- before preferred credit card holders etc. Was I excited? Beyond. Did I get awesome seats? Awe.some. Let me say it again: Awesomely awesome seats. Seats with awesome sauce on them. So the $19.99 I spent was worth it.

BUT:

I am going to throat punch the next FOJG 'board' member who rants about non-members who have access to seats before 'we' do. I am going to square up and knock you down, like the snitch I am, the next time I hear you whine about giving the best seats to the 'true fans.'

Let me explain to your closed little minds that those seats that were taken even before the pre-sale? The ones that had your panties all in a bunch? Were sold to people who paid thousands and thousands of dollars to attend concert events. Thousands. Not $19.99 or even $39.99 to be an 'ultimate' member of FOJG.  So they? Get dibs on those fine seats.

Selling the best seats to 'true fans.'  Yeah. . . As in the fans who have bought a freaking membership to a juvenile fan club that allows you access to boards where you can chat in rooms where you are moderated in case you say something inappropriate about Josh Groban. (Out of curiosity, what does inappropriate include? I think he's hot. As in, if  I were single (and not totally & completely in love with husband), and 8 years younger, and living in LA, and we ran in the same circles, I'd tell him how amazingly talented he is. And then I'd totally tell him he's kiss-worthy hot. Like run my hands through his hair and hold his piano hands hot. Is that inappropriate?) This makes you a 'true fan.'? Oh.my.gawd. Here's a news flash:

When my son was eight months old he was sick. And in the hospital. Undergoing a ton of tests. The only thing that calmed him, relaxed him into sleep, was the music of Josh Groban. I spent days in the hospital, my ipod at John's ear, Josh's music playing to him in order to bring John some peace as he was prodded, blood was drawn, wires were dropped down his throat, probes attached to his head, needles inserted into his tiny veins. Later, when I lost my damn mind and spent two weeks in the hospital for depression, the song, "February Song" became a mantra for me. An acknowledgement that maybe, just maybe somebody else had felt this way before. So I'm pretty sure I'm a 'true fan.'

FOJG members: My name is Violetsarah.

If you are a FOJG member and this doesn't apply to you? My sincerest apologies. That means you found this amusing. If you found this offensive? Then I'm talking about you.

For my 'regular' readers, feel free to gag. However, this doesn't mean I'm not still *totally* in love with the man.  :) I'm going to two concerts. Two! And I'll be all kinds of excited leading up to them. And I'll be posting pictures and videos after them. Be prepared!! :) And, you're welcome.

Josh Groban . . . Again. (I know)

???
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You you have to admit . . . nice.

?? ???

*sigh* I know. Josh Groban. Again. But, ya'll (suddenly I'm from the south) he's ramping up for a tour. A tour! (Now I'm a hormone excreting adolescent girl) I haven't been this excited about a tour since . . . since . . . New Kids On The Block. Or maybe New Edition. Or Michael Jackson. Chicago. Menudo. El Debarge, Garth Brooks.  Oh . . My . . . Gawd. I just totally dated myself. And to be fair, I didn't get to see New Edition or Michael Jackson (although my mom and brother did . . . that's another story). Anyway, back to Josh. He's going to be in concert. As in on stage. Right there. Singing! Live! Can you hear me squealing like a pimple faced Justin Beiber fan?? Ugh.

The most embarrassing part? My husband. He's been to one concert. One. It was the reunion tour of The Police, which if you're only going to be at one concert in your life, that's the one to be at. But he hated it. Yeah, you read that right. Hated it. Called me to complain during the show that he was too close to the stage, the "guy singing, what's his name?" (uhh, freaking STING!!) was too close, and he, my husband, had eaten too much at the catered dinner before hand. *I'll wait while you pick your head up off the desk. Take your time.*

Also? I have yet to tell my husband that I want to dance and scream my way from city to city from Boston to Philly with a group  of women. Screaming for another man. A much younger man. A man with piano hands (for you, Linda), long thighs (for you, Karen), shows a little chest hair (but not like 70's chest hair, right Mal?) and a nice neck (for you, Keren.) Oh, and nice forearms. (Those would be for me.) And really? That's all pretty darn innocent!!

Back to the humiliating part. So, I'm prepping to attend multiple Josh Groban concerts and dance, sing and yell like a fool. All while enjoying myself with a wonderful group of women that I've already told you about here. My husband totally gets the women part, how they have supported me etc. But the Josh part . . . uh, no. He is not going to understand my desire to dance and scream, repeatedly, to the same songs, by the same person, in different cities. Songs I'll have heard on a CD, seen on the 'making of' DVD. Honestly? I kind of don't get it! But just the thought of getting to do it makes me happy!!

Maybe that is part of the draw of it? That it makes me happy. The dancing, laughing, singing, it all takes me back to my youth. The giggling, the sheer ridiculousness of it. It takes me back to a simpler, more innocent time of life. I'll just be enjoying myself, loosing myself in the silliness of it, the fun of it. And you know what? I'm fine with that. So bring on the dancing, the screaming, the singing. Bring on me reverting to 16. How many times in your life do you get to do that? I'm in!

Have you ever reverted back to a 'younger' age? Or are you simply crazy about someone? Share!

Kim
As usual, comment, comment! They thrill me!