Many of my Facebook friends & family, as well as my IRL friends & family, are subjected to crazy, funny quips about my extreme dislike (hate is such a strong word) for Mondays and my extreme LOVE for Fridays. While it seems like such a stretch from one to the other, they actually go hand in hand.

Yeah, you confused yet?? Good! Hold on tight as I attempt to guide you through the purple rai….I mean…my crazy brain.

I had read somewhere that a person should not live just for the weekends (who said it and where I saw it kind of escapes me at the moment). I completely agree with that. Every day is a blessing and just another chance to be a blessing to someone else. Anyone that has gone through a life-altering event or has watched someone close to them go through a life-altering event can attest to the fact that every single day on this earth is precious and a merciful gift from God. Experiences, memories, friendships, family (yes, even the dysfunctional ones) make up where we’ve come from, who we are and where we’re going.

However, I wish I could have known then what I know now. I was completely oblivious to this knowledge when I was a teenager. My parents divorced right before I hit puberty. It was a very difficult time allllll the way around. My middle school (junior high, we called it….AND I walked barefoot both ways, up and down the hill…ok ok nevermind) and high school years were tough to get through. Needless to say, my mother and I butted heads like two male battering rams fighting over territory! What we were actually fighting over was control. Control over my life because I wanna be the one in control (20 points for Gryffindor if you got that 80’s reference) and she didn’t want me to go down the same path she did.

Even though I was a smart cookie (winks at my junior high friends), I did not apply myself and my grades weren’t the best. So, home life wasn’t great and school career wasn’t great. My only joy was found in being with my friends (most of you are nodding your heads right now, aren’t you?!) and music. With the strict rules my mother had, the weekends were the only times I could plan to be with my friends. I would spend most of the week making plans with friends and if I wasn’t grounded for one reason or another, funville was on my radar for the whole weekend. Well, after cleaning the house on Saturday mornings and church on Sunday mornings. Being with my friends at the skating rink, a party or at their house was my escape from the craziness that I felt was in my life at the time.

Fridays have become to represent a kind of freedom to me. A time to do the fun, crazy things that are put off during the week. A time to make memories, sing songs out loud with the windows down and the person in the car next to you thinks you’re a little touched (wahhhat?? another 80’s song reference???!! stop it, crazy 80’s lady!!!), hug & kiss on your special someone, lend a helping hand, learn something new, give God the glory, take a nap.

Poor Monday just gets the bad rap because once it rolls around….the kibosh is put on all the stuff that I’ve looked forward to all the previous week.

So, if Monday could just become Tuesday…that’d be great.

YOU!!!!

I am asking all my friends and family to please go and vote for my story!!! You can only vote once per day so I’ll probably be posting everyday on my facebook page and buggi…I mean gently reminding you to vote. I have never submitted anything I’ve written publicly so it’s a pretty big deal for me.

Thank you so much for your support!

Love you!!!!

http://www.heart-music.com/grammycontest-details.html?id=852

This video surfaced several weeks ago. It made my heart leap with joy!!!  As a lady with her memories firmly rooted in the 80’s, the band Journey is a big part of those. When I saw my Facebook newsfeed with the title of ‘Steve Perry Sings Again’, the biggest grin spread across my face!

I have heard the band (even live in concert) as it stands today with the lead being provided by Arnel Pineda. I think he is awesome and sounds very close to Steve’s original sound. I still support Journey and try to see them in concert whenever I can. Arnel, himself, has been quoted in saying that he was happy that Steve was on stage again and would graciously bow out if Steve wanted to be Journey’s frontman again. (http://www.classichitsandoldies.com/v2/2014/06/01/journey-singer-arnel-pineda-says-steve-perry-should-come-back-to-the-band/ )

I’m not sure if that will happen. I know that Steve doesn’t sound like he did 20 plus years ago, however I do feel that he does sound good and is still a showman. I am sure that he was very nervous stepping out onto that stage but it never showed.  I hope that I am around if it does happen…even if it’s just one time.  My little 80’s heart would absolutely explode!!!

That just sounds weird, doesn’t it? My first tattoo. Is there a book out there with this title??………wait, hold on……………ok, I just checked on Amazon and there is not (hhmm, write down idea for future children’s book idea).

A friend of mine asked on Facebook after I posted pictures in an album with aforementioned title……first tattoo? does that mean you’ll be getting more? *sly grin*hhhmmmmm…….mmmmmaybe.

So, why would a middle-aged woman be getting a tattoo at all…you may be asking yourself. Well, ok….you might not be asking but since you’re here on my website, I assume you’re wondering something. I don’t want you leaving my site empty-handed, I mean, empty-headed, I mean….geez, nevermind. On with the story:

I grew up a goody-two shoes, which isn’t a bad thing. However, I may not have always pulled it off. I got into my fair share of trouble and created havoc for my mom, who has plenty of gray hairs (hidden well with the expertise of a great hair stylist) with my name on them. During my childhood, tattoos were of the devil. Well, maybe not the devil exactly but they were taboo and represented n’er do wells and ragamuffins and the like.

As crazy as I was as a teenager and young adult, I don’t think I ever entertained the thought of getting a tattoo. I suppose having the thoughts of ‘what would people think’, ‘you’ll never get a job’, ‘nice girls don’t tattoo’ were pretty ingrained into my brain. So I moved on with my life, got married, and had children. However, something happened to me at the age of 29 that changed my life forever.

Three months before I turned the big THREE OH, I discovered a lump in my left breast.  Yes, it was shocking! For my age and for the fact there was no family history of it. I made the decision with my husband to have a mastectomy, coupled with chemotherapy and radiation. This all lasted about 6 months. It was tough and a battle that was fraught with tears, arguments, sickness, doctor’s appointments and bills…all while trying to work, manage a household, and keep two young children from freaking out about possibly losing their mom.

Five years later, I came out the other side as a victor in that nasty battle. Once you have reached the five and ten year marks, the doctors declare you to be in remission. However, I have a scar that I see in the mirror every day. An ugly line across the left side of my chest (no I didn’t get the reconstruction…a decision I regret somewhat). Do I regret that scar?? Absolutely not!!! It is my war wound, if you will.

This is where the tattoo comes in. Right after I was told by doctors to be in remission, an idea started to form in my mind. I wanted a tattoo. Something that was pretty and feminine but represented that I was a survivor. It took a while for me to get up the courage (and the money) to get it but it was a bucket list wish I was finally able to check off.

So, almost fifteen years after my last chemo/radiation treatment….I celebrate!! With God’s grace, I will be around for a long time to continue celebrating. 🙂