This Body is Bullshit

It’s Monday. Which is to say: the day that requires both caffeine and divine intervention to get out of bed.

Yesterday was my second day back at Pilates after five weeks off, and let me tell you—it did not go easy on me. It hurt. Also, I misspoke in my last entry. I’m not at 137 classes. I’m at 133. I felt like I needed to come clean about that because I’m actually a little further from my goal than I thought. I’m sore. Add in menopause and my meds and honestly, I feel like a walking science fair project.

But! I had a good weekend.

It started Thursday, when I met up with my JJAM crew for dinner. These women saved me when I moved to Western Springs with Grace—just the two of us in an apartment and me, a completely lost single mom. I could not have made it through those years without them. I’m so grateful they’re still in my life. Our kids, who once ran around together like a pack of wild things, are now on totally different paths—but we’re still showing up for each other, celebrating and supporting however we can.

Friday night, my BFFLs and I had a patio night at our friend’s house. Her backyard is beautifully landscaped, complete with a little water feature, and her husband cooked for us. It was peaceful, easy, and lovely. We were there because her sweet dog has cancer and she’s facing an impossibly hard decision. If you know me, anything involving a sick dog turns me into a puddle. But we laughed a lot, and those three women? They are my rocks.

Saturday morning, I went to the farmers market with my bestie. It had been way too long since we’d had real one-on-one time, and I didn’t realize how much I needed it. She finds out this week when her final reconstruction surgery will be. She’s not feeling great, but she’s moving forward—and I think she’s doing remarkably well. Thank God, no setbacks. She’s so tiny and carries so much stress in that little body. I’ve never figured out how to help her lighten that load, but I’ll keep trying. She is honestly more family than friend.

That night, my husband and I went to Kenny’s—his favorite dive bar and an old haunt from back in the day. We met up with some friends and told ourselves we’d only be there an hour or two… and didn’t get home until almost 11, which is borderline reckless for us. But it was a great night. Lots of laughs, lots of nostalgia.

Sunday was a full-on do-nothing day, and it was glorious. My mother-in-law popped in for a quick visit, and later my dad and Kathy came over for dinner. My dad showed up in a Temu shirt—his latest obsession. We don’t even know how he discovered Temu, but it’s driving my stepmom nuts. I’m not sure what look he’s going for, but “senior citizen influencer with questionable taste” might be close.

He made a few comments and asked questions he should know the answers to, and we all just kind of looked at each other and let it go. Kathy and I gently tried to bring up the topic of him getting lost again—something he’s still firmly denying—and Matt, clearly uncomfortable, quietly started clearing the table to escape the conversation. We need him to take this seriously. Who loves him more than Kathy and I? Or Matt and Grace? But he’s stubborn. So damn stubborn. And yes, the Temu shirts are ugly.

This morning, I finally heard from a friend who’d been MIA. She’s okay—just buried in life. She’s like me: bottles everything. Her corporate job is sucking the life out of her, and she’s had more than her fair share of health scares. I worry about her. She’s also a new grandma (or Ma’maa, as she says), and there’s no one more suited for that role. That should be what fills her up—not all the other bullshit.

This week already feels like a lot. We’re heading to Denver on Wednesday to visit my sister-in-law—for the first time in ten years. (And yes, she’s kept count.) They’ve redone their house since we were last there, and we’re excited to check it out and meet their new furry crew—our dog nieces and nephew. Meanwhile, I’ve got way too much to finish at work before we leave. I’m hoping to sneak in a glimpse of an Alpine lake or river… maybe a mountain. I need that breath of fresh air—literally and metaphorically.

Also in the works: a potential road trip with my ride-or-die, who splits her time between Hermosa Beach and Vegas. She’s my favorite travel buddy. After the whole surgery saga, she whisked me off to Sayulita, Mexico—a place I’d never even heard of. It was one of the best trips of my life. We travel the same: early mornings, beach walks, weird TV, early bedtimes, a little microdosing on the beach, and a whole lot of laughter. We even took a tour I’ve since dubbed the Murder Boat. (No further comment.)

She’s the kind of friend who, when I wasn’t sure I’d make it to Grace’s college graduation, booked a flight just in case—so she could go in my place if I couldn’t. Who does that? She does.

Her 50th is coming up. First, she wanted to celebrate in Greece. Now she’s thinking Amsterdam. And somehow, she’s trying to pay for me again. Says she needs a chaperone. As of last night, I still hadn’t won the lottery—but hey, we’re manifesting. We joke that if anything ever happens to Matt, I’ll be her housewife. Or that we’ll grow old in the same nursing home, yelling at staff from our rocking chairs. One time on a ferry back from Catalina, someone asked how long we’d been together. We still laugh about it. And honestly? We kind of love it.

Earlier this year, she and Matt had a moment—just the two of them in the kitchen—crying over me. She was thanking him for taking such good care of me. I cried from the other room. Because how do you not cry when two of your favorite people are having a full-blown gratitude meltdown over your existence?

Matt loves her just as much as I do. Most people only know her wild, funny side. But I know the whole person. She’s wise. She’s deeply empathetic. She’s weirdly good with money. She’s fiercely loyal and heartbreakingly generous. An overthinker. We love and worry about each other across the miles. And I’m so lucky to have her.

Anyway. That’s the update.

Sore muscles. Full heart. Slightly feral energy. But I’m here.

And I’m damn lucky to have the people I do.