This Body is Bullshit

Sore Muscles, Full Heart

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 it did not go easy on me. It hurt. Also — I need to come clean — I’m not at 137 classes. I’m at 133. 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, me a completely lost single mom. I could not have made it through those years without them. 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 with a little water feature, and her husband cooked for us. Peaceful, easy, 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. Those three women 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 doing remarkably well. Thank God, no setbacks. She’s so tiny and carries so much stress in that little body. She is honestly more family than friend.

Sunday was a full-on do-nothing day and it was glorious. My mother-in-law popped in for a quick visit, then 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 him getting lost again — something he’s still firmly denying — and Matt, clearly uncomfortable, quietly started clearing the table to escape the conversation. He’s 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 — Ma’maa, as she says — and there is no one more suited for that role. That should be what fills her up, not all the other bullshit.

This week is already a lot. We’re heading to Denver Wednesday to visit my sister-in-law for the first time in ten years. Yes, she’s kept count. They’ve redone their whole house since we were last there and we’re excited to see it and meet their furry crew — our dog nieces and nephew. I’ve got way too much to finish at work before we leave. 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 surgery saga, she whisked me off to Sayulita, Mexico — a place I’d never heard of — and 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, 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 Greece. Now she’s thinking Amsterdam. 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 we’re manifesting. We joke that if anything happens to Matt I’ll just be her housewife, or that we’ll end up 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?

Most people only see her wild funny side. I know the whole person — wise, deeply empathetic, weirdly good with money, fiercely loyal, heartbreakingly generous. We love and worry about each other across the miles.

Anyway. That’s the update.

Sore muscles. Full heart. Slightly feral energy.

I’m here. And I’m damn lucky.