Dana Bowman Creative

Middle School Dances and Not Attempting the Lift

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I guess I should start by saying I did ask permission before I wrote this.

Back when my wee cherubs were wee babies, I did not ask permission before I wrote about them. Permission seemed fussy. Babies are wee and adorable. That’s in their contract. Asking them IF I could write about them seemed like an extra step, and I am not one for the *middle man. They did cute stuff. I wrote about it.

But now, we are into the teen years. And I must tread carefully. Therapy is not cheap.

A few weeks ago, I signed up to chaperone my sons’ first school dance of the year. I don’t really know why I say yes to stuff like this since I am:

  1. An elite introvert
  2. Anti-loud
  3. In love with my bed and being in it by 8 pm

But as is the way of the Dana, sometimes I think something sounds fun, and I sign up for it. “That sounds fun,” I thought, when I saw the email about the dance, asking for food and drink and, you guessed it, Adult Volunteers. “I think I’ll sign up for it.”

Reader, if anyone has ever introverted as hard as I introvert, you know what happens when we sign up for stuff. On the day of the event, the Ghost of Introverts Past barges in, all clangy, and says, “UM I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE.” But in this case I had a hack: Ask the husband to come too, so he can be your buffer. (Also I really wanted to go so I could spy on my children.)

Brian has buffered for me for a long time. He is absolutely unaware of this. Whenever we go to a social event I prep him like this: “Do NOT leave my side. Unless I have to go to the bathroom. Then I want you to stand right outside the door. Not weird at all. Also, look for my secret signal for when I’d like to leave. You might want to stay longer, but I will not be able to, so you have to bow to my will.” Then he chortles and asks “Is your secret signal when you take your shirt off and wave it around your head?” which, if you think about it, might be pretty effective. 99% of the time when I give him the signal he is “having a good time” and “not paying attention” or “eating little sausages” and I’m kinda adrift.

In the middle school dance situation, I could not signal to Brian to leave early, as we had chaperone duties, and one of those duties is to not leave early.

Also, the shirt thing would have been way problematic in this context.

So, we did arrive, and I helped kids with their entrance fees, while I cooed at them about their super-cute outfits, and the music thumped its way into my semi-circular canals.

The theme for this dance was Palpable Awkwardness.

So, the thing is, I seem to have a really good memory of my junior high dances (It was junior high back then, not middle school. I am team “junior high.” Middling at anything is annoying and just reminds us we’re itching to get beyond it. Being in the middle is only preferable when you’re at a football game and it’s 27° and there’s a blanket.)

I remember the dances. I remember the darkness and the thumpy music and the longing. Purple Rain was my first slow dance. An excellent choice. I was led to the dance floor by David Silverman, my first love, who turned to face me and extended his arms parallel to the floor, a la Frankenstein, and then placed them firmly on my shoulders like he was about to give me a pep talk. I did the same, and we then stepped side to side with absolutely no ability to: 1. Make eye contact 2. Actually enjoy this moment because we were freaked out.

When the song ended we just sort of lifted our hands up and wafted away, leaving a trail of Brut and weird in our wake. And I HAVE NEVER FORGOTTEN IT OMG IT WAS AMAZING.

And that’s when I looked up at Brian and it slowly dawned on me. Hey… Brian was taller than David Silverman. And I was suddenly emboldened to do something I had always wanted to do. I asked a boy to dance.

It also helps that The Time of My Life had just started playing, and you all know the truth of it:

NOBODY PUTS DANA IN A CORNER.

Reader. We danced. At some point Brian backed up a bit and said, “Come on, let’s do the lift!” which made me ask him if he had done some drugs before dance, but I assure you, he had not.

(Has anyone else noticed that this post mentions taking off clothes and drugs? That’s weird.)

We danced, and at some point I actually looked around and saw that one of my wee babies was dancing with a girl too. We locked eyes. The theme of the dance really came through strong in that moment. But that’s a blog for another day.

For the remainder of the time, I maintained No Contact with my boys. The dj did kind of ruin the mood when she started playing Whip Nae Nae as our song ended, and I had to go wash my eyeballs after watching a 7th grade boys gyrate to it. He looked like he was having a seizure. Then the dj played Taylor Swift’s Love Story, which was basically whipping them into a frenzy. Brian and I camped out at the cookie table. We finished out the evening with a lot of shriek-singing and I think my older son rolled his eyes so hard he hurt his face.

But memories were made. I did a slow dance with my husband.

And I did, in fact, have The Time of My Life.

Whip NO.

*I just now noticed that I talk later in this article about how I don’t like middles and oh my goodness this is amazing writing. #pulitzer

Want a bit of Pie and Coffee in your mailbox for a creative lift? You’ll get a Magic Morning freebie on the side! Click here. Eat dessert first, friends!! Get thee to the cookie table. 🙂

I like pie

Here you go: My Annual Top Ten Thankfuls!

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I don’t really remember how long this tradition goes back in my blog. I know I’ve been posting my thankfuls wayyyy back on Momsie (the blog that started it all). Here’s one that I wrote the PROVES BRIAN AND I ARE STILL MARRIED , which was an exciting read. Also, there’s lots of badly lit pictures of Steve on that post, so there you go. Biggie Meows ALWAYS was on my thankful list, and yes I still miss him.

And as one who really understands the concept of gratitude (being in recovery is an automatic pass into Land Of The Super Grateful because we can’t help ourselves. We’ve made it out alive, after all. Not everybody gets to be so lucky) I LOVE to post my Top Ten Thankfuls. It just makes me happy.

So away we go:

10. New opportunities. I am currently working on getting certified to become a book coach with these folks. The program is a LOT. Like, I think it will take me about six months if not longer to get there. There’s homework. My sons and I work together now, muttering and typing (why do muttering and typing always seem to go together?) But the program is exciting as it is rigorous, and as a writing instructor AND a writer, I think it will be a perfect fit.

9. Running. I’ve been running at least three times a week now. I started out walking every other block, and now I am able to run it all. 🙂 I’m proud of myself for this. Last year, I had pretty much decided running was no longer possible, but I really missed it. I missed the feeling of my feet on the pavement, and that glorious and painful sprint at the end. I missed the cold mornings. So, look at me, running again. It’s a flipping miracle. Also, on the days that my run feels like I’m jogging through peanut butter I’m going to go back and read this post to, uh, adjust my attitude. I think that should be a new hashtag, btw. #peanutbutterrun

8. Um… my health? I don’t know how to sum this up, but this past year health-wise has been, to say the least, challenging. Hearing issues have been a big problem. I have tinnitus, and so my ears are always doing this weird shrieky thing (Have you seen Dumb and Dumber? The most annoying sound in the world? Yea, that. (By the way, I have actually never seen Dumb and Dumber in its entirety. My husband, however, has seen it multiple times. This pretty much sums up our marriage.) And then there’s menopause, where your hormones attack you and make you feel crazy about it. At one point, about 8 months ago, I wondered if this was just it. If I was going to feel like crud forever. Guess what? I am indeed not going to feel like crud forever! I am crud-free about 75% of the time! It’s fabulous!

7. Steve. There, I said it again. I’m grateful for him, and how much I loved him, and that my eyes still tear up pretty much anytime I think about him. I am grateful I loved my big boi so much. He was my furry muse.

Biggy Paws

6. And so… Rey.

She’s trying very hard to come in between me and my laptop.

Rey has been a great comfort to me while I grieve for Sir Meows a Lot. She comes over and presses herself up against me, and then tries to crawl in my lap which is awkward because the girl can take up SPACE. I admire her confidence. I always imagine she’s just sort of softly muttering as she attempts the lap-sneak, all “Pardon me… say… I might sit… don’t mind me I’m just gonna.., yes, HERE we go… oopsie, ok, just gonna squeeze through while I… ” and voila! Really uncomfortable cuddles! Watch this vid to get a glimpse of it in action. It is a thing of beauty.

5. My husband.

Also, he’s tall.

His name is Brian and he is often mentioned here. I wrote pages and pages about him in both my books. He’s a never-ending fountain of somewhat annoying but well-loved material. When I did stand-up last summer, 99.8 % of my material was under the heading: WHY. HE KEEPS DOING THIS and it was a hit. The best part is he sat there during the set and laughed too. That’s because he is generous and loving and has a lot of patience, which come to find out is shockingly necessary when you’re married to me.

4. It seems rather like I should put my sons in here too. Right? Right.

My fourteen-year old is now as tall as I am, and he is learning to drive. While this is occuring (the driving not the height), and I have the misfortune of actually being in the car with him at the same time, I have learned to practice deep-breathing and what I like to call “Shrieky-whisper-prayer-driving.” Charlie is smart and focused and will probably run a large corporation one day because his absolute passion in life is telling other people what to do. So, go forth and boss people around, my son. I adore you.

My twelve-year old, Henry, smiles and winks at me about 67% of the time as he gets out of the car to go to school. He is also smart and driven and won’t ever run a large corporation because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. He dreams of making it into the Air Force and flying planes. Without hurting anyone’s feelings. He has the attention span of a a very nice squirrel toddler on crack, but I forgive him because also he really loves my cooking. I adore you.

3. Sayings like: It’s always darkest before the dawn.

What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.

We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on, keep on dancing all through the night.
We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on doing it right (Ok, I stole that from the Brady Bunch).

If this year had been a motivational poster, I’m the kitten.

I mean… I guess there are worse things.

Who else had this poster ?? My sister had it on her wall 🙂

Here’s the thing. It is actually pretty dark before the dawn. But then, WHAMMMO. Dawn happens. Like every day.

And, I am strong. I was doing a plank earlier and Rey came and laid ON me (Again with the “lemme just… pardon me… I’m just going to sit right on here… “) so I’m basically ready for an Ironman.

And there has been some grooving in my life lately. A lot in fact. I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.

2. Yellow Converse.

Through the magic of Tiktok (something I thought I would never hear myself say, tbh) I have found funky, colorful, creative women who thrift weird art and like to play around with clothes. Sometimes they even pair (*gasp) plaids with stripes. The whole #wearwhatyoulove thing is a hashtag I can get behind. It started when I had to get more headshots for speaking things, and I decided to bring two pairs of shoes: pointy serious ones or my yellow converse. My photographer asked me, “Which ones make you feel more like you?” Yellow converse it is. It seemed, at the time, an audacious move. But then I asked myself, “What Would Brene Do?” and I wore them. And from there, it’s been a joyride into color and texture and just loving the creativity of it all.


1. Faith. Both in God and in humanity. Perhaps this won’t make sense to some of you. Some might feel like faith is a cliche. Or a speck of something, insignificant or annoying. Some might thing also that humanity has been circling the Great Toilet Bowl of Life for a while now (social media really has a handle on that and I really do hope you saw what I did there). I completely agree. As one who has found my faith shooketh all over the place in the past year, which also, not so very coincidentally, cracked open my Pollyanna-ish views of people in high places… it’s been a lot. It’s been hard. I have been frustrated and overwhelmed and at one point, I just told God I was mad at him and I wanted to break up. I’d been duped. I didn’t sign up for this. I wanted my flannel-graph Jesus back.

But, Jesus persisted. In his most human and godlike form (no flannel unless hipster Jesus?), he sat with me through it all. And then he walked with me, read with me, prayed with me. He didn’t give up on me. I’m not going to give up on him.

Besides. He helped me get sober and for that I owe him my life. Just my life. Nothing more.

So, there you go! My Top Ten Thankfuls. I would like to add one more as a bonus. It’s my blog and I can do what I want:

You. I am grateful for you, my dear reader. You are such a blessing to me.

Have a very Happy Thanksgiving and remember:

#eatdessertfirst

Waddle on, my sober friends. I am grateful for you. You know who you are 🙂

Wine and Writing Don’t Mix

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Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. The story of me and a very large, clunky Remington typewriter is on my first blog, Momsie – the blog where I wrote about momhood, babies, husbands, and pets (Steve. I wrote about Steve). Click on the image below for a blog post from Momsie about Steve’s squeak-purr:

https://momsieblog.com/2017/02/17/weak/

I remember when I first started Momsie – I told my friend Christy that “everyone and their dog has a blog” – but she convinced me that dogs were not really my demographic and that I just needed to focus on Steve because he was a total cash cow.* Thus, Momsie was born.

It was a relief to write. It was easy. The stories were just so plentiful. My kids were great material; they were so cute**, and I could throw my words out there and offer up some laughter for the four or five folks who actually read me.

But also, Momsie was born out of a very real desperation (in my recovery circles some would call it the “gift of desperation”) to handle my new sobriety. I needed something to do. I needed someone to be. The blog saved me. It took my poor, mushy brain that was slowly starting to un-mush (medical terms are my thing) and it soothed it.

At camp, when you take the crumpled old t-shirt that your mom reminded you last minute to toss into the bottom of your backpack, and you rubberband the living daylights out of it and toss it in dye? That’s writing. (Notice how well I’m explaining this? #Pulitzer).

I mean – you have this rumpled, frayed thing, and then you twist it, fiddle with it, not really sure what you’re doing at all or where you’re going with it… And then the dye starts to seep in, slowly, all crazy and winding with rivulets and tributaries of saturation. And the end result? It’s a cacophony of color.

If you haven’t gathered, I totally have all my 70’s tie dye shirts still. They’re stretchy crop tops now, but that’s in style. #influencer

No, I’m not wearing the t-shirts/crop tops anymore. One did fit Steve, but he was so mortified that I forgot to take pictures and this is a tragedy so breathtaking I need to stop writing about it right here.

With Momsie, I wrote because the words just kinda came out of my fingers. My husband bought me a used laptop for my birthday, and then I had someplace mobile for the words to go. I could write at the park. I could write in bed. I could write while Red was trying to learn to use the potty and I had to sit outside the bathroom for hours until my butt fell asleep and I would end up eating all the bribery M and M’s. Pain is a great motivator for writing.

And Momsie was born, and grew and thrived. The rest was history.

Well, no. Actually, it’s not history – it’s my life right now. The words still have to come out of me pretty much every day or my brain goes all wonky. The colors must out, as it were.

There were a bunch of articles that came out in the early 2000’s about how alcohol was good for creativity. This was paired along with the whole “red wine is good for your heart” thing, which was soooooo my thing back when I was drinking. Lookit. I’m drinking four glasses of red wine! YOU KNOW, CUZ IT’S GOOD FOR MY HEART.

Yea. Turns out, the heart thing is not true.

And the whole, “artists need alcohol to create” thing? It’s total crapola.

Our muse is not a bottle. It’s in us.

My colors are completely Dana-Generated. I don’t use anything outside of myself and my own experiences for their saturation. This is what works best for me. Dana-generated colors cause a daily bloom of gratitude. It’s the ultimate “look what I made!” – every day.

Thanks for the listen, and, as always, I’m grateful for you, my dear readers.

Where are the colors in your life?


*cashcat

* *They are still cute.

This is marriage. Episode #228485

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Marriage, ya’ll. It’s a rush, right?

Brian and I have been married now for… a while. I always say we’ve been married for about ten years or so. Brian tells me it’s 16 because math wins, but to me, ten is a nice, round number that sticks with you.

Also, I tend to still think 1990 is like, ten, twelve? Ish? Years ago?? Right????

You get the idea.

This year, our wedding anniversary landed on the world’s hottest day because I am a teacher, and so we had to get married (16 years ago) in July. As all teachers do. And we celebrated it by me doing standup where I roasted Brian for my entire set, and he affably laughed throughout.

Here’s a wedding day picture (from 16 years ago). Brian was totally sunburnt because he went golfing the day prior with his friends while I was running around like crazy trying to make sure we had a wedding. As is the way.

Also I am really fixated on the ceiling?

Initially, for my stand up routine, I had written up a 20 minute set about Steve, the amazing recovery cat. Steve was always a solid source of material as he was a really, really solid cat. Literally. But, you know, Steve is happily lying in the sun somewhere up in heaven and don’t you dare email me about my theology. Cats go to heaven.

Or at least Steve did because he was divine.

Ok, I’ll stop with the puns about Biggie Meows. I really loved that cat though. You know that.

As it is Labor Day weekend, I have spent a large part of it laboring on our house (Laundry. Why is there so much laundry) and trying not to resent the family for it. I work from home which means I try to write and then do laundry in between. But this morning? I actually just made a long list of chores for the boys and left the house. I am currently sipping cold brew and, as always, working on the BIG BOOK PROPOSAL which I swear is almost done.

But the best thing? I gave the husband a kiss and had this conversation:

Me: The boys have a list. Can you make sure they get it done? And by done, like… they do it properly? I’m pretty sure Blonde’s version of mopping the kitchen doesn’t even involve water. Maybe he just hopes it clean, like a mop fairy. *claps hands a la Tinkerbell*

Brian: *totally misses Tinkerbell thing but oh well* Sure. You go write.

He might not be very adept at his Disney metaphors but he is supportive. I make very little cashola in the writing field, folks. I have, like, 7 followers. My “platform” is wobbly and I post funny things on the Tiktoks because they make ME laugh. So, in sum: I am not a big money-maker. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure this was not why Brian married me. As I was a high school English teacher when we met, Brian knew I wasn’t going to be raking in the dough.

But… sometimes this bothers me.

I don’t… contribute, you know? Or, at least I allow the bitchy accountant in my head to try to convince me of this, occasionally.

And then I remember that I am a mom and I contribute a whole heck of a lot to our family, to our lives, and I know that. I KNOW that. But it just is so very nice to have a supportive partner who says things like, “Sure. You go write” no matter what. He has told me that I am talented and funny and once when he was reading one of my articles he even chuckled under his breath which was the biggest compliment ever. If you are a writer, you know the total joy of hearing someone chuckle while they read your stuff. Unless, of course, you write just totally serious or sad stuff. I don’t know what to tell you then.

But I’m a funny lady and I write funny stuff. That chuckle kept me going for days. And I have used the word “stuff” way too many times here. #pulitzer.

BTW: Here is Brian dressed as Joseph-with-glasses for our Christmas church pageant thing. They asked him to be Joseph because he has a beard. But, when I think Joseph, I think Brian. He’s very spiritual.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that may you have a such a person in your life.

We all deserve a Brian.

Who I was, what happened, and who I am now. With PICTURES!!

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Trying to be brave and posting bare-faced.

So, it’s kind of hard to sum up addiction. Why do some folks get addicted to things… and others don’t?

I have no idea. For many years, when I first got sober, I asked myself, “Why can’t I drink? Why ME?”

Um, because I’m an alcoholic.

Yes, I know it’s circular reasoning, which, if you are a writing teacher is kind of a big no-no. But in this case? I’ll take it. I take “circular reasoning” and I’ll raise you a “Genetics are a part but there’s so much more” and leave it at that.

In the wise words of the epic rock legend, Avril Lavigne, “Why’d you have to make things so complicated?”

Because life. Life tends to be tricky.

So… I decided to share my recovery story with you…

BUT WITH PICTURES!

  1. We begin at the beginning but more like my 20’s.
2. This was a thing with me, and I didn’t really know it was a thing until much later. But I’m pretty sure I had a real issue with depression and anxiety from early on. I just ignored it.
3. I never actually did the splits when depressed. I didn’t do the splits at other times either.
In my life, I don’t do the splits. I have learned that about myself.
4. That’s me on the right. I’m mopping the floor. Generally speaking? I had the cleanest dorm room in the four state area.

And so… I present to you… *(drum roll please)





And wine worked.

Until it didn’t.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story where I get sober. WITH PICTURES!