Hey, friend -
Y'all, it happened: My family has managed to outlast 2024's unrepentant, unrelenting BS.
After three full months of bi-weekly Bad Thingsā¢ļø (urgent care trips, car break-ins, ICU stays for humans and canines, car-totaling hailstorms), the streak has ended.
How do I know for sure?
Because yesterday, Prince Jack (husband) and I hit a labradoodle! With our car! In front of its family! Including a kid!
I know what you're thinking. "KHart! How, exactly, is this evidence that the Bad Thingsā¢ļø have ended?! Are you some kind of psychopath?"
Both fair questions.
I am not, in fact, a psychopath. And it's evidence the Bad Thingsā¢ļø are over because the dog was ... completely unscathed.
And listen, we didn't just, like, tap the dog.
Jack was looking to the left. The dog sprinted out from the right. I shrieked "DOG! DOG! DOG!" and it took until that last "DOG!" for Jack to register what I was saying. He slammed on the brakes, but ... THUMP.
But then, in no more than a millisecond, the dog was up and sprinting away.
Our own dogs, who'd launched themselves from the backseat to the center console of my Kia Sportage, lost their ever-loving minds. "OH-MY-GOD-OH-MY-GOD-WHAT-DO-WE-DO-I-HAVE-TO-CHECK-ON-HIM!" I whisper shouted at Jack.
I hopped out, ran to the family, and saw Doodle's dad running his hand over the dog's back and legs. Mom, sobbing, explained that her husband had thrown the ball a little too far. Daughter, smiling (!), said, "Don't worry. We'll take him to a scientist and make him into a robot dog."
(Who's the psychopath now, hmm?)
After approximately 4,578 apologies from both parties, we wished one another a happy Easter and went on our separate ways.
So, THAT'S how I know the Bad Thingsā¢ļø are over.
And while I confess I had occasional doubts over the last several weeks that things would eventually right themselves, the truth is they always do.
Pep Talk #037: It's gonna be OK.
I pinky-promise this isn't some kind of toxic positivity nonsense. I mean, if you've been here for a minute, you know I'm the Vice-President of Club Feelings.
So when you're having a hard time, go on and have that hard time. Cry it out. Rage it out. Talk it out. Write it out (maybe even to your sweet email list).
In the messy middle, though, see if you can remind yourself it's gonna be OK. Then keep on crying, raging, talking, writing.
It may not be OK right now. It may not be OK next week. And the OK you get to might look different from what you imagined or hoped. But it will be OK. It always is. Always.
With love,
Kelley
P.S. I can't tell you how relieved I am that we didn't kill that Doodle. I sobbed for an hour when we hit a fawn in one of the Carolinas. I had weeks of intrusive thoughts about seeing a cat get struck on the way home from the county fair one year. Watching videos of birds trying to rescue their smooshed mates from the center of the highway puts me in the fetal position. You know what I'm talking about? Ugh.
P.P.S. I don't know who the President of Club Feelings is, but it felt kind of arrogant to assume it was me. So I opted for the VP. Less responsibility that way, too.
