Crazy Love

 

Inside my head is a jigsaw made of trillions and trillions and trillions of atoms. It might take a while.” 

― Nathan Filer

We are all struck with the deaths of the Reiner parents. Rob and his wife were killed by their son that they so deeply appeared to adore. Paricide is a term I learned today. It is when a child kills their parent.. in this case ‘parents’. Extremely uncommon. 

It appears to me that the Reiner’s only real struggle in life was protecting their son from himself. Rob Reiner even said that was a parents only REAL duty. 

We protect our kids from all the ouside forces in life…’Look both ways before crossing the street’, ‘Wear your seatbelt’, ‘Don’t hang around that friend’. But what if the danger is INSIDE your child? What if it is THEMSELVES that is the danger?

I cannot imagine (thankfully) what the parent of a child with mental illness endures. I cannot imagine what a child with mental illness experiences. It sounds to me that the ‘dark cloud’ that hovered over the family was years and years of hardship to the family. I imagine it was the first thing that Rob and his wife thought of when they opened their eyes each morning. It sounds to me that they tried to integrate their son into ‘normal’ life. They brought him to celebrity parties even. They didn’t HIDE him from their life. They lived WITH him and tried so desperately to be a normal family (whatever that means). 

There is a saying that mental illness is acceptable in the very poor and in the very rich. Drive down the street and peek at the homeless population. There they are right out in the open while you sip your Starbucks at a stoplight. And OoOooh the very rich can be extravagant and ‘out there’ and we watch them ‘perform’. But to be inside the walls of the homes of a child that struggles must be raw and painful and consuming. 

I imagine his 17 stints in rehab were in the best facilities. I imagine the drugs helped him quiet the millions of tabs that are open in his brain. I bet he thought it ‘helped’ him feel more, well, ‘normal’. I am sure that his self medicating was his only way of coping. 

I don’t know anyhting about this subject. I have friends with family members that struggle with their minds. I am sure there was some undisclosed mental issues somewhere in my family tree. I think it is more common than we think. I am sure that the Reiners ENTIRE family loved their son/brother/grandson/nephew as much as they could (or as much as he allowed). I imagine it must be difficult to be the child of a celebrity regardless of your mental state. I imagine it is hard to see success when all you want to do is close some of those open tabs in your brain and quiet the noise. I imagine it is quite noisy in there. 

“Trying to show that you have mental illness to somebody who’s never had it is like trying to describe a new color to the colorblind” is a quote that I read. They say living with mental illness is like constantly fighting a bear in a phone booth. I heard about the deaths of the Reiner’s I started researching mental illness. Losing your mind, which is what happened, is a terrible thing. I wanted to know what it must feel like. Sometimes these people ‘cure’ themsleves by self harming. Maybe the Reiner’s child thought that if he hurt himself it would destroy his parents. Maybe he thought he was a ‘bad child’ and was relieving his parents from his destruction. Maybe he didn’t think at all and just reacted. I have watched his videos and it is obvious that this strikingly handsome young man was awkward and uncomfortable. He knew it. Everyone knew it. But they tried to make him fit in. It sounded like that was all they ever did was TRY to make it better. Rob Reiner said in an interview that people with diplomas on their walls sitting at big desks more or less told him of the dangerous side of his son. He said, more or less, that they wanted to love the hurt out of him. They wanted to put their arms around him and do it as a family. And they did. 

Families are complex organisms. You never know really what is going on behind closed doors and inside peoples minds. The Reiner’s tried…my God did they try. I am sure that sometimes it felt like it was working. I am sure that many times it felt like it never would work. 

If your heart, lungs, or kidneys can fail, then a brain can as well. My heart goes out to the families during the holidays that are trying to make their family member fit in; to the families that are hoping that their child shows up to Christmas dinner; to the families that hope there won’t be a scene ‘this year’; to the families that hope that their child isn’t living ‘under a bridge’; to the families that have run out of hope. Desperation is LOUD. Sometimes you throw up your hands and say ‘well, we tried everything’; sometimes ‘it is what it is’. 

I am convinced that what happens in the homes of families facing mental illness is much diferent than we imagine. I am sure with every head held in their hands thinking they are never going to change, there are always rays of hope and love. I hope that these families are surrounded by friends and family that understand their struggle. A famous producer bringing his child to a party full of celebrities tells me that his friends knew that they were just trying everything they could do to pull their son out of his own mind.

Sometimes you just have to love them and pray for the best. As for the Reiner’s I pray for the family left behind and their son that will most likely be living in a physical prison, although he has been a prisoner of himself his entire life. Love your family regardless of their imperfections; regrdless of their struggles; regardless of their illness and continue to try to love them to health; regardless of the outcome…I guess.

Stepping Stones

 

Not sure how I woke up and immediately thought ‘How is 2025 almost over?”, “How is Christmas in 2 weeks?”. How did we get here so fast? 

What are we waitig for? I read a beautiful Substack article this morning. It was poetic and deep and meaningful. It was written they way that I like to read things and how I like to write. I remember an English teacher told me once that I use too many adjectives when I write. That is always great for a teenager’s ego and confidence to be a writer. NOT! 

I scrolled to the bottom of this article to read about the author… a wife and mother living in South Hampton…she mentioned her children’s ages and her husband’s name…I immediately thought ‘Sure she HAS the time to write’. I imagined her in a cozy chair curled up as she writes. I immediately think that I would love the leaisure time to just sit and write. 

I read one of her articles and she talks about doing things that you love to do before it is too late; before you are looking back on your life and thinking about the things you would do differenly. 

Heading into a new year usually makes everyone start creating their resolution lists. These lists are usually full of things we will do differently. They always have the ‘usual’ items like 

1. Make more money.
2. Spend time with family
3. Call Mom more often

Some of these are just ‘wishful thinking’…words that make us feel better about our current state of affairs. It is as if putting it on paper relieves us of some sort of guilt. 

I have become extrememly purposeful and intent driven when I make my resolution lists. I heard someone say, “Are you making a To Do List or a Wish List?”. Hmmm some of my items NEED to get completed. Some are mandatory for my business and success. Others are, well, a wish list! Things I would LIKE to have happen but, let’s face it, they probably won’t. Time and life often get in the way. 

Last year my resolution list was very business detailed. I am happy to say that I nailed it this year with my resolutions. Yes, I still have the list and YES I check it often. It is complete this year. I did it all. Now what? Just when you get done with your resolutions it is time to make new ones for the new year. 

This year will be different. The random author that I came across made me think… Why does the married author living in South Hampton, who writes every day, get to live her dreams of daily writing? Why did it hit a pang of jealousy with me? Why am I still thinking about her daily life? Why does she get to have all the fun? Why does my life look NOTHING like hers? Why me? Why me?

Why not me? Let me say it again and LOUDER for the people in the back. Why NOT me?

These days, I’m finding I just don’t have the bandwidth to worry about what anyone thinks of me. Maybe it’s the wisdom of a few more birthdays, maybe it’s feeling steady in my work, maybe it’s just the sweet comfort of knowing I’m doing just fine out here. Whatever it is, I’m deep into my “you know what? screw it—here’s the truth” chapter.

…and that is it! That’s the start of my Resolution List. I am channeling Nike and startting my list with Just Do It. Just effing DO IT! You want the things that a woman curled in a writing chair in the Hamptons…then do it. Create it! Do anything you have to do to get ‘er done. Work your ass off. Love with your whole heart. Appreciate where you came from and where you are…and where you are going. You want to write, then sit your butt down and start. Just start. You want a better life or a better body or a better outlook…just start. 

You see, a better life isn’t just bestowed to a select few. It isn’t just for those that you read about or those that worked hard when they were younger or those that had a better vision many years ago. It is those who WENT FOR IT. They got off their butts and made small changes that became habits that got them moving forward. 

I just read about the Dells. I often read about people and then become obsessed with them. My friends can tell you that about me. I hyper focus on someone. I focus so much on them that I almost stalk them (virtually). I find out as much about them as I possibly can to try to ‘figure them out’. I always need to find their WHY. So the Dells are not the Kardashians or the Besos. They live quietly and abundantly. Until last week when they donated $6.2 billion dollars to a cause they believe in. Click search the Dells. Click search the children. Click search the start up of the company. Click search the vision. Started in a garage with $1000. Started with a dream. Now, hello Dell computers. AHHHHH I love that crap! I loveeeee to hear and read and watch this. 

Why not me? I am not talking about creating a new infastructure. I am just sitting on my couch in an old robe, writing a crappy resolutions list. I am writing with a semi warm cup of coffee after having to throw out the last one since a tiny bug crawled in to it (win for the day was seeing it before the sip). 

What won’t be on my resolution list is family. My heart isn’t interested in padding a ‘to do’ list with things that should be automatic. My heart is reserved for the stuff that truly matters; the people who matter. My family doesn’t need a line item or a yearly reminder; they sit at the summit of my life, unshakable and untouchable. They’re the reason behind every choice, every late night, every early morning. They fill in all the cracks life leaves behind and light up every corner I walk into. They’re not a task to complete; they’re the whole point.

I can happily say that each year I get ‘better’. I am always a better version of the one I leave behing in the year prior. Some of my growth looks like giant movements and some are itsy bitsy tiny steps up a carefully placed (and often wobbly) ladder. But, hey, it’s still growth. Sometimes if all you can do is inch your way through life, then inch your way through life. If one carefully placed step is all you can do some days, then place that foot down and move. It doesn’t have to look grandious. It doesn’t have to be earth shattering. It doesn’t have to be noticed by anyone but yourself sometimes. 

Writing is a hobby of mine. I am adding it to my resolution list. I am going to write every Monday (and more if time allows)…what I am writing will gently unfold itself. What are your goals in 2026? Are they big or simply tiny steps to a better life? 

Well, here we go again...

I don’t get involved in politics. I am political. I have my beliefs. I don’t get involved in the back and forth. The ping pong views of us against them mentality. I don’t care what party you are with or who you voted for. We are Americans. We are free to vote for who we want and believe in any platform that fits our lives.

A 31 year old father of 2 little babies was shot while he was at work today. In front of 3000 people. And now in front of the nation. A father was eulogized by the President of the United States, who announced his passing. I run to Instagram to see what his private life looked like. I scan his wife’s Instagram specifically. They were at the Hotel Del Coronado playing in the sand just several weeks ago. A normal family. He wasn’t wearing his political party on his shirt. He wasn’t preaching on a Coronado corner. He was sitting in the sand with his baby Hazel and covering her feet in the sand. 

Several years ago my son Parker spear headed the Turning Point USA chapter at the University of Arizona as Vice President. My best frined Mikey went to many of his rallies. My childhood friend Tammy relentlessly worked the campaign for Turning Point. His name meant so much more to them than to me. He was an employer and a peer to them.

When you are in the spotlight you are within the pinpoint to the critical masses. Even today I saw a post that said, “But now can we worry about school shootings”…ya, we are fricking worrying about that, too! We are worrying about ALL of it. That is why a 31 year old father of 2 little girls mattered to us. He wasn’t gunned down for what he said on stage. He wasn’t gunned down becasue he was so hated by so many. He was gunned down becasue he was EFFECTIVE. He stood by his beliefs in God and family and ‘the greater good’ and the younger generation listened. He stood out on platforms such as X and Youtube and Twitter and TikTok. He spoke the language of the 20-30 somethings by posting on their virtual newspapers. He captivated a generation that would someday be OUR leaders and managers and restaurant owners and, yes, politicians. He reached the generation that would be our leaders. 

And then he ws killed. A mother is left wondering how she will raise her children and how she will bury her young husband. Parents are mourning the death of their 31 year old child. So, yes, don’t worry, we are still worrying about all the other crap filled things that happen in our world. Yes we still DO CARE about the people who don’t make the headlines. Atleast most of us do. We are just going to have to do it without a voice as strong as Charlie’s. Maybe some of you should have listened to his message a little closer… maybe instead of killing the messanger you can search for the message he was trying to tell us all.

Are you there God? It's me, Amy.

 

Being the Mom of a Marine is the best feeling in the world, and the worst feeling, all wrapped up in one. It’s tough, it’s beautiful, and it’s everything in between. 

I should be a wreck right now. My son was scheduled to leave last week for a mission. He would have been directly in the tiny space between Isreal and Iran. The fighting would have been going over him. We discussed worst case scenarios (which I tend to always focus on). We discussed horrible things like life insurance policies and the big 'What Ifs'. We discussed things that no parent would ever, ever, ever want to discuss with thier child, let alone anyone! Then multiple 30,000 pound bombs were dropped and my little worries for my son became worldwide news that effected the world. 

When a horrible event like a embassy bomb closed the airspace, we were spared the heartbreak, while so many others were (and are) trapped within it. He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t land. There was no airspace. His mission was abandoned. 

Today’s tiny blessing for me isn’t really a blessing at all and not at all tiny. There are military families that have family members ‘over there’…some that left days prior to when my son was to leave. 

Today I will send up a prayer for the mom who’s curled up in front of the TV, holding her breath and holding on. She’s never prayed like this before; loudly, silently, tearfully; hoping that somehow, some way, her words make it past the ceiling. That someone’s listening. That everything will be okay.

Are We There Yet?

30 years. I was writing a quick post for my daughter Hannah on her 30th birthday. As I sipped my 2nd cup of coffee of the morning, I started to think about 30 years and 'how quickly it goes'. I look at myself as a new Mom in pictures and videos and I miss that version of myself. I often think of myself as all the versions that I have been. In the 'new Mom version' I see a young girl full of worry that I wouldn't get it right. I see a Mom building a family and starting from scratch. A blank slate. Wondering if I get it right and doing everything to make sure that I DID get it right. I was building a family with bare hands and big dreams. I was starting from scratch, guided mostly by instinct and a quiet prayer. Every little decision felt like it mattered. Because it did.

Has 30 years really gone by 'in a flash'? We have been through a lot in 30 years. My hopes 30 years ago was that I would raise happy children. I wanted to make sure that they had strong core memories and stories to tell of a childhood that was full of wonder. 

As I sit here today, alone in my house while my children are most likely still asleep at their own houses, I feel at peace. We did it! I often listen to them tell stories about growing up to their friends. I even have their friends telling me that their own childhood was better because we impacted them in some way or some trip or some school event. We created this life that we are living in today. We did it together. It wasn't always easy; in fact, some of our hardest days often rise to the surface. But we did it with grace. We did it with love, We did it together; our tiny little team we call family.Welcome to what I’ve come to think of as the After Party — the quiet, meaningful season that follows all the building, the striving, the long nights and full days.

This is the space where the fruits of our labor ; the love we gave, the choices we made, the lessons we learned begin to show themselves in the lives we’ve shaped and the people we’ve become. I find myself hoping I get the gift of time; time to see what the next 30 years will hold. To watch grandbabies grow with the same sparkle I once saw in their parents’ eyes. To witness weddings and careers and ordinary days turn into extraordinary memories. There will be laughter, and maybe a few tears. New chapters will unfold before us. And somewhere along the way, we’ll turn to each other and say, “Wow, that went fast.”

But in truth… it didn’t.

It was full. It was layered. It was life. And we were here for all of it.

Tucked Inside A Tuesday

I think the name 'Hopscotch and Heels' doesn't fit my writings anymore. I started this writing journey when the kids were little and I was balancing being the ever-present Mom, while trying to maintain some sense of who I was, Hopscotch and Heels was created to show the juxtaposition between the dirty work of being a mom, both mentally and physically, and the sense of self, with trying to put the word 'glamorous' in front of the title of Mom. I was trying to wear a crowd while dripping in spaghetti sauce and hot football fields and horse barns. My crown resembeled more of a chauffeur's hat than anything that looked like a queen. As the years have passed I have dug the crown out from the back of some dusty closet and it still kinda fits...kinda. SO my writings have changed over the years. They have become more 'life' centered as we have empty-nested, and grandma'd, and widowed. The new blog name that will be out next week is Tucked Inside A Tuesday. 

As we get older (gulp) we start seeing the reality of life...it ends. Grandparents and parents are the hot topic on Facebook lately. It's our age! Our own parents are 'aging out'. More and more of us are having the first Father's Days and Mother's Days as 'orphans'. 

Tucked Inside a Tuesday. Life happens when you least expect it... sometimes on a Tuesday...randomly...when you're doing something else. Not just dying. Change. A spontaneous event can change your entire trajectory of where you thought you were going...sometimes it's for the better and sometimes, well, not. 

As I moved over the last month, I have had a LOT of 'unexepected encounters' with my past. I have discovered so many memories. As I place my items in their new home, I can't help but feel like a packrat. Where do I put all this stuff...and how do I ever part with it? I AM the keeper of the family memories. I didn't sign up for this role. I think I just 'had the space'. It's everywhere. I come from (apparently) a long line of people who love to hold on to items that make a memory. I am sure that hoarders feel this way about, well, everything. I think I can add 'Hoarder' to my resume bio. My poor children will go through my stuff one day and curse me that I left them with all this stuff. Some of the memories aren't mine. I have inherited my Aunt's and my Dad's memories. I am sure I will figure out who some of these people in these albumns are some day...or not. But, as I have space in my garage and a random extra bedroom closet, these memories will live so that someday, perhaps a random Tuesday, I want to visit them again.

There are always leftovers with love. No matter how final the goodbye, something stays behind: 

a look, a laugh, photo, a moment that clings to the edges of time. Love doesn’t vanish. It scatters itself in the spaces we once shared. You’ll find it later, folded into the quiet, tucked inside a Tuesday. The leftovers. Almost as if they are saying, "Here. I’ve loved you. Keep the leftovers. Warm them when you need to remember".