This Is My First Blog. I Feel Naked.

This Is My First Blog. I Feel Naked.


Hi. I’m Patti, and I’m a blogger.

And so it begins. The first post of my first personal blog. This is really going to be a challenge for me. If you know me personally, you’ll know I’m basically shy and lacking a little in confidence. If you haven’t met me but you’ve read posts I’ve written for Organized Chaos Online, that might surprise you. Passing along information with an occasional burst of personality, like Tawsha (my daughter) and I do when we’re writing for Organized Chaos Online, is a totally different ballgame than exposing myself in a personal blog. But because a lot of what each of us is interested in doesn’t fit in one of our site’s categories, and because we wanted our readers to get to know us individually, we decided this might be a good idea. Considering that this is about my 10th attempt at introducing myself, I’m wondering if we might want to rethink the idea.

I’m the overly-sensitive type…hard-ass on the outside, mush on the inside. I’m the one who always protects the underdog, has a fear of rejection, hates bullying, cries every single time I hold a baby, and worry more about my kids being sad when I die, than worry about dying. Nothing breaks my heart more than someone being alone or feeling lonely.

So why in God’s name would I put myself out there and bare my soul to you knowing it’s very likely that nobody will even read this, let alone comment, and set myself up for rejection? Because I really need to. Apparently I’ve just grown myself  a set of balls and decided to be vulnerable.

I’ve worked from home most of my life. I love it. Having been a single mom, it allowed me the flexibility to be available for my kids while they were growing up, yet provide me an income. Now, at 57 (whaaaat? Holy shit!) my kids are long gone, and my circle of friends has dwindled. I’m craving the company of people my own age who can relate to the experiences and interests I have, and who remember how things were ‘back in the day’. I’m not aging gracefully – I hate it! But I’d love to find other people I can laugh about it with. I’m not ancient yet, and still act young enough that my 30’s-year-old kids don’t make fun of me (at least not to my face), but for the first time in my life I’m seeing signs that I’m really getting older and realizing that this aging business is actually happening to me! Ugh. Not a fan.

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My Sweetie

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Our Home

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Some of the things I enjoy will sound like old people stuff even to old people. For instance, I love to crochet. I absolutely adore my husband, and look forward to watching TV with him at night. I have a favorite chair. I like going to yard sales and thrift stores. I will choose a good book over a night out. I can’t hear in a loud bar. The clincher for me was when I decided my next car would be a four-door automatic. Me, who has always driven some kind of clutch sports-type car is now starting to become practical?

Just because I’m begrudgingly coming to terms with this aging crap, doesn’t mean that I’ve become “content” or that my life has settled into a comfortable routine. Oh HELL no! My life is constant chaos. I get crazy fired up over countless things on a daily basis. There’s still fire in these brittle bones. Although I’ve relaxed a bit about some things, I am absolutely passionate about other things, and I can go from 0-60 in under 10 seconds flat. I tend to talk like a truck-driver, and love to laugh so hard I pee. My brother, sister, son and daughter are the funniest people I know. Dry humor – the kind that is totally natural and smacks you right in the face when you’re not expecting it.

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My brother and I

My Brother, Bob

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My sister and I

My Sister, Kim

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Ryan and I

My Son, Ryan

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My daughter and I

My Daughter, Tawsha


My purpose for starting a blog is to connect with people  I can relate to, and who can relate to me and the places we all find ourselves at this point in our lives. People who…

  • love to laugh that I can laugh with
  • who can relate to my experiences, and will share their experiences with me
  • are willing to teach me the things they’re skilled in, and are willing to share those skills with other people like us
  • need a friend, or want to connect with like-minded people
  • are noticing signs of aging, but won’t let that be an excuse for allowing themselves to become old
  • who can be honest enough to admit they’re in a pissy mood one day, but the next day appreciate and acknowledge all the good in their lives

I would be touched, like to the point of tears (I’m being totally serious), if you would be interested in continuing to read my blog. I would go into a full-blown body-shaking sob if you actually took the time to comment and tell me you were here and a little about yourself.  If you’ve read this far, bless your heart. You are now officially my new best friend! If you are someone who knows me personally, dear GOD would you please let me know you don’t think I’ve gone completely mid-life bat-shit crazy here? Picturing you all reading this, I imagine your mouths kind of hanging open, kind of like when “that” girl walks into the party dressed like a french maid because she didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t a costume party??

I’ll write as the mood strikes me, and from here on my blog won’t be included in our regular posts. You’ll be able to find it on our site, organizedCHAOSonline, under the tab About Us. If you’re on Facebook, feel free to send me a friend request on my personal Facebook page HERE.

Phew. I think my stress sweat is starting to dry. That wasn’t so bad after all. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading.

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Single Moms: Merry Christmas…You did it!

Single Moms: Merry Christmas…You did it!

Tawsha, my daughter, Ryan, my son, and Colton, my grandson

Tawsha (my daughter), Ryan (my son), and Colton (my grandson)

Tonight as I finish up some gifts for my grandkids and nieces, it makes me smile, but with tears in my eyes, to remember waaay back to this time of year when my own kids were little and I was a single mom. At around this time I’d be wrapping the last of their gifts and doing a mental survey of what they’d open the next day. Every Christmas Eve my heart would ache as I thought about how excited they were to wake up to see what Santa brought, and each year I would make myself a promise that  the next year would be different and I’d be able to do more.

The dress up clothes that I had bought from Goodwill had been washed and the huge box was carefully wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper with a big red bow.  My fingers were still stained with the food coloring I had used to color the play dough I had made to create colors you couldn’t find in the stores. The stockings were filled with their favorite candy, erasers, sparkly pencils, and always a new toothbrush. No matter how tight money was, it was important to me that they had stockings that Santa had filled. We had spent the week before painting wooden ornaments and singing Andy Williams Christmas carols, the same ones my mom and I used to sing to when I was young. Before they went to bed Christmas Eve we’d set out cookies and milk for Santa. Before I went to bed, I’d have to remember to take a bite out of them and drink the damn milk (I hate milk) to prove Santa had really been there.

Some of those years the kids and I celebrated Christmas morning with my boyfriend. His kids and mine were friends and all close to the same ages. His kids lived out of town, and because he had the means to, he overindulged them when they spent Christmas with us. I thought my heart would break as his kids opened a JVC complete stereo system, while mine unwrapped a knock-off brand boom box. All the gifts his kids opened were the ones I had only wished I could have gotten for mine. I said goodnight to my kids on many Christmas nights with a lump in my throat wanting to hug them and tell them how sorry I was that I basically sucked. Bless their hearts – they always seemed happy with what they got and assured me they had a great Christmas.

Those days were hard, and my heart goes out to you single moms who are short on time and money and scrambling to pull a Christmas together for your kids. You’re tired and frustrated and probably right about now are beating yourself up. But guess what?

My daughter is now the mother of a 4-yr-old, and I see her beginning traditions with her son, even continuing some that she grew up with. She stays up half the night making him presents. She sent me a text with a picture of Andy Williams Christmas album that said “It’s not Christmas without this”. My son is in his 30’s and doesn’t have kids yet, but when I mentioned that I might not do stockings this year, he looked at me like I was crazy. “Oh no, you HAVE to do stockings”. So off he went to do stocking shopping.

My kids are my heart. They make me proud every day of my life. They are happy, caring and loving adults. All those years I thought I was screwing up, failing them and falling short, I wasn’t. You aren’t either. Start Christmas traditions and keep them going every year.  No matter how dumb or insignificant they may seem to you, they are stamping themselves on your kids hearts and providing them stability and consistency. Play up the mystery and wonder that is Christmas. It’s the little things…Have your brother or a friend call them and pretend they’re Santa. Write them a letter from Santa and mail it to them. Wrap the presents from Santa in different wrapping paper and tags written in “Santa” handwriting.

Keep doing what you’re doing. The kids may not react the way you’d like them to. They may seem disappointed with their gifts. But know this. They will carry those memories with them and some day will understand why you did what you did, said what you said, and how hard those times must have been for you, but you loved them right through them anyway. My kids remember most of those cheesy gifts, but very few of the more expensive ones.

Make memories. Be creative. Just love your kids and do the best you can and believe me, it will be enough. You’re doing a great job. Believe in yourself.

Merry Christmas, and God bless you and your little family.