3.30.17 Sun is Always Shining

I have a friend named Bruce, and it’s an honor to call him a friend. We can’t move into “Best Friend” territory until I start winning the weekly giveaways from his popular newsletter, but he swears he can be bought so I guess it’s me that needs to up my game.

I met Bruce two years ago at a Chamber 101 event when I first started with Junior Achievement. I was just excited to be in a position that considered networking “work”, and to be part of a Chamber that trains their members. I settled in, crisp new business cards ready for the peddling, and around the room we went with introductions. Bruce sought me out after the intros and shook my hand, but I had no idea who he was or what he was talking about. Clearly that confusion was obvious because he changed his elevator pitch from “How we can help each other” to “I’m Mr. B.” Let me tell you, I was Star Struck – Mr. B. is my Ricky Ricardo.

Since that day at Ridglea Country Club, Bruce and I have been each others “date” to numerous Chamber events. I tell him it’s for crowd control, he tells me it’s for the arm candy, but in the end I always enjoy every opportunity I get to pick his brain and learn. Gone is the day that I self promoted myself to President of the “Mr. B Fan Club”, and the blurb he put in his newsletter this week solidifies that decision.

Click here to see the Mr. B Newsletter. 

Now to figure out how to persuade him to let me win all the giveaways…

Mr. B

OneRepublic – I Lived

“Hope when you take that jump, you don’t fear the fall. Hope when the water rises, you built a wall. Hope when the crowd screams out, they’re screaming your name. Hope if everybody runs, you choose to stay.

Hope that you fall in love, and it hurts so bad, The only way you can know is give it all you have, And I hope that you don’t suffer but take the pain, Hope when the moment comes, you’ll say… I, I did it all. I owned every second that this world could give. I saw so many places, the things that I did, With every broken bone, I swear I lived.

Hope that you spend your days, but they all add up, And when that sun goes down, hope you raise your cup. Oh, I wish that I could witness all your joy and all your pain But until my moment comes, I’ll say… I, I did it all”

Busy 

March has been, well, where has it gone? How are we almost a fourth of the way through 2017?

This week in particular has been crazy because this is my last full week of “prepping” for the ridiculousness that is April. Here’s a glimpse, in no particular order:

  • Closing on a house 
  • Renovating said home 
  • Celebrating Cass with a Bachelorette party 
  • Moving out of our apartment 
  • Moving into said house 
  • A months worth of laundry waiting to get done 
  • 3 MAJOR fundraising events at work 
  • Easter, family time 
  • 2 additional fundraising events that are running simultaneously 
  • Packing and organizing for the move
  • Opening Day with sweet friends 
  • Transferring utilities to new house 
  • Figuring out where Kenneth’s passport is 
  • Locking in Girls Trip
  • Unpacking and settling into new house 
  • Convince Ian that the move will be good 
  • Figure out how to get to and from work with a new address 
  • Hopefully see Kenneth more than just Hi, Bye, Pack this, move that 
  • Don’t let Ian find out about his new brother, Baloo, yet (baby steps)
  • VisionFW events 
  • Development retreat 

I love every bit of the busy 💜 As Bruno said “Gotta blame it on Jesus Hashtag Blessed”

3.27.17 The Best Weekend 

We are busy people, life is running us ragged and we love it. Friday night started off with a bang, I was home before 5 and slept until almost 10PM. Rough Friday night. 


Kenneth worked Saturday and I started my day at church painting with the fun women of Ridglea Baptist Church. My hands don’t work well but painting was fun. 





There’s not enough time in the world with my girls. No one was makeuped or public appropriate so this is a pseudo pic. We found a patio and enjoyed catching up and the sunshine. 


We cooked out Saturday night to celebrate Aunt Freda’s last weekend in Texas. We have loved having her here and cannot believe her time with us here is over. 


Sunday we got up and went to church then enjoyed lunch, just the two of us. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, my husband is my favorite part of every day. Any day we can slow down, if even just for lunch, is a good day in my book. We got to spend some time with Baloo and we both are so excited to have him in our family. So excited, in fact, that we forgot to take a single picture. Soon enough you’ll be seeing lots and lots of him. 

When your boy moves away for 4 months, you come together as a family and celebrate. 

 

Busy weekends are fun when your plus one is this cute. 

Potato, Potato, Ching Chong, Tomato 

Isn’t it frustrating how not even 45 minutes ago I was dozing off on the couch and now I’m comfortably curled up in bed, wide awake?

How is it that I was so sleepy before and now I’m counting my husbands inhales in time with the ceiling fan “ting” from the chain?

2 nights ago I was snuggled comfortably into Kenneth, drooling all over his pillow and all the sudden he jumped which of course made me jump 🙄 Something startled him enough to jolt his entire body and it transferred over to me. To make matters worse, I of course woke up thinking I was drowning (you can’t imagine how drooly I am),  and he slept through the whole dang thing! Ugh, men. 

Glad one of us can turn off quickly, and when I’m riding the Ambien Stallion it is usually me, but the effects of tonight’s beverages are still amongst us and there’s this teeny, tiny warning on the bottle:

“Do not take this medicine if you have consumed alcohol during the day or just before bed.”

So here I am, listening to Kenneth hum in his sleep, contemplating the name of our future nose whistle, husband humming duo of a band

Potato Potato
Ching Chong
Tomato

3.24.17 Something Awesome 

I was called out yesterday by a birthday girl who shall remain nameless for posting too much sappy lately. Here is the exact opposite of that:

Y’all, I put on a brave front every day but the truth is the fact that my trekking poles act like a spotlight for my disease, is hard. My mind is still centered on the retired idea that I am an athlete, strong and able, so when someone makes small talk in the elevator and asks about what happened it’s hard on me to drop that bomb, not to mention how they must feel. “Uh, I just thought you twisted your ankle, not that you are dying. Open doors, OPEN!”

I’ve told you before about how hard this for me mostly if not entirely from a vanity standpoint. And even with the trekking poles, our normal routine is altered. 

Back story is set, here comes the Something Awesome:

I walked into work one day this week, late of course, and didn’t pick my feet up like a dummy. This series of events typically ends in soul shattering, full audience, only happens on dress day, full body contact with the ground. But fate and luck were on my side that day. Rather than flossing my teeth with carpet fibers, I was able to right myself, catch my balance and continue forward.

THIS IS HUGE

One small step for Sunny’s Gracelessness, one GIANT leap for Sunny’s independence. Happened again wednesday while walking to an event, but it’s hard to compete with a girls first time.

larry

Icing on the cake of my growing admiration for the “Twerking Pole”, which is what my sister calls it, is that Larry the Murder has a pair of his own Trial and Error


Thanks to Cass and Samp for introducing us to the show. It’s hilarious.

Trekking poles to the rescue! Pretty exciting stuff for our little world.

The GrownUp by Gillian Flynn

http://a.co/4mKOBlS

  • I stopped giving hand jobs because I was the best at it…You have to mentally prepare beforehand, and then you have to stop thinking and trust your body to take over. Basically, it’s like a golf swing.
  • I never worked holidays, because holiday hand jobs are sad for everyone.
  • I quit because when you give 23,546 hand jobs over a three-year period, carpal tunnel syndrome is a very real thing.
  • My mom was sly but lazy. I was much more ambitious. I had lots of stamina and no pride.
  • I was never ashamed. What I did was purely transactional: You made someone feel good and they gave you money. So you can see why the whole hand-job thing felt like a natural career progression.
  • A hand-job guy is a very different creature from a guy who wants a blow job or a guy who wants sex. Sure, for some men, a hand job is just a gateway sex act. But I had a lot of repeat customers: They will never want more than a hand job.
  • and then they’re distracted and the whole thing takes longer than anyone wants.
  • an inside joke is like a symbol of friendship without having to do the work required of an actual friendship.
  • To me, it’s a nice day’s work when you make a lot of people smile. I know that sounds too earnest, but it’s true. I mean, I would rather be a librarian, but I worry about the job security. Books may be temporary; dicks are forever.
  • The fortune-teller clients were almost all women, and the hand-job clients were obviously all men, so we ran the place like clockwork.
  • You didn’t want any orgasm yelps from the back when a lady was telling you how her marriage was coming apart. The new-puppy excuse only works once.
  • It was hard to feel sorry for them. I tried to because you don’t want your mystic, the keeper of your future, to roll her eyes at you. But I mean, come on. Big house in the city, husbands who didn’t beat them and helped with the kids, sometimes with careers but always with book clubs. And still they felt sad.
  • People want passion. People want a sense of purpose. And when they get those things, then they come back to you because you predicted their future, and it was good.
  • People in pain don’t generally sleep well. Insomniacs are exquisitely grateful for people to recognize their weariness.
  • They had to own a thousand books, easy. Thick, impressive, smart-people books. How do you keep a thousand books in one room and then call the room a den?
  • So the house had been a compromise: The husband wanted vintage, Susan wanted new, so they thought this outside/ inside split might settle things. But the Burkes ended up more resentful than satisfied. Millions of dollars later, and neither of them were happy. Money is wasted on the rich.
  • “I’ve been studying you. You’re interesting. You know something bad is going to happen, right? I’m curious.”
  • Robert hanged himself from a beam in his room. He had apparently dressed up for the occasion: he wore a blue Sunday suit, covered in his parents’ blood. It was still wet from drowning his little brother.
  • “Miles told me last night, quite calmly, that he was going to kill us,” she said. “And I actually worry… because… Wilkie…” She was crying again. “Oh, God.”
  • It’s just how she is. It’s how she makes her living: She defines and eliminates problems. She’s practical in an evil way.”
  • His kid is dead because he wanted a hand job. His wife was forced to defend her family and kill because he got a hand job. That horror and guilt—he’ll never be able to make it up to her. Which is the point.”
  • It’s not hard to find a kid that might look like me. Especially if you have a person who is willing to believe. A sucker. Like you.”
  • Because you know you’re not going to show up at the cops. I assume someone like you has a criminal record.”
  • “Let’s just remember that when you have two parents who hate each other and are always working or traveling and would like you out of their lives anyway, you can say a lot of things. You have a lot of room to work with. So you really don’t need to worry.
  • “Sleep tight,” Miles said. “Don’t leave in the night, or I’ll call the cops and go back to the kidnap story. I promise that’s the last time I’ll threaten you, I don’t want to be an asshole.

3.22.17 This Man of Mine 

Did you know we met online? Or that he told me he loved me after 3 dates? Or that 2 weeks into our relationship I knew he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with?


Meredith: “Do you have what it takes? If your marriage is in trouble, can you weather the storm? When the ground gives way and your world collapses, maybe you just need to have faith. And trust that you can survive this together. Maybe you just need to hold on tight. And no matter what, don’t let go.”


God knew what he was doing when he created these dimples and I thank him every day he’s mine. I vowed to him in front of our family and friends on November 12, 2016:  “Lastly, I promise to you perfect love and perfect trust, for one lifetime with you could never be enough.”

3.20.17 What Makes Me, Me?

Friday I posted a blog about ALS and how it doesn’t make sense. It’s pretty sappy and depressing, so read at your own risk.

That post has infiltrated all of my thoughts and has manifested itself into this rambling. Enjoy!

According to MDA, “In ALS, nerve cells that control muscle cells gradually die. In most cases, the cause is unknown. As these motor neurons die, the muscles they control become weak and then nonfunctional. Eventually, the person with ALS may become paralyzed.

Without assistive technologies such as mechanical ventilation and feeding tubes, the average life expectancy is three to five years after an ALS diagnosis…Modern technology has allowed people with ALS to compensate to some degree for almost every loss of function, making it possible even for those with almost no muscle function to continue to breathe, communicate, eat, travel and use a computer…

Roughly half of all people with ALS exhibit some symptoms of cognitive impairment at some stage in their disease. Often, these cognitive changes are mild and include experiences like difficulty paying attention in conversations, trouble concentrating or finding words, and difficulty shifting attention from one thing to another.”

To sum it up: I’m going to lose all ability to do anything for myself, including breathing, and I’m going to maintain most if not all of my cognitive function with a front row seat to my physical depreciation. One would think that if you did have to sit and watch yourself deteriorate, losing your mental capacity might be preferable.

So what makes you, you? Or me, me? I doubt anyone would write home about my handwriting or how I hold a toothbrush, but I feel fairly certain that my love for traveling and the ability to do so are part of my being. I can’t imagine anyone would miss my snoring, but breathing on my own is something I’ve done for 30 years and if no one else missed it, I definitely would. I am certain that you could find plenty of others to join your crusade to reduce the amount of words that flow freely from my mouth on a daily basis, but surely that over abundance of words is part of my Sunny-ness.

So who am I if I can’t travel? Or breathe on my own? Or talk? None of these abilities are the first thing that I use to describe myself to others- Hi, I’m Sunny and I can breathe all by myself! Can you imagine interchanging fun description words like loud, giggly, and full of life with descriptions like breathing by ventilation, feeding by tube, or communication through computer?

If I consider breathing on my own, chewing my food, and using my mouth to speak all parts of what makes me, me then does the loss of these abilities make me not me? Is that how one determines their personal definition of quality of life? Is that where one draws the line of extrodinary measures? Do extenuating circumstances only apply to death bed situations or do they come into play when your death is long and drawn out?

Is it like a buffet? I’ll go for the feeding tube but ventilator life is out of the question? As I’ve mentioned before, and what point does your options shift from quantity (years) to quality (machine controlled living)? And is it okay to inflict that level of decision making on someone else i.e. my husband? Ultimately, is this even really my decision? Should I get a say in how much pain and agony I inflict on those around me in the form of constant care because I chose quantity over quality? Shouldn’t it be up to Kenneth how long we want to prolong the inevitable? Isn’t this exactly like putting the family dog to sleep because of old age, pain, and to be put out of his misery?

Why is it common practice to have these discussions and make these decisions for our family dog out of mercy but not our wife? Does that even make sense? If what makes me, me is gone, can we move into a conversation of mercy? If not for my sake, then for the sake of my husband? Or our marriage? Or my family?

Until we get to that point in this fun game called ALS, I’m going to enjoy the Sunny days as me, Sunny Brous Erasmus.

2. Grey’s Anatomy

7.11.17 Completed! whew

So at Christmas my Mom brought up this question: What is your most memorable TV moment?

Izzie lying on the bathroom floor after Denny died


Derek proposing to Meredith in the elevator with x-rays


Meredith realizing that 007 – John Doe laying in the bed after saving a lady from being hit by a bus is George

13 seasons of pure, exhilarating, heart wrenching, raw greatness. I’m so excited to see McDreamy, Ellis, McSteamy, Little Grey, George, Denny, Dr. Burke, and Izzie …

this addition to the list was a no brainer!

 season 1

season 1 shocker (non syphilis version):

Season 2

Season 2

This has been better than I ever imagined: my strong, superhero of a husband has fallen in love with this show as much as I have. I am enjoying going through this experience again with him seeing it for the first time.  

Season 3

Season 4

Season 4 was boring but necessary. Excited for season 5

Season 5

Season 5 is over, George is dead and Izzie is kicking cancers ass. 

Season 6

Mercy West merger and addition of Jackson and April 😍

Mr. Clark’s Wife

Season 6, wow just wow 😳 Bring on Season 7

“I asked her to marry me and a truck came out of nowhere.”

it’s also the singing episode and kenneth is ready to scream 😂

baby Zola

baby Sofia

the wedding 

season 8 starts off with a bang 

sinkhole

Henry died