There. I said it.

And it’s not just because she’s in Ireland right now. Although I have to hand it to my mom and her crappy timing, seems like whenever I really need her she’s in a foreign country. Last time I cried out for my mom? She was in Turkey. Don’t even get me started on the time she was in Africa and that other time she was in Nepal.

Pfft. Stupid mom and your stupid passport.

It hasn’t always been like this. I remember the first time she left the country, it was to Italy. There was a sort of comfort knowing that my mom was going to be thousands upon thousands of miles away (sorry mom!)

Needless to say there was a time my mom and I didn’t get along. Like, at all.

Then I had a kid. Her grandbaby. And I realized all this stuff Addie does to me, the unending questions, the poop, the sobbing, the drama, the whining, the barf, the sleepless nights and HOLY COW DID I MENTION THE QUESTIONS? I did all of that to my mom. Plus she let me live through my teenage years so on top of everything listed above? I also did all that nasty teenagery stuff to her too (really sorry mom!)

And for the most part?

She did it alone.

Like any good daughter with issues I spent a lot of years blaming her and our crappy relationship for most (if not all) of my problems (so..so sorry mom!) Then one day it dawned on me that my mom didn’t have any formal training, and if I didn’t have any idea what I was doing as a teenager? I know for a fact she didn’t have any idea what to do with me either.

As much as I firmly believe it sucks, I am a grownup. And real grownups don’t blame their problems on other people. Especially not their mom who not only kept them alive, but allowed them to live past 15.

So yes, I miss my mom. I miss how much time I lost with her because I was so busy being selfish. I miss her because she’s alone. I miss her because she’s half a world away.

photo by my kim.

But mostly I’m thankful to have a mom to miss.

Now it is time for you to join in- You are invited to log onto www.thankyoumom.com and enter to win a travel voucher to help cover the cost of a special reunion with their mom or mom figure in their life.  Contest entrants must submit a 100 word essay describing why they’d like to be united with their mom.  Approximately 15 winners will be chosen every month through the Thanksgiving holiday.

Be sure to vote on your favorite entries for the Thank You Mom Reunions here.

This post is part of the P&G Thank You Mom Reunion Campaign through Blissful Media Group.

I feel I should tell you the following story to save you some strife/embarrassment/pride issues for the future.

Or maybe I’m the only one who attracts demoralizing activities like a moth to a flame.

And then blogs about them.

First, there was the treadmill.

Then there was announcing the treadmill situation to a room full of 800 strangers.

Then there were the Brazilians.

Now there’s the spray tan.

Now I’ve had a spray tan before, you get naked, spread some lotion on the rough parts, put a net on your hair and strike a series of Egyptian poses in a booth with a bunch of spray guns aimed at your bare pale flesh.

This last weekend I figured, “Hey! I’d like to buy myself a tan!” So I found a local joint in my new town, exfoliated and set out.

When she led me back to the room I went over the checklist in my head.

Lock on the door? Check.

Hairnet? Check.

DHA smell? Check.

Lotion…no…hmm.

Booth…check…wait….no sprayers…NO SPRAYERS IN THE BOOTH.

no check….NO CHECK!!!

Just then the nice lady informed me that I was to strip down to my underpants, position myself just so in the sprayerless booth, knock on the wall and she’d come back in.

SHE’D COME BACK IN.

SHE WAS THE SPRAYER.

HER. WITH EYEBALLS.

My face drained of color and was then replaced with a pink flush.

“Um, so, I feel like I should introduce myself since we’re about to, well, you’re about to see me really naked. Hi. I’m Casey, I like to take pictures, I have a few tattoos. I like cats more than dogs. I used to be fat!”

She was even more embarrassed that I had no idea that she was going to be the one doing the work.

I never even found out her name.

Nine years. Phew. One third of my life with the same man.

Technically we started out as kids, 19 and 22.

Now we’re 28 and 31, he’s a lawyer, we have a kid, a mortgage and matching scars.

You see, last October we almost didn’t make it.

Since you can’t see me I’ll just have to tell you that typing that out brought tears to my eyes and a pain to my chest.

We were very private about our struggle. Our tiny apartment became ground zero. We didn’t leave the house much. We spent a lot of time in bed holding onto each other wondering how the hell we ended up where we were. Our eyes were itchy and puffy from the constant stream of tears. The TV wasn’t turned on. Very little food was eaten. Even fewer words were spoken.

We had both let ourselves grow so far apart from each other.

Growing up there was an old writing desk in our front room. I never really paid attention to it unless I needed a pen or a place to hide a treasure. Nobody really paid attention to it. It was just there. When my parents divorced, my dad took the desk and my mom was livid. I was only six at the time, but I remember how mad she was when we came home and found the desk gone.

Our marriage had become that desk. We used it when we needed it, but never really thought much about it, because it was always there when we needed it. Then, through a series of events, that desk was taken away from us and we had the choice to either fight for the old one or go shopping for new desks, on our own.

We both chose to fight.

The last time I stayed with my dad I really looked at that desk for the first time in 27 years. And you know what? It’s a great desk. A desk worthy of fighting over. I can see why my mom was so angry it was gone. I wonder now as I look back if that desk didn’t symbolize a whole lot more to my parents than simply a pretty place to hold pens and envelopes.

Last night at dinner Cody asked me what my favorite moment of the last nine years has been. His was when I walked down the aisle…which probably explains why a lot of you mentioned it looks like he wants to eat me in our ceremony photo.

“I may have been scared going into June 16 2001, but when I saw you walking down the isle all I could feel was complete excitement. I realized that marriage didn’t need to be scary because it meant that I got to spend forever with you.

I still feel the same way.”

In that moment he knew he wanted to be married and that he wanted to be married to me.

Mine is the night I was lying in his lap two weeks after meeting him.

In that moment I knew I wanted to be married and I wanted to be married to him.

And so we did, we are and always will be.

10 Christmases.

2 apartments.

1 house.

6 different addresses.

10 bishops.

4 cars.

1 bed.

3 couches.

8 different jobs.

6 different schools.

5 graduations.

1 bed.

5 TV’s.

4 major surgeries.

2 hospital stays.

18 different states.

23 birthdays.

1 pregnancy.

1,000s of tries.

18 pillows.

28 curtains.

5 objects thrown in anger.

2 speeding tickets.

4 accidents.

120 lbs. gained.

100 lbs. lost.

50 lbs. gained.

12 in-laws.

5 nephews.

1 niece.

8 computers.

8 phone numbers.

1 close call.

283,824,000 seconds.

4,730,400 minutes.

3,285 days.

468 weeks.

108 months.

9 years.

phew.

Hi PR Person!

I just came across your company website, what a great font you’re using! I noticed that you represent stuff I like so I’m reaching out to you because I know you’ll appreciate my blog, moosh in indy. I’m working to improve how much stuff I have, my online visibility and get my name onto every major PR list out there and I’m contacting you to help me do it!

moosh in indy is probably the best blog on the internet and when you visit you’ll be excited to find:

• pretty pictures!
• very few swear words!
• blunt honesty!
• all sorts of information about my life!
• funny stories!
• links to all my favorite stuff!

You are also probably going to want to check out my photography blog, caseymullinsphotography.com. You can also follow me on twitter! Subscribe to my blog and check out my fan page on facebook!

Your fellow PR friends will love to read my blog! So tell everyone! I of course have no intention to do much for you in return, I’d love to send you some of my business cards! Just think how lucky you are that I told you about my blog and that I’m giving you the opportunity to read it! People love my blog! You will too!

Take care and feel free to throw my blog name around liberally and be sure to email me when you’ve got your press release on how awesome I am written up and published! Thanks!

-Casey Mullins

master of my own domain

Indianapolis, IN

318-836-1736

I have really comfy couches, have I ever told you that?

I like to be on them in the evenings. Hanging out with Cody, maybe some popcorn.

Last night I was not on them. Instead we were standing in a little club in the hipster area of Indianapolis known as Fountain Square. I was full of bangers and mash (not so much for me thanks!) Cody was full of meatloaf (mine is better!) and Emily and Michael were full of good spirits (see, beer!) seeing as this was their first real night out since Mr. Rage hit the scene.

We were invited to be guests of the band One EskimO (who if you’ve never heard of them, do not fret! you are not the only one, but I assure you will be hearing more about them quite soon because they are lovely. Pandora puts them in with Ingrid Michaelson, Passenger, Dave Matthews and Joshua Radin. ( Also? The desire to put the lead singer in my pocket and take him home was very, very strong.)) and guess what? It was the first concert Cody and I have been to since Collective Soul back in, oh, 2001.

I quickly remembered why Cody and I are not huge concert people. We prefer our ears not ringing. That and given the fact I barely break the 60″ mark this is generally my view at concerts.

Emily and Michael on the other hand are big concert goers, and I’m going to say it has something to do with Michael’s view being more like this.

Needless to say Emily and I were happy crowd shopping. (You know, where you get bored craning your neck to see something or with the general activities around you (see, basketball) so you look around at everybody and decide what looks could or could not work for you.) There was a very lovely blonde with a fedora but Emily and I wrote that one off because neither of us are tall enough (or blonde enough) to handle a fedora.

Emily and I had been debating watches. I am a loyal Fossil watch wearer (they last forever!) and there just happens to be a Fossil/Michael Kors twinner watch that Emily has been coveting for a while.

We debated the bling factor, the expense, the teething baby…

Suddenly a watch pops up right in front of us, one that fits the exact description of the watch Emily wants. As true crowd shoppers, we asked her about the watch.

“It’s Michael Kors.”

Part of me was like “WHO NAME DROPS THEIR WATCH AT A CONCERT?” while the other part of me was all “IT’S A SIGN FROM THE WATCH GODS!”

I’m not sure what Emily’s ultimate watch choice will be, but…crowd shopping FTW! You know you do it too.

It was fun to go out with Cody, we both really liked the band, we just didn’t like the whole hot/being around other people/not on our couches/late night thing. Lame. I know.

Know what else is lame? Put a point and shoot in my hands and I have no idea how to take a proper picture.

(We did receive free admission to the concert thanks to my (unpaid) partnership with One2One network.)

Two years ago I gave myself a challenge “Learn to love this stupid state.”

I was ready to just settle for like. Or even complacent regard.

I tried to take pretty pictures of Indiana. The barns, the corn the poor excuses for sunsets.

All the while grumbling to myself. “Stupid state, grow up and get some terrain or something.”

I even started a flickr photo set titled “Around Indianapolis” and just below it says “One of my goals is to fall in love with this city through my lens.”

That photo set currently holds 449 pictures. 449 pictures taken in Indianapolis of everything from fried Pepsi to Barack Obama’s visit before the election. Pictures from the track of the Indy 500 share the same space as local WWII vets both alive and deceased.

I even wore a Colts hat and shirt (on purpose) in Nashville around a bunch of Saints fans (including Harry Connick Jr.) the night before the Superbowl.

(Indy girls represent.)

You guys?

I fell in love with Indiana.

And I never even saw it coming.

(I heart Indiana necklace from Tru.che.(For the record? At this moment there’s no I heart Utah necklaces in her shop. So there.))

Tonight we let Addie stay up late. This time of year our backyard is magical. Thousands of fireflies. Thousands.

Disneyworld has nothing on our backyard.

I tried my hardest to get even one picture.

Magical right?

Uh. Here’s the thing.

Cody has 24 bug bites.

I have about 14.

To make matters worse, Cody tried to catch a firefly for Addie.

Well. He did catch a firefly for Addie.

A firefly that was being eaten by a giant spider.

Addie couldn’t run away fast enough.

At least she won’t want to stay up late to see the fireflies anymore?