As I infrequently do (all my blogging is infrequent, now isn't it), I will now write a list of things to catch everyone up with what's happening here at headquarters. And while I think you may find some of this interesting, some of it may also be considered very, very boring. Read on to find out!
* Alas, we did not make it to Dallas for Christmas. Buying plane tickets for Luke, Foster Kiddo, Helen and myself would have run about $3000, so we were supposed to drive. Even so, by the week prior to Christmas, there were NO highways open into or out of Wyoming. Denver Int'l was closed, and Salt Lake was only flying select flights. So driving and flying were out. And now we are thankful because a full-blown blizzard is blowing in and we are expected to have 20 inches of snow by Saturday. So, had we even made it to Texas, we probably would not have been able to get home. We celebrated a nice quiet Christmas here with my mom and dad and Foster Kiddo and the like. It was nice.
* I hope that none of you readers are unlucky enough to remember the state of Luke and I's house when we first got married. Unfortunately, I know some of you do. It was a time when throwing garbage in a garbage can just seemed like a waste of time. And taking the garbage out? NO! Well now, I have become rigidly, some may even say obsessively, the opposite. On Thanksgiving I began sweeping and swiffering the dining room floor while people were still eating at the table. Foster Kiddo pointed out that this was "manic and crazy" and everyone agreed, so I sat down. Now all this to say new Nazi Cleaning Sarah does not allow people to wear shoes in the house. I have wood floors and white carpet and it snows six months out of the year here. I think this is good sense. HOWEVER, there are a few people who just WON'T take their friggin' shoes off when they come over. And the general excuse? "I will only be here for a minute." But a minute's worth of walking around in muddy shoes is 15 minutes worth of cleaning for me. Now, Luke calls me a "Cleaning Dictator" but I think I am not being unreasonable. So, despite the "Please Remove Your Shoes"signs already ON the doors, how do I make people take their shoes off? I have considered tackling them and removing the shoes myself, but we all know how much I hate feet.
* Have I mentioned lately that fat kids make me irrationally angry? Don't get me wrong, it is not the children themselves, it is their parents. I just want to shake them and yell, "TURN OFF YOUR TV!!! PLAY WITH YOUR KIDS! COOK A MEAL AT HOME FOR ONCE!!!" Because I just don't believe that they all have a thyroid condition. I believe they all have a lazy condition brought on by their parents using video games as a baby sitter. Or because their own parents don't care enough about their own diets to pass on healthy habits to their children. Or because actually interacting with their kids in order to produce happy children who don't turn to food for affection is just too much work. It's true, I'm mad at fat kids' parents. I just can't imagine not taking care of your kids in a way that costs nothing and only sacrifices yourself. But then again, I don't really see a lot of self-sacrifice going on around me on anyone's part.
* We have officially stopped eating meat, only to be invited to a dinner party where they served big platters of chicken on the bone. Now, I have enough trouble with this new hormone injected, hybrid meat we call chicken anyway, but when it is still on the bone with those little grissly pieces holding on for dear life (well, not really life, as this bird is dead) making it impossible to even cut the meat off the bone... well, it kicks my gag reflex into gear as only meat-on-the-bone and our President can. But I am polite. I don't eat meat for taste and health reasons, not for moral ones (I say kill all the animals, whatever), and I refuse to be that person who goes to someone else's home and says "Ummm, I don't eat that." So I ate my chicken. Oh, and it made me violently sick. As only meat and our President can.
* Luke got me a big book called The Onion Ad Nauseum for Christmas and it is the funniest thing to have ever entered this house. I thank him for it and recommend it to all of you who can't pick up a copy of The Onion on a regular basis. Well, I guess anyone can read it, its online. But Marty can actually get a hard copy, and that's more what I was getting at. Okay, I understand that that is more explanation than was necessary and I apologize. Just pick up a copy of the book, okay?
* Because I am an adult who can actually get credit now, I took out a line of credit and bought Luke a ring for Christmas. And it was nice. The ring. And also the ability to buy nice things and not worry about going to debtor's prison for it. Being blessed is an important thing to remember. We often forget how much excess we have. I'm not patting myself on the back, but when we really looked at ourselves and saw how much we had, we opened our home to foster care. I suggest everyone take a nice look at what God has given them and really see what they could give away. And that's not only a financial gig, you have time and talents, too. Give 'em away people. It IS actually what we are supposed to do, and frankly, the world would be better if you did. Oh, and why am I preaching? Because I bitch about money a lot, but bought Luke an expensive ring for Christmas. I may be a hypocrite, but I am trying to be a humble one.
* I quit my job. It wasn't much of a job. I worked like two days a week. But I told them my head just wasn't in it. I wanted to be at home. Last week Philip got the flu and had to go to the ER for fluids. He's such a problem child. Really, that kid has been to the doctor more in the last year... Anyway, I just didn't want to go anymore. I wanted to be home taking care of my son. And I told them that. I said, "I'm really not doing any justice to you all either. As long as I wish I were at home, I'm going to do a half job anyway." SO they let me go without notice, and asked me to come back and work next holiday. I smiled because by next holiday I will be getting ready to do my student teaching and probably won't want to work at the mall. But thanks anyway!
Okay, that's it. Hope you all had a joyous holiday. Peace and Grace.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Edible Christmas
Christmas is a difficult time with toddlers. Conceptually, it is a difficult time for the best of adults. But trying to tie Santa Claus, a pine tree, snowmen, presents, candy and cakes and the Jesus story into one tidy little story is nearly impossible. We have told Helen that Christmas is Jesus' birthday. She gets birthdays. She wants to make Jesus a cake. And she gets presents. She is perfectly happy to get some more. Why SHE gets presents on JESUS' birthday? Well, we will cross that bridge when we get there.
In the meantime, we are doing the advent calendar. Helen calls it the Jesus Book. Actually, every night before bed, she asks to "eat the Jesus book." And last night while reviewing the information we have learned about the story of baby Jesus, Luke asked Helen, "And what was Jesus' mommy's name?" And after thinking very hard about this, Helen answers, "Chocolate." So I can't say we are making very much progress.
Helen is also scared of Santa right now. A big thanks to the people at our mall for hiring a really creepy looking guy to be Santa. So there was a lot of crying and screaming and "NO, NO, NO!!!" going. When we got home and tried to talk about it, she told us that there would be "No cookies for Santa, I don't like him." And Santa could not come down our chimney because he is "scaaaarrrry." I am over-compensating now by letting her watch the Polar Express about 3 times a day. It is changing her mind about Santa. Animated Santa with his kind, Tom Hanks voice is not nearly so bad as creepy mall Santa.
Philip on the other hand is just content right now to pull ornaments off the tree and hurl them at the cats. He also likes to take bows off the Christmas presents, stick them on his head and say "Hat!" Then he laughs a lot. He has an appreciation for the simpler things in life. But he has learned to say Jesus and when we look at the Advent calendar before bed, he shrieks "JEEEEZ!!" and claps his hands. Then he opens his mouth like a baby bird and waits for me to stick chocolate in there.
At any rate, my kids sure do like Jesus. He is about chocolate and presents and singing and joy. And that is mostly correct, even if the three wise men forgot to include chocolate for the baby Jesus. The joy and singing and a really great present part they are getting right. I'll just wait a couple of years before really telling them that the greatest present ever doesn't have a picture of Dora on it.
In the meantime, we are doing the advent calendar. Helen calls it the Jesus Book. Actually, every night before bed, she asks to "eat the Jesus book." And last night while reviewing the information we have learned about the story of baby Jesus, Luke asked Helen, "And what was Jesus' mommy's name?" And after thinking very hard about this, Helen answers, "Chocolate." So I can't say we are making very much progress.
Helen is also scared of Santa right now. A big thanks to the people at our mall for hiring a really creepy looking guy to be Santa. So there was a lot of crying and screaming and "NO, NO, NO!!!" going. When we got home and tried to talk about it, she told us that there would be "No cookies for Santa, I don't like him." And Santa could not come down our chimney because he is "scaaaarrrry." I am over-compensating now by letting her watch the Polar Express about 3 times a day. It is changing her mind about Santa. Animated Santa with his kind, Tom Hanks voice is not nearly so bad as creepy mall Santa.
Philip on the other hand is just content right now to pull ornaments off the tree and hurl them at the cats. He also likes to take bows off the Christmas presents, stick them on his head and say "Hat!" Then he laughs a lot. He has an appreciation for the simpler things in life. But he has learned to say Jesus and when we look at the Advent calendar before bed, he shrieks "JEEEEZ!!" and claps his hands. Then he opens his mouth like a baby bird and waits for me to stick chocolate in there.
At any rate, my kids sure do like Jesus. He is about chocolate and presents and singing and joy. And that is mostly correct, even if the three wise men forgot to include chocolate for the baby Jesus. The joy and singing and a really great present part they are getting right. I'll just wait a couple of years before really telling them that the greatest present ever doesn't have a picture of Dora on it.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Five Years
November 16, 2001
Today is my fifth anniversary. Five years is not a very long time. It is also a very long time. On average, Luke and I's marriage has lasted a lot longer than most people who get married after only nine months of dating. Especially if you factor in our exceptional youth at the time we decided to tie the knot. Good for us. We make it work.
Take a moment, if you will, to look at these strangers. This morning I sent Luke a card. I said he was sexier than the day I married him. being a good husband, a good father and a good man really suits him. Better than a head full of hair. And I'll give myself credit. Those same attributes (substitute wife, mother, woman) really seem to suit me. I may not have that wedding day glow, but I am a whole lot happier than I was then, and it makes all the difference in the world.
Thanks, babe, for five great years. Thanks for making me always feel appreciated, feel beautiful and most importantly loved. Thanks for always taking the time to communicate with me instead of running from our problems. Thanks for sometimes sacrificing your wife to let her be your children's mother. Thanks kids for always letting mommy be a wife. Thanks, Luke, for knowing when to truly be a man and shoulder responsibility for your family, even when it meant personal sacrifice. Thanks for never being afraid to tell me to take that same responsibility. Thank you for being the defining factor that makes me the woman I am today. I love you!!! Happy anniversary.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Never Turn Your Back
This morning I went to the bathroom. I was gone two minutes, tops. I had the children nicely seated at the table eating their breakfast. And when I returned...
All of the canned goods had been removed from the lazy susan cabinet.
A bag of apples had been removed from the fridge and each one had a bite mark in it.
A cup of soy milk lay overturned on the table creating a lovely, sticky, white waterfall flowing off the edge of the table into the floor.
Philip had at least four grapes smashed on his head.
Helen was eating some sliced turkey.
The dishwasher was open.
There were three pans and two large spoons in the floor.
So, here is my theory. I do not believe that the two of them could have accomplished this is such a short time. I believe they have an army of baby fiends lurking in corners, in cabinets and under furniture. Whenever I leave the room, all the babies emerge to wreck havoc upon the house. When they hear me coming, they flee. Certainly, these are magical babies. But I cannot imagine how my own two children could inflict this much damage in the amount of time it takes me use the restroom.
All of the canned goods had been removed from the lazy susan cabinet.
A bag of apples had been removed from the fridge and each one had a bite mark in it.
A cup of soy milk lay overturned on the table creating a lovely, sticky, white waterfall flowing off the edge of the table into the floor.
Philip had at least four grapes smashed on his head.
Helen was eating some sliced turkey.
The dishwasher was open.
There were three pans and two large spoons in the floor.
So, here is my theory. I do not believe that the two of them could have accomplished this is such a short time. I believe they have an army of baby fiends lurking in corners, in cabinets and under furniture. Whenever I leave the room, all the babies emerge to wreck havoc upon the house. When they hear me coming, they flee. Certainly, these are magical babies. But I cannot imagine how my own two children could inflict this much damage in the amount of time it takes me use the restroom.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Good Things To Know
Here is a list of things I have noticed since becoming a parent:
* I own and wear half as many clothes, but do twice as much laundry.
* I may be the same size I was at eighteen, but nothing looks the same.
* Drinking a beer has once again become a sneaky privilege.
* Going to the gynecologist has now become relaxing alone time.
* Breasts are merely functional, the equivalent of human udders.
* Driving a mini-van just makes good sense.
* Finding anything inside something else is never a surprise. A spoon in the VCR, Care Bears in the fridge, anything in the toilet... Just take it out and put it away. No questions asked.
* Poop, pee, vomit, boogers and sweat are no longer disgusting. Well, as long as these things belong to a member of my family. I'm not exactly inviting strangers in to share these things with me.
* Anything is edible under a thin layer of applesauce or cheese.
* Going to the store with my husband sans kids now sounds like a date.
* 7:30 PM is sometimes a reasonable bedtime.
* 5:30 AM is still never a reasonable hour at which to rise.
* Other people's children are still unbearable, undisciplined and loathsome in public, even if my kid is the one throwing chicken in the floor.
* Sometimes you just can't shower every day...or every week.
* Cleaning up a mess just means someone is making a different mess in another location.
* Sometimes you just have to suck it up and do it yourself, even if it is someone else's job.
Things I Have Learned Having a Teenager
* What I wear IS important.
* MySpace time is quiet time.
* Three boyfriends is not an entirely unacceptable number.
* I don't own enough belts.
* I should spike my hair.
* Using the call-waiting is optional unless explicitly told to "click over."
* Most people in authority really ARE out to get you.
* Most of the food I cook doesn't smell good, taste good or "look right."
* Teenagers do not take kindly to organic produce, tofu and turkey burgers and a house without mashed potatoes and gravy.
* There can never be enough hair in the bathtub, on the counter or in my hairbrush.
* Being a mom is great, but man, I'm tired.
* I own and wear half as many clothes, but do twice as much laundry.
* I may be the same size I was at eighteen, but nothing looks the same.
* Drinking a beer has once again become a sneaky privilege.
* Going to the gynecologist has now become relaxing alone time.
* Breasts are merely functional, the equivalent of human udders.
* Driving a mini-van just makes good sense.
* Finding anything inside something else is never a surprise. A spoon in the VCR, Care Bears in the fridge, anything in the toilet... Just take it out and put it away. No questions asked.
* Poop, pee, vomit, boogers and sweat are no longer disgusting. Well, as long as these things belong to a member of my family. I'm not exactly inviting strangers in to share these things with me.
* Anything is edible under a thin layer of applesauce or cheese.
* Going to the store with my husband sans kids now sounds like a date.
* 7:30 PM is sometimes a reasonable bedtime.
* 5:30 AM is still never a reasonable hour at which to rise.
* Other people's children are still unbearable, undisciplined and loathsome in public, even if my kid is the one throwing chicken in the floor.
* Sometimes you just can't shower every day...or every week.
* Cleaning up a mess just means someone is making a different mess in another location.
* Sometimes you just have to suck it up and do it yourself, even if it is someone else's job.
Things I Have Learned Having a Teenager
* What I wear IS important.
* MySpace time is quiet time.
* Three boyfriends is not an entirely unacceptable number.
* I don't own enough belts.
* I should spike my hair.
* Using the call-waiting is optional unless explicitly told to "click over."
* Most people in authority really ARE out to get you.
* Most of the food I cook doesn't smell good, taste good or "look right."
* Teenagers do not take kindly to organic produce, tofu and turkey burgers and a house without mashed potatoes and gravy.
* There can never be enough hair in the bathtub, on the counter or in my hairbrush.
* Being a mom is great, but man, I'm tired.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
My Sadness
We have a new addition to our family. I call her McFosterBaby, even to her face, although she is seventeen. She is sweet and bright and beautiful. She is also breaking my heart. I cannot wrap my head around her life. I cannot understand why the people in her life who she should have been able to love and trust could have heaped so much hurt upon her. I cannot comprehend how she has remained so resilient, so functional and so well-adjusted regardless of these things.
But she is with us now. In definitely. At least until she finishes school and we ship her off to college. And already, my heart is heavy for it. She is already a part of this family. She is adjusted. She changed Helen's poopy diaper today. I told her it was initiation. Right now, she sits at the kitchen table with Luke telling what can only be the LONGEST story I have ever heard. She talks in a non-stop barrage of bubbly teenager. She ties up my phone line talking to boys. She has already done serious damage to our bank account, as I took her shopping for clothes. She wants a fish for her room. She is frightened and angry and sometimes consumed by it. But she got up and talked at church this morning, her first morning there. She is brave and strong and greatly in need of God's love. I am so glad to know that she can get it here.
The first night I picked her up, I took her to eat. She was SO hungry! And as we were driving home, she asked why we were doing this for her. For those that know me well, you know evangelism is not my forte. But I told her as simply as I could, that I do this because I was commanded to. Jesus left us very little wiggle room when it comes to feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, helping those orphans and widows. I told her that we were blessed by the abundance of God's love and through that we had an abundance to give away. And she was satisfied. It was nice. But it was hard. This gift I feel I am giving her. It comes at a sacrifice. I have schedules and regiments around my house. She sure is kinking those. And I am so tired. Not just physically, but so very emotionally drained. This past week... I sometimes fear I do not have the strength to stand up under it. But then I think of the overflowing abundance of the Lord's cup, and I know I will sustain, if only minute by minute.
But my heart...I feel it is forever changed by this. There is a sadness lurking in me. A sadness born of the human condition. The way people live, the way they treat each other...I thought I understood the magnitude of how far away from goodness we have come. But I had no idea. And the system is set up to protect no one. We cannot help. And most don't even want to help. And I do not know how to fight it.
Please pray for my sadness. And please pray for McFosterbaby. And pray for our safety right now. It is of the highest concern for the next few weeks.
But she is with us now. In definitely. At least until she finishes school and we ship her off to college. And already, my heart is heavy for it. She is already a part of this family. She is adjusted. She changed Helen's poopy diaper today. I told her it was initiation. Right now, she sits at the kitchen table with Luke telling what can only be the LONGEST story I have ever heard. She talks in a non-stop barrage of bubbly teenager. She ties up my phone line talking to boys. She has already done serious damage to our bank account, as I took her shopping for clothes. She wants a fish for her room. She is frightened and angry and sometimes consumed by it. But she got up and talked at church this morning, her first morning there. She is brave and strong and greatly in need of God's love. I am so glad to know that she can get it here.
The first night I picked her up, I took her to eat. She was SO hungry! And as we were driving home, she asked why we were doing this for her. For those that know me well, you know evangelism is not my forte. But I told her as simply as I could, that I do this because I was commanded to. Jesus left us very little wiggle room when it comes to feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, helping those orphans and widows. I told her that we were blessed by the abundance of God's love and through that we had an abundance to give away. And she was satisfied. It was nice. But it was hard. This gift I feel I am giving her. It comes at a sacrifice. I have schedules and regiments around my house. She sure is kinking those. And I am so tired. Not just physically, but so very emotionally drained. This past week... I sometimes fear I do not have the strength to stand up under it. But then I think of the overflowing abundance of the Lord's cup, and I know I will sustain, if only minute by minute.
But my heart...I feel it is forever changed by this. There is a sadness lurking in me. A sadness born of the human condition. The way people live, the way they treat each other...I thought I understood the magnitude of how far away from goodness we have come. But I had no idea. And the system is set up to protect no one. We cannot help. And most don't even want to help. And I do not know how to fight it.
Please pray for my sadness. And please pray for McFosterbaby. And pray for our safety right now. It is of the highest concern for the next few weeks.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Kids Say Mean Stuff
Helen got up very early on Saturday morning...like before 6. So I took her downstairs to the family room determined to tire her out and fall back asleep on the sofa. It worked.
She ran around some, and then came over and crawled up next to me and started to fall asleep. I hugged her and kissed her forehead and said, "Sweetie, you shouldn't get up so early. I love you, now go back to sleep."
She opened her beautiful, big blue eyes and looked up at me and said, "Mommy, your breath is stinky." And then she fell asleep.
What a freakin' angel.
She ran around some, and then came over and crawled up next to me and started to fall asleep. I hugged her and kissed her forehead and said, "Sweetie, you shouldn't get up so early. I love you, now go back to sleep."
She opened her beautiful, big blue eyes and looked up at me and said, "Mommy, your breath is stinky." And then she fell asleep.
What a freakin' angel.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Everything Has Egg In It
In his quest to be the most difficult baby alive, Philip has developed an allergy to egg.
Oh, and also tomato.
So, this is a fun new discovery. Philip is also eating table food. He is also in that place in life where he MUST eat what everyone else is eating. His own food is not good enough anymore. He must have mom and dad's food. Excellent.
In case any of you have forgotten, I live in a small town in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. We have a Wal-Mart, an Albertson's and a Smith's (Kroger). Well, what we don't have is a health food store. And you know where you can buy food that is free of Allergens, such as egg? Not at Wal-Mart. So now I have to plan a once a month trip to SLC, three hours away in order to buy pastas, breads, egg replacer, chips, cookies, various other snacks, frozen waffles, soups and many other items that are egg and tomato free.
Now in case this is lost on any of you, I want you to realize what this means. This means birthday cake made with a can of soda. This means no pizza, no spaghetti, no white bread, no mac and cheese, no pie, no poptarts, no ranch flavored anything (check it out, it has tomato powder in it), no hot dogs, no sausage and no to a lot of other things as well. The list of "egg" derivatives is about a mile long. Instead of memorizing it, I am just carrying a notebook around writing down things that make my son's face swell up and writing them off as "Never Again." The list is long.
See, if life allowed it, I would be a Vegan (except for cheese, man I love cheese) because I am not all that attatched to meat and dairy anyway. And now that eggs are no longer allowed in my house, it would be an easy transition. IF we lived close enough to a store like Wild Oats in order to supplement our diet. As it stands, Wal-Mart is not Vegan friendly. However, we are considering just throwing all the meat out. I hardly use it anyway. Right now I have about six pounds of frozen meat (and by meat I mean turkey products because beef makes me poop) in my freezer and some of it has been there for a questionably long time. I like beans and tofu and spinach (good spinach, not this new e coli sporting stuff). And I can get iron and protein in those forms. But then factor in these stupid kids, and I suddenly feel obligated to let them eat what they want. Mommy can be a vegetarian, but if Helen wants some turkey for lunch, I don't know how to all of a sudden say, "No, we don't eat turkey anymore."
Fortunately in all of this, god has been especially kind. Our church has a large number of hippies in it. They are part of a co-op. They order organic everything and have invited us to tag along in this venture. Two of them have kids with allergies to egg. Well, their kids are also allergic to wheat, gluten and a number of other things that make me look at Philip and smile. So, they have started bombarding the house with egg-free pretzels (yep, pretzels are all shiny because of egg), recipes for egg replacement and catalogs for ordering nice healthy food that is friendly to my whole family. Go figure, join a church, join a commune. It's kinda nice.
Oh, and also tomato.
So, this is a fun new discovery. Philip is also eating table food. He is also in that place in life where he MUST eat what everyone else is eating. His own food is not good enough anymore. He must have mom and dad's food. Excellent.
In case any of you have forgotten, I live in a small town in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. We have a Wal-Mart, an Albertson's and a Smith's (Kroger). Well, what we don't have is a health food store. And you know where you can buy food that is free of Allergens, such as egg? Not at Wal-Mart. So now I have to plan a once a month trip to SLC, three hours away in order to buy pastas, breads, egg replacer, chips, cookies, various other snacks, frozen waffles, soups and many other items that are egg and tomato free.
Now in case this is lost on any of you, I want you to realize what this means. This means birthday cake made with a can of soda. This means no pizza, no spaghetti, no white bread, no mac and cheese, no pie, no poptarts, no ranch flavored anything (check it out, it has tomato powder in it), no hot dogs, no sausage and no to a lot of other things as well. The list of "egg" derivatives is about a mile long. Instead of memorizing it, I am just carrying a notebook around writing down things that make my son's face swell up and writing them off as "Never Again." The list is long.
See, if life allowed it, I would be a Vegan (except for cheese, man I love cheese) because I am not all that attatched to meat and dairy anyway. And now that eggs are no longer allowed in my house, it would be an easy transition. IF we lived close enough to a store like Wild Oats in order to supplement our diet. As it stands, Wal-Mart is not Vegan friendly. However, we are considering just throwing all the meat out. I hardly use it anyway. Right now I have about six pounds of frozen meat (and by meat I mean turkey products because beef makes me poop) in my freezer and some of it has been there for a questionably long time. I like beans and tofu and spinach (good spinach, not this new e coli sporting stuff). And I can get iron and protein in those forms. But then factor in these stupid kids, and I suddenly feel obligated to let them eat what they want. Mommy can be a vegetarian, but if Helen wants some turkey for lunch, I don't know how to all of a sudden say, "No, we don't eat turkey anymore."
Fortunately in all of this, god has been especially kind. Our church has a large number of hippies in it. They are part of a co-op. They order organic everything and have invited us to tag along in this venture. Two of them have kids with allergies to egg. Well, their kids are also allergic to wheat, gluten and a number of other things that make me look at Philip and smile. So, they have started bombarding the house with egg-free pretzels (yep, pretzels are all shiny because of egg), recipes for egg replacement and catalogs for ordering nice healthy food that is friendly to my whole family. Go figure, join a church, join a commune. It's kinda nice.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Huh Uh
Helen and I take a Mom and Tot swim class every Tuesday and Thursday. There is a woman in our class with two children, and every time she wears a very small bikini. Worse yet, she looks good in it. I do not think this should be allowed.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
That Girl
A collage of photographs hangs on a wall in my dining room. An arrangement of black and whites set against various magazine clippings, cut to perfection. It really is quite a work of art. And tonight, as I walked through the room, I stopped and stared. It was as if I had seen these photos for the first time, one in particular.
A round faced girl sits squinting into the sunlight, staring at something unknown. She is thinking. And behind her sits a young man, squinting into the sunlight, staring at the girl. They are sitting on the railroad tracks that run behind the old Depot in Shawnee. They are so young. My engagement photos, taken five years ago this very month. And while I remember the day well, riding in my broken-up Chevy Cavalier with the windows down, Toni and Kara in the backseat and Luke driving about to the various desireable locations Toni had scouted for these pictures, I realized that I do not remember this girl. And as I sat in a bath tonight, I tried to think of who she was, and who she has become.
In the picture, I marvel at the svelte contours of a body that has not known childbirth, and I see the puffs of baby fat in her cheeks that have since been outgrown. Her eyes are steely and determined, and her posture is aloof, even unto the man she will soon marry. I see she is defensive. But what about the things I cannot see?
I remember that she still thought she would be a defense attourney and hated the very idea of having children. She cared more about being a size six than about being healthy. She had a propensity toward unkindness, but was feircely loyal. She loved clothes. She hated to be shushed. And she smoked too much. She held fast to radical political beleifs. She argued with everyone. Devil's Advocate was not just a game. She claimed to be Agnostic.
Her foresight was limited. She did not expect to spend years fighting for the acceptance of her in-laws. She did not know she would drop out of school before her wedding even came. She did not know that in a few short months, she would be effectively fired from a job she loved. She did not know she would spend months working eighty hours a week for peanuts and then shuffle off to Chicago only to fail at big-city life. She would not know about moving to Dallas, Norman, Wyoming. She would not know then that life is never measured by what you do, but rather by who you are.
She knew nothing of love. She knew nothing of loss. She would not have expected anguish over two lost embryos, or have expected such great joy over the two that succeeded. She would never have been a stay-at-home-mom. She would never have so vehemently protected her privacy and relationship with that man by whom she sat. She would not have expected to so easily follow him to the ends of the earth on a whim, despite those ever-nearing vows. I know she did not know what life would bring her, or she would probably have fought harder against the tide. She did not know her life would be wonderful. I know she still wondered where she would be if she had taken pre-acceptance to Harvard. Well, she still wonders that. But she looked down her nose at those she found did not meet her standards intellectually, economically and socially. She had no sense of community. She had no sense of self.
But as I looked at her, I felt awed. I realized that though I do not remember her well, I do KNOW her. Little pieces of her still lurk about in corners of my head. On those days when you wish yourself out of your life, you look back at those photographs in your head and walk yourself down another path. Because life is always bittersweet with wondering. She reminds me to keep wishing and wanting more. But now, I wish for more and want more, not just for myself. I prefer it that way.
And so I will leave her just where she is, hanging on the wall, squinting out at something unknown. Thinking. And I will hope that when I pass that picture, that will be the message to which I cling. Look outward, cling to the unkown, think. Because who knows where you will be five years from now.
A round faced girl sits squinting into the sunlight, staring at something unknown. She is thinking. And behind her sits a young man, squinting into the sunlight, staring at the girl. They are sitting on the railroad tracks that run behind the old Depot in Shawnee. They are so young. My engagement photos, taken five years ago this very month. And while I remember the day well, riding in my broken-up Chevy Cavalier with the windows down, Toni and Kara in the backseat and Luke driving about to the various desireable locations Toni had scouted for these pictures, I realized that I do not remember this girl. And as I sat in a bath tonight, I tried to think of who she was, and who she has become.
In the picture, I marvel at the svelte contours of a body that has not known childbirth, and I see the puffs of baby fat in her cheeks that have since been outgrown. Her eyes are steely and determined, and her posture is aloof, even unto the man she will soon marry. I see she is defensive. But what about the things I cannot see?
I remember that she still thought she would be a defense attourney and hated the very idea of having children. She cared more about being a size six than about being healthy. She had a propensity toward unkindness, but was feircely loyal. She loved clothes. She hated to be shushed. And she smoked too much. She held fast to radical political beleifs. She argued with everyone. Devil's Advocate was not just a game. She claimed to be Agnostic.
Her foresight was limited. She did not expect to spend years fighting for the acceptance of her in-laws. She did not know she would drop out of school before her wedding even came. She did not know that in a few short months, she would be effectively fired from a job she loved. She did not know she would spend months working eighty hours a week for peanuts and then shuffle off to Chicago only to fail at big-city life. She would not know about moving to Dallas, Norman, Wyoming. She would not know then that life is never measured by what you do, but rather by who you are.
She knew nothing of love. She knew nothing of loss. She would not have expected anguish over two lost embryos, or have expected such great joy over the two that succeeded. She would never have been a stay-at-home-mom. She would never have so vehemently protected her privacy and relationship with that man by whom she sat. She would not have expected to so easily follow him to the ends of the earth on a whim, despite those ever-nearing vows. I know she did not know what life would bring her, or she would probably have fought harder against the tide. She did not know her life would be wonderful. I know she still wondered where she would be if she had taken pre-acceptance to Harvard. Well, she still wonders that. But she looked down her nose at those she found did not meet her standards intellectually, economically and socially. She had no sense of community. She had no sense of self.
But as I looked at her, I felt awed. I realized that though I do not remember her well, I do KNOW her. Little pieces of her still lurk about in corners of my head. On those days when you wish yourself out of your life, you look back at those photographs in your head and walk yourself down another path. Because life is always bittersweet with wondering. She reminds me to keep wishing and wanting more. But now, I wish for more and want more, not just for myself. I prefer it that way.
And so I will leave her just where she is, hanging on the wall, squinting out at something unknown. Thinking. And I will hope that when I pass that picture, that will be the message to which I cling. Look outward, cling to the unkown, think. Because who knows where you will be five years from now.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
My Bed, My Cat, Some Urine...
So my folks moved to town, and they brought my cats with them. Up to this point (the point at which we bought a home), we were not allowed pets, so my parents had been keeping them. Three weeks ago, I had no pets. Now I have five.
We bought the puppy. My parents brought my two kitties. My parents have an enormous black lab that we are now keeping for them in our backyard. My mom has a kitten. The kitten smells very, very bad. Way worse than a normal kitten. I don't know why this is...
So, back to my cats. One of them, Small and Grey (yes, that's her name), has adjusted to new house and life in it (including the dog) just fine. But the other cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico (yes that's her name) is TERRIFIED of the puppy. To really understand the magnitude of this, you have to understand Miss K (for short).
Miss K was born with distemper, and the first year of her life wanted to claw the face off of everyone and everything. Then she got better and settled down...some. But she is still terribly mean and hisses and claws and basically is a menace. Oh, and she is very, very fat. I mean, WAY too big for a cat.
Now in my head, I know that if you pitted Miss K and Willard against one another in a cage fight of some sort, she would KILL him in one fell swoop. She, however, does not know this. And so it came to pass that she spent the first two solid days in my bedroom. I was becoming increasingly concerned that she wasn't eating or drinking. But more than that I was concerned about how she had not visited the litter box. The way our house is set up, the only GOOD place for the litter box is in the bathroom off our laundry room. And in the laundry room is the Cage of Willard. So, she won't even go PAST there.
So, at 7:15 Tuesday morning, Miss K hops up on my bed mewing and nudging me, and I sleepily reach out to pet her, and she hops down onto my legs and snuggles in, AND PISSES ALL OVER ME!!!!!! AND ALL OVER THE BED!!! INCLUDING THE MATTRESS!!! Thank God I don't have my down comforter out for winter yet. WHY?! Why would she do this!!?? What possessed her? Had she just been holding it for that long?
It was a VERY bad way to wake up.
So, Willard's cage is very big, and we have it divided so it is just big enough for his little puppy body. The solution to this "no litter box, peeing in my bed" situation? We have started locking Miss K in the back half of the cage with the dog. She's got to get used to him sooner or later.
We bought the puppy. My parents brought my two kitties. My parents have an enormous black lab that we are now keeping for them in our backyard. My mom has a kitten. The kitten smells very, very bad. Way worse than a normal kitten. I don't know why this is...
So, back to my cats. One of them, Small and Grey (yes, that's her name), has adjusted to new house and life in it (including the dog) just fine. But the other cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico (yes that's her name) is TERRIFIED of the puppy. To really understand the magnitude of this, you have to understand Miss K (for short).
Miss K was born with distemper, and the first year of her life wanted to claw the face off of everyone and everything. Then she got better and settled down...some. But she is still terribly mean and hisses and claws and basically is a menace. Oh, and she is very, very fat. I mean, WAY too big for a cat.
Now in my head, I know that if you pitted Miss K and Willard against one another in a cage fight of some sort, she would KILL him in one fell swoop. She, however, does not know this. And so it came to pass that she spent the first two solid days in my bedroom. I was becoming increasingly concerned that she wasn't eating or drinking. But more than that I was concerned about how she had not visited the litter box. The way our house is set up, the only GOOD place for the litter box is in the bathroom off our laundry room. And in the laundry room is the Cage of Willard. So, she won't even go PAST there.
So, at 7:15 Tuesday morning, Miss K hops up on my bed mewing and nudging me, and I sleepily reach out to pet her, and she hops down onto my legs and snuggles in, AND PISSES ALL OVER ME!!!!!! AND ALL OVER THE BED!!! INCLUDING THE MATTRESS!!! Thank God I don't have my down comforter out for winter yet. WHY?! Why would she do this!!?? What possessed her? Had she just been holding it for that long?
It was a VERY bad way to wake up.
So, Willard's cage is very big, and we have it divided so it is just big enough for his little puppy body. The solution to this "no litter box, peeing in my bed" situation? We have started locking Miss K in the back half of the cage with the dog. She's got to get used to him sooner or later.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Things That Are Happening...
We are settling nicely into this house. The basement will be finished tomorrow, and our family room will be complete with plenty of room for guests. So, any time anyone wants a breath of fresh air, you are welcome to come and shack up with Luke and I...and by shack up, I mean you must come up here and get married to us. We do live in Mormon country.
So, here are some new developments in our lives...
* Philip said his first real words (aside from your basic Mama, Dada, Bye Bye) and they were "Thank you." Man, I am an AWESOME Mom.
* Helen no longer asks to "Go Home." She says "New House." Even when we are in the backyard and she wants to go inside, she says, "Inside new house."
* We have done enough work on this house that every time I get in the car with the kids Helen shouts, "YEA!!! Home Depot!!"
* Philip is going to walk any day now and then I will have two completely mobile children. I expect shortly after that, I will explode.
* Helen shows great signs toward wanting to potty train again. All of her stuffed animals go "pee pee" in the potty everyday.
* We got a dog. He is a mutt. His name is Willard. Two days after we got him, he actually exploded with diarrhea and spent three days at the vet with "Corona Virus." I made the woman at the shelter where we bought him pay for that brief hospitalization.
* Whenever the dog goes out to go to the bathroom, Helen says that Willard has pee peed in the potty. I think this as accurate as I can get from her right now.
* Yesterday, while getting in trouble, Helen looked me right in the eye and began singing, "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me..." at the top of her voice. I think this was intentional.
* Philip can eat three Vienna Sausages in a single sitting and I don't necessarily believe this is a good thing.
* Philip and Helen wear the same size diaper, the same size shoe and are within four pounds and four inches of one another. In the past week a half a dozen people have asked me if they are twins. And while they are roughly the same size, Philip is clearly not as cognitively functional as Helen, so I always wonder if people who DON'T ask feel sad that I have a retarded baby.
* Luke's grandfather came for a visit and it went very well.
* My parents will be here on Friday...for good. Hooray!
Well, that is enough for now. I just wanted to catch you all up on my life, you know, aside from the feeling sorry for myself. That has, fortunately passed.
So, here are some new developments in our lives...
* Philip said his first real words (aside from your basic Mama, Dada, Bye Bye) and they were "Thank you." Man, I am an AWESOME Mom.
* Helen no longer asks to "Go Home." She says "New House." Even when we are in the backyard and she wants to go inside, she says, "Inside new house."
* We have done enough work on this house that every time I get in the car with the kids Helen shouts, "YEA!!! Home Depot!!"
* Philip is going to walk any day now and then I will have two completely mobile children. I expect shortly after that, I will explode.
* Helen shows great signs toward wanting to potty train again. All of her stuffed animals go "pee pee" in the potty everyday.
* We got a dog. He is a mutt. His name is Willard. Two days after we got him, he actually exploded with diarrhea and spent three days at the vet with "Corona Virus." I made the woman at the shelter where we bought him pay for that brief hospitalization.
* Whenever the dog goes out to go to the bathroom, Helen says that Willard has pee peed in the potty. I think this as accurate as I can get from her right now.
* Yesterday, while getting in trouble, Helen looked me right in the eye and began singing, "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me..." at the top of her voice. I think this was intentional.
* Philip can eat three Vienna Sausages in a single sitting and I don't necessarily believe this is a good thing.
* Philip and Helen wear the same size diaper, the same size shoe and are within four pounds and four inches of one another. In the past week a half a dozen people have asked me if they are twins. And while they are roughly the same size, Philip is clearly not as cognitively functional as Helen, so I always wonder if people who DON'T ask feel sad that I have a retarded baby.
* Luke's grandfather came for a visit and it went very well.
* My parents will be here on Friday...for good. Hooray!
Well, that is enough for now. I just wanted to catch you all up on my life, you know, aside from the feeling sorry for myself. That has, fortunately passed.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
I Hope It's Not Contagious
I am suffering, you see, from a very nasty case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. As a matter of fact, I seem to have a chronic case.
I do apologize ahead of time for what seems to be a lengthening list of very angsty, sort-of teenage blogs about my own troubles. I am falling farther and farther away from my original intent, to write about the antics of my kids. However, to be a good parent, to understand your children, you must first understand yourself. I am on the long journey toward that destination. As it would seem, it is not surprising that I am writing these teenage blogs, for everyday, I come closer and closer to the realization that I am still that sixteen-year-old girl, trapped in this body of an adult. I have an over-riding need for acceptance, and a nasty inclination toward gossip and vengeful spite. I take out my own insecurities on others. I fault others for finding me disagreeable when I, intentionally, make myself so. It is a very nasty spiral of events, don't you think?
More to the point, though, is the e-mail. It is an e-mail I sent to a friend with no particular intentions, just a friendly sort of ditty. Or so I believed. After rereading it, I see that perhaps it seemed otherwise. You see, I stupidly mentioned one or two or four mutual "friends" and made some vague statements about their effect on my life. Now my fear, and I believe this fear to be real, is that this was a very, very bad idea.
In the past year or so, I have had to face some demons from my past. Although I have never been deliberately hurtful or mean-spirited, I did spend a great deal of my later-adolescent (cough, ealry adult, cough) years just not caring about other people. I never went out of my way to make people cry, but if they cried over something I said, it was certainly no skin off my teeth. My bravado was embarrassing, only made worse by my overt attempts to MAKE people not like me, if I, in fact, did not like them. Or, if inside, I really thought they didn't like me anyway. I acted out a lot. I am sure now they have some form of Ridilin for this. I am looking into it. But now...Now I look back in shame. But now, I am also 1,000 miles away from my past. Literally. And those images do not easily fade from people's minds. And saying, "I've changed" really has very little effect on people you have hurt or wronged, especially if they do not get the pleasure of experiencing this change first-hand. And so...
Whenever I talk about anyone, even in passing, even with nostalgia and regret, even with love and remorse, my past attitudes creep sneakily up from my behind, and bite me firmly on the ass. And so I find myself, constantly, with one hand wrapped around my ankle FIERCELY pulling my foot out of the back of my throat. And sometimes it is entangled back there with my uvula and tonsils and all that seedy hatred that I used to spread so easily. And all along, I feel like I have this one sided game of Tug Of War going on, fighting with myself. I am apologizing ahead of time, for things I may not have even said, just in case their meaning should become misconstrued later on, in the hands of someone else. This is certainly problematic in today's cyber/e-mail-y world, where you can't see my face, or hear my tone of voice and instead all you get are these WORDS. And words are oh, so powerful. More so when taken out of context or misunderstood. Because you can never take back your words, you can just back-pedal. And then, it just looks like you are covering. And so instead I just keep talking. And in the back of my head there is this voice shouting, "Shut the F&*% UP!" That voice may be Lucas's. He tries so hard to keep me out of trouble.
And so this may explain my ghosts, my phantom friends. I am worried that I wronged them, and then perhaps wronged them again in an e-mail I meant to be almost jovial in spirit. Alas, in spirit does not translate well on my computer. Perhaps I should start using those emoti-cons more often. I will follow every sentence with little smiling winking faces. Foolish, that is. I just get so frustrated at myself. I try so hard to use the grown-up's potty, but to be honest, I am still walking around in emotional training pants. And isn't that sad. I have a terrific marriage. Enviable, some might say. But MAN if I just can't make it work anywhere else. Sometimes I think I will just give up socialization all together. I will become a hermit lady in my own home. Raising my kids and hanging out with Luke and never again facing the outside world. But then I would have to home-school...and I am already looking forward to having them out of the house... Poo. I'll find my way. Worry not, I will be back on the horse in no time. Perhaps I can find a funny story about Helen and Philip to tell tomorrow and we can put all this messy business behind us.
I do apologize ahead of time for what seems to be a lengthening list of very angsty, sort-of teenage blogs about my own troubles. I am falling farther and farther away from my original intent, to write about the antics of my kids. However, to be a good parent, to understand your children, you must first understand yourself. I am on the long journey toward that destination. As it would seem, it is not surprising that I am writing these teenage blogs, for everyday, I come closer and closer to the realization that I am still that sixteen-year-old girl, trapped in this body of an adult. I have an over-riding need for acceptance, and a nasty inclination toward gossip and vengeful spite. I take out my own insecurities on others. I fault others for finding me disagreeable when I, intentionally, make myself so. It is a very nasty spiral of events, don't you think?
More to the point, though, is the e-mail. It is an e-mail I sent to a friend with no particular intentions, just a friendly sort of ditty. Or so I believed. After rereading it, I see that perhaps it seemed otherwise. You see, I stupidly mentioned one or two or four mutual "friends" and made some vague statements about their effect on my life. Now my fear, and I believe this fear to be real, is that this was a very, very bad idea.
In the past year or so, I have had to face some demons from my past. Although I have never been deliberately hurtful or mean-spirited, I did spend a great deal of my later-adolescent (cough, ealry adult, cough) years just not caring about other people. I never went out of my way to make people cry, but if they cried over something I said, it was certainly no skin off my teeth. My bravado was embarrassing, only made worse by my overt attempts to MAKE people not like me, if I, in fact, did not like them. Or, if inside, I really thought they didn't like me anyway. I acted out a lot. I am sure now they have some form of Ridilin for this. I am looking into it. But now...Now I look back in shame. But now, I am also 1,000 miles away from my past. Literally. And those images do not easily fade from people's minds. And saying, "I've changed" really has very little effect on people you have hurt or wronged, especially if they do not get the pleasure of experiencing this change first-hand. And so...
Whenever I talk about anyone, even in passing, even with nostalgia and regret, even with love and remorse, my past attitudes creep sneakily up from my behind, and bite me firmly on the ass. And so I find myself, constantly, with one hand wrapped around my ankle FIERCELY pulling my foot out of the back of my throat. And sometimes it is entangled back there with my uvula and tonsils and all that seedy hatred that I used to spread so easily. And all along, I feel like I have this one sided game of Tug Of War going on, fighting with myself. I am apologizing ahead of time, for things I may not have even said, just in case their meaning should become misconstrued later on, in the hands of someone else. This is certainly problematic in today's cyber/e-mail-y world, where you can't see my face, or hear my tone of voice and instead all you get are these WORDS. And words are oh, so powerful. More so when taken out of context or misunderstood. Because you can never take back your words, you can just back-pedal. And then, it just looks like you are covering. And so instead I just keep talking. And in the back of my head there is this voice shouting, "Shut the F&*% UP!" That voice may be Lucas's. He tries so hard to keep me out of trouble.
And so this may explain my ghosts, my phantom friends. I am worried that I wronged them, and then perhaps wronged them again in an e-mail I meant to be almost jovial in spirit. Alas, in spirit does not translate well on my computer. Perhaps I should start using those emoti-cons more often. I will follow every sentence with little smiling winking faces. Foolish, that is. I just get so frustrated at myself. I try so hard to use the grown-up's potty, but to be honest, I am still walking around in emotional training pants. And isn't that sad. I have a terrific marriage. Enviable, some might say. But MAN if I just can't make it work anywhere else. Sometimes I think I will just give up socialization all together. I will become a hermit lady in my own home. Raising my kids and hanging out with Luke and never again facing the outside world. But then I would have to home-school...and I am already looking forward to having them out of the house... Poo. I'll find my way. Worry not, I will be back on the horse in no time. Perhaps I can find a funny story about Helen and Philip to tell tomorrow and we can put all this messy business behind us.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
A Question For Which I Need Answers...
Dear Friends,
There are a number of people in my life, from days gone long by, with whom I am in complete disconnect. There are various reasons for this. There are people I've alienated or insulted, people with whom I just no longer have anything in common, people whose life-styles I find so abhorrent and ridiculous, that I have made my own personal cut-off, and those who have just slipped through my fingers with the passing of time.
I look at my life and, such as is it, it seems so whole and complete. I have the things that I need. I have the people that I need. I have a life separate from any of these people. These are not folks that would make or break my day. They are not even, some of them, people that I particularly like. They are not people that I need in order to raise my children, be a good wife to Luke or grow in my spiritual life. They are just ghosts.
And ghosts they are. They haunt me. These are people that I do not go to sleep at night without thinking of. They mingle in my necessary thought-process throughout the day. Their faces enter in my dreams in bizarre scenarios. And for the last week or two, my thoughts of them are all-encompassing. I actually have trouble focusing on my ever-so whole and complete life because there seem to be these missing links to these people with whom I have lost touch. And I cannot for the life of me figure out why they are so important.
I have moments where I think, "God is telling you something. You need to re-build bridges you've burned and make some wrongs, right." But those thoughts are quickly followed by the, "You are lonely and immature and you just only worry that people don't like you, and you want reassurance and validation that you are, in fact, likeable, and THAT sounds like High School Sarah to me." And then there are the more agonizing moments when I just want to poke something long into my ear and scrape it around in my brain shouting, "GET OUT PHANTOM FRIENDS!" But I worry Luke will have me committed. Because I just don't know why it bothers me.
There are a number of people in my life, from days gone long by, with whom I am in complete disconnect. There are various reasons for this. There are people I've alienated or insulted, people with whom I just no longer have anything in common, people whose life-styles I find so abhorrent and ridiculous, that I have made my own personal cut-off, and those who have just slipped through my fingers with the passing of time.
I look at my life and, such as is it, it seems so whole and complete. I have the things that I need. I have the people that I need. I have a life separate from any of these people. These are not folks that would make or break my day. They are not even, some of them, people that I particularly like. They are not people that I need in order to raise my children, be a good wife to Luke or grow in my spiritual life. They are just ghosts.
And ghosts they are. They haunt me. These are people that I do not go to sleep at night without thinking of. They mingle in my necessary thought-process throughout the day. Their faces enter in my dreams in bizarre scenarios. And for the last week or two, my thoughts of them are all-encompassing. I actually have trouble focusing on my ever-so whole and complete life because there seem to be these missing links to these people with whom I have lost touch. And I cannot for the life of me figure out why they are so important.
I have moments where I think, "God is telling you something. You need to re-build bridges you've burned and make some wrongs, right." But those thoughts are quickly followed by the, "You are lonely and immature and you just only worry that people don't like you, and you want reassurance and validation that you are, in fact, likeable, and THAT sounds like High School Sarah to me." And then there are the more agonizing moments when I just want to poke something long into my ear and scrape it around in my brain shouting, "GET OUT PHANTOM FRIENDS!" But I worry Luke will have me committed. Because I just don't know why it bothers me.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Who Am I?
I am having an identity crisis. Here are the reasons:
Identity Crisis 1
We are starting at an early age telling our kids about Jesus. We sing songs, read age-appropriate stories and try to fit him into conversation whenever possible. It is surprisingly easy to fit Him into conversation (and by Him, I mean the whole Trinity shebang, not just Jesus himself) because Helen's limited world-view holds the capacity of trees, flowers, mommy, daddy, brother and love, all of which/whom Jesus made. And the songs are just fun. Even if I find some of them reprehensible as they flow from my mouth on their catchy little tunes. The second verse of Jesus Loves Me... "Jesus loves me when I'm bad, though it makes him very sad"... this is hard for me to sing. And "Oh Be Careful" will never be sung in this house.
So, today, Helen and I were sitting at the table enjoying some mandarin oranges and chocolate milk, and singing "Zaccheus Was A Wee, Little Man." After the final line "For I am going to your house today," Helen shouts, "HELEN GOES TO HOUSE! HELEN GOES TO ZACCHEUS HOUSE!" Okay, she can't actually pronounce Zaccheus, but that's just semantics. So I tell her, "Sure, you go to Zaccheus's house. You and Jesus both go to the house." Because humoring your kids is how you make it through the day. And then Helen says the weirdest, creepiest thing ever...
She says, "Mama is Jesus."
And Luke's laughter chorused out of the other room. And I stumble about saying, "No, no. Mama is NOT Jesus." Because I now, somehow feel blasphemous. Why does Helen think I am Jesus? I have to assume it is because she thinks that I made everything. I made brother. Why not flowers and mountains and rivers? So our next bible lesson around the house is "Why Mommy is NOT Jesus." Does anyone have scripture to back that up?
Identity Crisis 2
Today Luke and I had a brief, yet very real conversation of the subtleties of the vocal quality of the lead singer of Journey. I find him to be very talented. Luke finds his voice strange.
When did I start knowing enough about Journey to have this conversation? Why wasn't I wearing a jeans jacket and leaning on my Camaro and brushing my mullet while we had this talk? Why was I listening to Journey on a CD? Why do I OWN a Journey CD? Why wasn't I listening to it on cassette while holding the boom box on my shoulder?
Seriously, a conversation about Steve Perry. I like COUNTING CROWS. That's who I am.
Identity Crisis 3
While unpacking in our new house, I found I own a number of romance novels. I do not know where they came from. Perhaps I went out and bought them subconsciously after I started staying at home with the kids. Perhaps I also watch soaps during the day and think Capri pants equal dress-up clothes.
This could be chalked up to my sister leaving one on a visit, or I got them mixed up in my books back when I lived with other girls, but no, there are like 15 of them. I really have no idea how this occurred. Some of them are by Danielle Steele. Now this is against my religion. No really, Jesus does not like Danielle Steele. It's in the bible. He smites people for reading that kind of literary garbage, mass-manufactured by Silhouette and Harlequin. I really just don't know how this came to be...
Identity Crisis 4
I ordered chicken-fried steak at a restaurant yesterday. I don't eat beef. And because I don't eat beef, when I DO eat it, it has a...very bad effect on me. Maybe once every 6 weeks or so, I have Luke take me out for a really nice steak, and I will always regret it. So, why, yesterday, was I possessed to order chicken-fried cube steak at a place that makes the Rainbow Inn (you know what it is) look like Steak and Ale (or someplace actually fancy). Anyway, I ordered it, and the waitress walked away and I looked at Luke kind of shocked-and-awed and said, "That's going to make me sick." Why did I do that? What is wrong with me lately. Have any of you seen the real Sarah? And could you send her back my way? I miss her.
Identity Crisis 1
We are starting at an early age telling our kids about Jesus. We sing songs, read age-appropriate stories and try to fit him into conversation whenever possible. It is surprisingly easy to fit Him into conversation (and by Him, I mean the whole Trinity shebang, not just Jesus himself) because Helen's limited world-view holds the capacity of trees, flowers, mommy, daddy, brother and love, all of which/whom Jesus made. And the songs are just fun. Even if I find some of them reprehensible as they flow from my mouth on their catchy little tunes. The second verse of Jesus Loves Me... "Jesus loves me when I'm bad, though it makes him very sad"... this is hard for me to sing. And "Oh Be Careful" will never be sung in this house.
So, today, Helen and I were sitting at the table enjoying some mandarin oranges and chocolate milk, and singing "Zaccheus Was A Wee, Little Man." After the final line "For I am going to your house today," Helen shouts, "HELEN GOES TO HOUSE! HELEN GOES TO ZACCHEUS HOUSE!" Okay, she can't actually pronounce Zaccheus, but that's just semantics. So I tell her, "Sure, you go to Zaccheus's house. You and Jesus both go to the house." Because humoring your kids is how you make it through the day. And then Helen says the weirdest, creepiest thing ever...
She says, "Mama is Jesus."
And Luke's laughter chorused out of the other room. And I stumble about saying, "No, no. Mama is NOT Jesus." Because I now, somehow feel blasphemous. Why does Helen think I am Jesus? I have to assume it is because she thinks that I made everything. I made brother. Why not flowers and mountains and rivers? So our next bible lesson around the house is "Why Mommy is NOT Jesus." Does anyone have scripture to back that up?
Identity Crisis 2
Today Luke and I had a brief, yet very real conversation of the subtleties of the vocal quality of the lead singer of Journey. I find him to be very talented. Luke finds his voice strange.
When did I start knowing enough about Journey to have this conversation? Why wasn't I wearing a jeans jacket and leaning on my Camaro and brushing my mullet while we had this talk? Why was I listening to Journey on a CD? Why do I OWN a Journey CD? Why wasn't I listening to it on cassette while holding the boom box on my shoulder?
Seriously, a conversation about Steve Perry. I like COUNTING CROWS. That's who I am.
Identity Crisis 3
While unpacking in our new house, I found I own a number of romance novels. I do not know where they came from. Perhaps I went out and bought them subconsciously after I started staying at home with the kids. Perhaps I also watch soaps during the day and think Capri pants equal dress-up clothes.
This could be chalked up to my sister leaving one on a visit, or I got them mixed up in my books back when I lived with other girls, but no, there are like 15 of them. I really have no idea how this occurred. Some of them are by Danielle Steele. Now this is against my religion. No really, Jesus does not like Danielle Steele. It's in the bible. He smites people for reading that kind of literary garbage, mass-manufactured by Silhouette and Harlequin. I really just don't know how this came to be...
Identity Crisis 4
I ordered chicken-fried steak at a restaurant yesterday. I don't eat beef. And because I don't eat beef, when I DO eat it, it has a...very bad effect on me. Maybe once every 6 weeks or so, I have Luke take me out for a really nice steak, and I will always regret it. So, why, yesterday, was I possessed to order chicken-fried cube steak at a place that makes the Rainbow Inn (you know what it is) look like Steak and Ale (or someplace actually fancy). Anyway, I ordered it, and the waitress walked away and I looked at Luke kind of shocked-and-awed and said, "That's going to make me sick." Why did I do that? What is wrong with me lately. Have any of you seen the real Sarah? And could you send her back my way? I miss her.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Moving
Well, we close on our new house on Monday. I wish I had more than just the books packed. I am lacking in the motivation department. Plus, we are moving about six blocks so I can't seem to justify "packing" everything. Why wrap all my dishes in newspaper and then have to wash them all just to take them on a 5 minute car ride? So I think I will wait until Sunday to really start getting things together. We weren't planning on getting a truck. We were just going to take the seats out of the van. It is big enough for everything but the couch, and we had big plans for that including bungee cord, rope, one of those orange flags and back streets. But it seems all our well-tuned plans are coming to an end...
Ninety-nine percent of the time I don't mind that Luke and I don't have a lot of friends. I have a lot of philosophy surrounding married-life and social-life that are neither here nor there, but we certainly make do without a bustling social scene. Enter Moving Day.
We have no one to help us move. It is just Luke and I hauling and carrying all our furniture, all by ourselves. No family, no friends, no neighbors. Just us. When Luke interviewed for this teaching position, they told him a lot about the "community of teachers." They told him lovely stories about how they all pitched in to help each other out. A whole crew of teachers showed up to move the Junior High principal to her new house. They take care of each other here. Well, here we are one year later, and I have met just one, single solitary colleague of Luke's. She is fantastic. Unfortunately, she and her family are out of town. I once met Luke's principal at the High School...We ran into them at K-Mart. It was all very "Oh, you must be..." And "How nice to..." And then a lot of awkward standing and then a lot of walking away quickly. We have met no friends through church. I have made a whopping total of three women friends who have kids. None of their husbands seem keen on social interaction with us as a couple, and not a one of them volunteered to help carry the damned sofa. I also have no one to watch the kids during this process. I thought I did. It didn't work out. And then we asked one of Luke's students who happened to be working at a store the other day, and she happens to be off this week and she said that she "dug our kids" and would watch them. Later when I talked to her about it, she said it sounded okay, but if she couldn't her friend's sister liked kids and could probably watch them. And as much as I like the idea of relying on this girl's friend's sister whom I have never met to take care of my two children under the age of two, I have much doubt that any of it will work out...
Remember when I said I was not a freak? Maybe I am. I really don't seem to be able to find friends. I really don't seem to be able to keep them. A lot of people I know seem unreliable and, frankly, kind of jumpy by the very idea of a good solid friendship with me. I feel used a lot. And occasionally ,I feel really, really lonely. Like the kind of lonely that makes you want to shed a single tear...An Indian crying about litter kind of cry. But really, when the times in your life come up that you really need someone, and there is no one to be found...that's depressing. My closest friends live in Michigan, Texas, Oklahoma. I do sometimes wonder when I became incapable of making good friends where I am. I am in this sickly time-warp where all the great friends I have, I made a seven years ago. What's a gal to do?
So, none-the-less, we will be rolling up our sleeves starting Monday and we will make it work somehow. It might take us two weeks to move, but we'll make it happen. I thought buying this house was going to be this awesome thing that made me feel all grown-up and successful. But really, the last week has been bittersweet, at the very, very best.
Ninety-nine percent of the time I don't mind that Luke and I don't have a lot of friends. I have a lot of philosophy surrounding married-life and social-life that are neither here nor there, but we certainly make do without a bustling social scene. Enter Moving Day.
We have no one to help us move. It is just Luke and I hauling and carrying all our furniture, all by ourselves. No family, no friends, no neighbors. Just us. When Luke interviewed for this teaching position, they told him a lot about the "community of teachers." They told him lovely stories about how they all pitched in to help each other out. A whole crew of teachers showed up to move the Junior High principal to her new house. They take care of each other here. Well, here we are one year later, and I have met just one, single solitary colleague of Luke's. She is fantastic. Unfortunately, she and her family are out of town. I once met Luke's principal at the High School...We ran into them at K-Mart. It was all very "Oh, you must be..." And "How nice to..." And then a lot of awkward standing and then a lot of walking away quickly. We have met no friends through church. I have made a whopping total of three women friends who have kids. None of their husbands seem keen on social interaction with us as a couple, and not a one of them volunteered to help carry the damned sofa. I also have no one to watch the kids during this process. I thought I did. It didn't work out. And then we asked one of Luke's students who happened to be working at a store the other day, and she happens to be off this week and she said that she "dug our kids" and would watch them. Later when I talked to her about it, she said it sounded okay, but if she couldn't her friend's sister liked kids and could probably watch them. And as much as I like the idea of relying on this girl's friend's sister whom I have never met to take care of my two children under the age of two, I have much doubt that any of it will work out...
Remember when I said I was not a freak? Maybe I am. I really don't seem to be able to find friends. I really don't seem to be able to keep them. A lot of people I know seem unreliable and, frankly, kind of jumpy by the very idea of a good solid friendship with me. I feel used a lot. And occasionally ,I feel really, really lonely. Like the kind of lonely that makes you want to shed a single tear...An Indian crying about litter kind of cry. But really, when the times in your life come up that you really need someone, and there is no one to be found...that's depressing. My closest friends live in Michigan, Texas, Oklahoma. I do sometimes wonder when I became incapable of making good friends where I am. I am in this sickly time-warp where all the great friends I have, I made a seven years ago. What's a gal to do?
So, none-the-less, we will be rolling up our sleeves starting Monday and we will make it work somehow. It might take us two weeks to move, but we'll make it happen. I thought buying this house was going to be this awesome thing that made me feel all grown-up and successful. But really, the last week has been bittersweet, at the very, very best.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
A Statement on Getting Older
Oh! It is SO embarrassing!
I seriously can't believe I just posted this on the internet! Where people with eyes can see it. This is actually how she fixed it in the salon. It is most certainly NOT what I asked for. With big ol' round face, bangs are not a friend. Not a friend at all. But I have found a way to fix it that is a little less...Man-ish and a little less mom-ish and a little more me. But it is still really, really bad.
I have a good friend named Nicole (Hello Nicole!). I like her because she is a lot like me. She came over yesterday and instead of saying, "Oh, it's not so bad! It's really cute!" she said "Wow, it really is short." My favorite part about that is I had previously told Luke that that was exactly what she would say. My main point being, no one need spare their criticism here. As Jill pointed out, I may HAVE a bad haircut, but at least I didn't WANT the bad haircut.
Which brings me to my statement on getting older: I am getting older.
I actually don't care so much about my hair anymore. I am actually glad it is so easy to fix. Only having an inch of it all over makes this an understandable fact. But I see it in so many other aspects of my life, and I feel...Well, old. It doesn't;t help that I spent the last year surrounded by high school students. They frequently reference bands I have never heard of, make jokes from movies I never saw and have the overall annoying habit of making me feel tired and worn-out in their presence. All those little girls with their stupid perky boobs and tummy shirts with streaky hair and fresh faces. I would leave the house feeling okay about myself, go to the school to help with a show and suddenly feel...Well, old. I take pride in leaving the house in a shirt that has not been thrown up on, and they take pride in EVERYTHING. That'll do something to your psyche.
But I wouldn't trade this for that for all the money in Solomon's kingdom. I know they are just a mess of nerves and sweat and smells and self-loathing. And I know all that time they pour into their appearances is never for their own benefit, but to produce an effect on someone else. That effect generally being a mask of self-confidence sprayed on with hair spray and a bottle of Cover Girl base. Thank God for adulthood.
After I had my two babies in a row, I laid in bed one night tracing my fingers over my road map of stretch marks that range from my ribs to my...Well all the way down. And I cried. And my wonderful, wide husband came over and told me a wonderful magical story. He said "Your body is the story of your life. Everyone of these marks shows that you made life. Every scar you hold is interesting. It means you have lived. If your body was the ideal of perfection, you wouldn't have much life in you. These things are beautiful." And while I think he's full of crap, it was a really nice sentiment. And it did make me feel better in general. But I am still unforgiving of my kids for ruining mommy's body. But as with all wounds, time has healed those, too. I feel fine about not wearing a two piece swim suit ever again. Frankly, without the stretch marks that would be a mistake. But I am not a child, not a teenager, not really even a "young adult" anymore. I am a woman. And with age, I have gained some wisdom and perspective about life. My body is my story. I'm proud of it.
Oh, and by the way, just see what happens when I use that "Your body is a story line with Luke the next time he complains about losing his hair.
But physically is the most minimal way in which I am aging. Do you know how many people I graduated from high school with are still living with their parents? Do you know how many of them are still regularly conversing with each other on My Space? Have never left their comfort zone? Are SO afraid of growing up? Have never made a new friend? All went to UCO? It makes me a little sad. But that isn't the half of it. I was chatting with a friend on the phone the other day and she says "We went out to a bar to hear some bands play and then we went to a club to go dancing." She's two years older than me. All I could think was "Do people do that? Have I become so wretched and old that I forgot that people GO OUT and have fun?" Last night for fun, Luke and I read each other Trivial Pursuit cards while I breastfed a baby and my other kid did puzzles in the floor. What a juxtaposition in lifestyle!! The last time I went to a BAR? Okay, I don't even remember the last time I went to a bar. The last time I visited Chicago and COULD have gone bar-hopping, I was pregnant. When did I spiral light years ahead of my friends. People I know and love and would like to have relationships with are living in a way that I can't even comprehend. I have to be home by nine every night because it is bedtime for Helen! But it's not just kids! Luke and I started living like this almost a YEAR before I got pregnant. We just sat around at night with maybe a single glass of wine chatting about politics. When did this happen? When did I start rocking out to Ben Folds? When did I stop smearing on the face paint and shaking my ass at night clubs? When did I trade curse words for poo and doody and frick? When did I buy that minivan? When did I start a savings account and start caring about taxes and the price of a gallon of gas and the environment and Jesus and kids and safety? When did I stop caring about everything else?
Oh that's right. It was when I grew up. When I started taking responsibility for myself. And through that started caring about and taking responsibility for others. And I wouldn't trade it for even a second to go to Cabo for the weekend and act like a fool and drink margarita's. And so...In conclusion, I don't really care about my stupid, bad haircut.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Wanna see it?
If given an outpouring of comments to that effect, I will post a picture of the extremely bad haircut I received today. And I assure you...it is bad.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Some Stories
So, here are just a couple of stories from things going on in the Rush Home, and at the end, a little moral that I have been thinking about a lot these past few days...
Story One: Why I Fall Down A Lot
I fall down a lot. Not in a lovely allegorical way where I fail at things, although that is true. But in the most literal way. See, I am five foot eight (tall for a lady) and I am, let's say, top heavy. I also have incredibly small feet. Like size six. Like I can still buy kid's shoes. And because of this, I picture myself to be a rather large structure balanced precariously on a rather small platform. It is why I am a terrible dancer. And it is why I fall down.
So yesterday, I bit it big time. And alas, I cannot blame it on my feet. It is because I am also unabashedly clumsy. I was carrying a big stack of linens to the bedroom, forgot that we had moved a shelf out of the closet, tripped over it and fell...Hard. The shelf was one of those plastic things that holds underwear and socks...Like those crates you see in dorm rooms with the holes in the sides...Know what I mean? Well, two of my toes managed to get caught IN the holes (why I was walking with my toes apparently splayed so far out this could happen is a mystery) and in trying to disentangle my toes, I twisted my knee. I also broke a toe. I bruised another. I fell ON the shelf as I drug it along with me into the bedroom and commandeered a bruise over 3 inches long on my leg. BUT, I landed on the linens I was carrying. So all that falling, and I actually landed on some pillows! But the problem is, I never would have fallen if I hadn't been carrying them. They blocked my view of the shelf. Ahhh, they were my savior and my demise.
The End.
Story Two: If You Sing Loudly, Someone Will Hear You
For those of you who don't know, our house is in our landlord's back yard. It is like a little guest house with 3 bedrooms and 1500 square feet. We have a patio, but no lawn, and our kitchen window actually opens into the landlord's patio and yard area. Also, for those of you who don't know, I listen to country music. It's a dirty little secret. But I am actually trained in singing it. Take vocal lessons in a small town in Oklahoma, and they will actually teach you how to put that twang in...My high school choir teacher took four years trying to get it back out again. Anyway, I listen to it. And I like it. And I sing along with it...LOUD. Today, I told Luke, "If I'm gonna be barefoot, in the kitchen, I might as well listen to country." And so I was, barefoot, in the kitchen, doing dishes and belting out Patty Loveless with the stereo.
Luke takes the kids outside to play, and I actually turn the radio UP to sing some louder. And I look up out the window and see Earl, my landlord in his backyard. I slowly turn from the sink, pause the stereo and go outside to Luke. "You couldn't hear me could you?" He says, "Yes. Brother has been looking for you." "YOU COULDN'T HEAR ME SINGING COULD YOU?" I ask again. Catching on, Luke says, "No, I couldn't." in that way that totally meant he was lying. Well, I should have sold tickets.
The End.
Story Three: If the Landlord Can Hear You Singing, He Can Also See You In Your Panties
Tonight I took a shower. This is a blissful occurrence for me, because I admittedly do not shower very often. You show me a stay-at-home Mom with 15 minutes to herself everyday, and I will show you all my Unicorns and Rainbows with little pots of Gold at the end. So tonight I took a shower...With Helen. And when I was done, I went downstairs to get dressed. Now my parents are coming to visit tomorrow, so I have been cleaning like mad. And regardless of the fact that I do laundry about twice a week, we will always have about 5 unfinished loads. Kids are messy. So are Husbands. So I stop in the middle of getting dressed (oh, did I mention I am manic about cleaning?) to change the load of laundry that has finished. So I go to the dryer and pull out the clothes and pile them on my bed across the hall. And I am standing folding the laundry listening to the sounds of Luke and the kids above my head. They were all chasing a balloon around the upstairs when I left. And they are all laughing and thumping above me. So I have one of those really wonderful moments when you realize that life is really great and you have great kids and a great spouse and you realize that you are blessed and you REALIZE THAT THE CURTAINS ARE OPEN ABOVE THE WASHER AND DRYER AND THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE BACKYARD OF YOUR LANDLORD'S HOUSE AND THAT YOU ARE STANDING FOLDING A TOWEL IN YOU LITTLE UNDERPANTS AND THAT SLUTTY CROSBY STILLS AND NASH TANK TOP YOU LIKE TO SLEEP IN!!!!! It was truly a wonderful moment.
The Moral Of My Stories
I have long since outlived my desire to prove much of anything to anybody. Most of you who read this know me fairly well. You know I have always had a pretty easy go of telling people "what I really think." But the truth is, I spent years running scared and burning bridges and destroying relationships because I hated to think that people didn't like me unless I didn't like them first. Now there is truth to the fact that people generally really like me, or REALLY don't. That I have come to terms with. But the other stuff...the impressing people, the witty banter and pressure to BE...I'm just through with it. I just want to LIVE. RIGHT NOW. Like no body's looking. I want to fall down and sing loud and fold clothes in my panties BECAUSE I CAN. Because I love me. And because my husband loves me. And I got friends who love me. And if other people don't love me, well...Why would I want to be friends with that anyway!? I want to live everyday of my life like that day one year ago when Luke and I prayed and said, "Let's Move To Wyoming!" It was this crazy rush. There was a lot of giddy laughing. A lot of "OH MY GOSH! Are we gonna do this?" And we did. And we try to live everyday like that now. Lord, if I didn't do something everyday that would probably make most people think me certifiable then I just wouldn't be me. So my moral? Live life. Make the choices that are right for you (with the help of God and Jesus, of course) and right for the people you love. And if you are happy, you give Happy to others. Misery may love company, but being joyful sure rubs off, too. And embrace your life right now. Stop waiting for life to come to you. Stop waiting to start living it until you are at X point financially or until you are at X point in your career. Live THIS life. Find life in falling down and singing loud and acting like a fool. You get up every morning and put on your clown-suit. It's a way better way to live.
Story One: Why I Fall Down A Lot
I fall down a lot. Not in a lovely allegorical way where I fail at things, although that is true. But in the most literal way. See, I am five foot eight (tall for a lady) and I am, let's say, top heavy. I also have incredibly small feet. Like size six. Like I can still buy kid's shoes. And because of this, I picture myself to be a rather large structure balanced precariously on a rather small platform. It is why I am a terrible dancer. And it is why I fall down.
So yesterday, I bit it big time. And alas, I cannot blame it on my feet. It is because I am also unabashedly clumsy. I was carrying a big stack of linens to the bedroom, forgot that we had moved a shelf out of the closet, tripped over it and fell...Hard. The shelf was one of those plastic things that holds underwear and socks...Like those crates you see in dorm rooms with the holes in the sides...Know what I mean? Well, two of my toes managed to get caught IN the holes (why I was walking with my toes apparently splayed so far out this could happen is a mystery) and in trying to disentangle my toes, I twisted my knee. I also broke a toe. I bruised another. I fell ON the shelf as I drug it along with me into the bedroom and commandeered a bruise over 3 inches long on my leg. BUT, I landed on the linens I was carrying. So all that falling, and I actually landed on some pillows! But the problem is, I never would have fallen if I hadn't been carrying them. They blocked my view of the shelf. Ahhh, they were my savior and my demise.
The End.
Story Two: If You Sing Loudly, Someone Will Hear You
For those of you who don't know, our house is in our landlord's back yard. It is like a little guest house with 3 bedrooms and 1500 square feet. We have a patio, but no lawn, and our kitchen window actually opens into the landlord's patio and yard area. Also, for those of you who don't know, I listen to country music. It's a dirty little secret. But I am actually trained in singing it. Take vocal lessons in a small town in Oklahoma, and they will actually teach you how to put that twang in...My high school choir teacher took four years trying to get it back out again. Anyway, I listen to it. And I like it. And I sing along with it...LOUD. Today, I told Luke, "If I'm gonna be barefoot, in the kitchen, I might as well listen to country." And so I was, barefoot, in the kitchen, doing dishes and belting out Patty Loveless with the stereo.
Luke takes the kids outside to play, and I actually turn the radio UP to sing some louder. And I look up out the window and see Earl, my landlord in his backyard. I slowly turn from the sink, pause the stereo and go outside to Luke. "You couldn't hear me could you?" He says, "Yes. Brother has been looking for you." "YOU COULDN'T HEAR ME SINGING COULD YOU?" I ask again. Catching on, Luke says, "No, I couldn't." in that way that totally meant he was lying. Well, I should have sold tickets.
The End.
Story Three: If the Landlord Can Hear You Singing, He Can Also See You In Your Panties
Tonight I took a shower. This is a blissful occurrence for me, because I admittedly do not shower very often. You show me a stay-at-home Mom with 15 minutes to herself everyday, and I will show you all my Unicorns and Rainbows with little pots of Gold at the end. So tonight I took a shower...With Helen. And when I was done, I went downstairs to get dressed. Now my parents are coming to visit tomorrow, so I have been cleaning like mad. And regardless of the fact that I do laundry about twice a week, we will always have about 5 unfinished loads. Kids are messy. So are Husbands. So I stop in the middle of getting dressed (oh, did I mention I am manic about cleaning?) to change the load of laundry that has finished. So I go to the dryer and pull out the clothes and pile them on my bed across the hall. And I am standing folding the laundry listening to the sounds of Luke and the kids above my head. They were all chasing a balloon around the upstairs when I left. And they are all laughing and thumping above me. So I have one of those really wonderful moments when you realize that life is really great and you have great kids and a great spouse and you realize that you are blessed and you REALIZE THAT THE CURTAINS ARE OPEN ABOVE THE WASHER AND DRYER AND THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE BACKYARD OF YOUR LANDLORD'S HOUSE AND THAT YOU ARE STANDING FOLDING A TOWEL IN YOU LITTLE UNDERPANTS AND THAT SLUTTY CROSBY STILLS AND NASH TANK TOP YOU LIKE TO SLEEP IN!!!!! It was truly a wonderful moment.
The Moral Of My Stories
I have long since outlived my desire to prove much of anything to anybody. Most of you who read this know me fairly well. You know I have always had a pretty easy go of telling people "what I really think." But the truth is, I spent years running scared and burning bridges and destroying relationships because I hated to think that people didn't like me unless I didn't like them first. Now there is truth to the fact that people generally really like me, or REALLY don't. That I have come to terms with. But the other stuff...the impressing people, the witty banter and pressure to BE...I'm just through with it. I just want to LIVE. RIGHT NOW. Like no body's looking. I want to fall down and sing loud and fold clothes in my panties BECAUSE I CAN. Because I love me. And because my husband loves me. And I got friends who love me. And if other people don't love me, well...Why would I want to be friends with that anyway!? I want to live everyday of my life like that day one year ago when Luke and I prayed and said, "Let's Move To Wyoming!" It was this crazy rush. There was a lot of giddy laughing. A lot of "OH MY GOSH! Are we gonna do this?" And we did. And we try to live everyday like that now. Lord, if I didn't do something everyday that would probably make most people think me certifiable then I just wouldn't be me. So my moral? Live life. Make the choices that are right for you (with the help of God and Jesus, of course) and right for the people you love. And if you are happy, you give Happy to others. Misery may love company, but being joyful sure rubs off, too. And embrace your life right now. Stop waiting for life to come to you. Stop waiting to start living it until you are at X point financially or until you are at X point in your career. Live THIS life. Find life in falling down and singing loud and acting like a fool. You get up every morning and put on your clown-suit. It's a way better way to live.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
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