Tonight I was lucky enough to teach two important things to two important people in my life.
At dinner tonight Em tasted her first popcorn, and discovered Heaven on Earth. In this house we are popcorn addicts. Caramel corn, cheezy corn, kettle corn, smooth buttery popcorn. Bring it on. I've never met a kernel I didn't like. Even the dogs are in on the game.
A little later I got the priviledge of explaining AutoStart to Elise, who had never heard of it. AutoStart is a little sumptin sumptin that helps us Northerners get through Hell on Earth, er, winter.
And then, AND THEN, I managed to teach myself how to do links. I know, this should not be enough to get me all hot and bothered, but it so totally is. I am a geek at heart.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Pennies from Heaven
So on our day off Monday we decided we needed to get out of the house. More importantly, we needed to get the baby out of the house. We figured the mall - with its endless sidewalks and dinosaur playland - would be the perfect spot.
After we spent some time exchanging germs with dozens of sniffling toddlers and a Brontosaurus cast in a strangely unnatural soft-plastic pose, we took off. Em made a beeline toward the rubber duckies at Bath & Body Works. In order to distract her, we turned her toward the fountain. She marched straight up to two little old grannies who were deep in conversation, looked straight up at them and said, "Hi." Then she stood there and stared up at them. Of course they thought she was adorable, because they were SMART little old grannies. And if anyone can recognize adorable, it's a granny.
Canon found some pennies and we showed Em how to pitch them into the fountain. We cheered with each tiny splash, and then spent some time looking at the glittering wishes that lined the bottom of the reflecting pool. Just as we were leaving, one of the grannies walked up to us to tell us how much she enjoyed Em, and asked what her name was. When we told her Em's full name, she practically melted into a puddle of goo right there on the mall floor. "That was my mother's name," she said. It's kind of an old-fashioned name, and I'm guessing it's been a while since she'd run into someone who shared it. The granny was positively glowing as she opened her purse and handed me a fistfull of pennies. She insisted we take them and let the baby throw them in the fountain.
As we tossed pennies and celebrated splashes, me with tears in my eyes, the old woman walked away with a faraway look in her eyes and an odd smile on her face. I hope it was a happy one.
After we spent some time exchanging germs with dozens of sniffling toddlers and a Brontosaurus cast in a strangely unnatural soft-plastic pose, we took off. Em made a beeline toward the rubber duckies at Bath & Body Works. In order to distract her, we turned her toward the fountain. She marched straight up to two little old grannies who were deep in conversation, looked straight up at them and said, "Hi." Then she stood there and stared up at them. Of course they thought she was adorable, because they were SMART little old grannies. And if anyone can recognize adorable, it's a granny.
Canon found some pennies and we showed Em how to pitch them into the fountain. We cheered with each tiny splash, and then spent some time looking at the glittering wishes that lined the bottom of the reflecting pool. Just as we were leaving, one of the grannies walked up to us to tell us how much she enjoyed Em, and asked what her name was. When we told her Em's full name, she practically melted into a puddle of goo right there on the mall floor. "That was my mother's name," she said. It's kind of an old-fashioned name, and I'm guessing it's been a while since she'd run into someone who shared it. The granny was positively glowing as she opened her purse and handed me a fistfull of pennies. She insisted we take them and let the baby throw them in the fountain.
As we tossed pennies and celebrated splashes, me with tears in my eyes, the old woman walked away with a faraway look in her eyes and an odd smile on her face. I hope it was a happy one.
Monday, January 02, 2006
MMVI
There were no champagne toasts at our house at New Year's. There was just two tired parents, a sleeping baby and a whirring DVD player. Actually, I think I rang in 2006 about 3 feet from the spot where I rang in 2005. And while it wasn't one of my most exciting New Years Eves, it was definitely one of my favorites.
Wishing you all heatlh, happiness and plenty of snark in '06.
Wishing you all heatlh, happiness and plenty of snark in '06.
Monday, November 21, 2005
1995
I had my friend Allison pick me up that night. We had been looking forward to the party for a few weeks. It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, and between my new job and my classes, I was so swamped. I really needed to blow off some steam. It's not that I was planning on going home with a certain someone else, it's just that I was planning on getting drunk. Underaged, stressed out, college student drunk. There was no way I was driving home.
Allison and I were among the first to arrive. Jax mixed us some of her trademark Crystal Light and vodka. My tongue turned bright orange as I sucked it down. The doorbell kept ringing and pretty soon the party was on. We drank, and laughed, and flirted mercilessly. We played strip Jenga. We stargazed from the third floor balcony, but damn, it was cold out there.
Until it wasn't. Until it was so jam-packed and hot inside I just had to get out for some air. And this guy, the one with whom I had flirted mercilessly for the past month, followed me out.
He was the kind of guy that was totally out of my league. He was tall, and slender, and tall, and he had great arms and a gorgeous smile. With dimples. His auburn hair had a just a hint of red lowlights. It was long -- longer than mine, and incredibly sexy. All those weeks of flirting, and I always assumed he saw me as a little sister type of kid; someone to tease, someone he found amusing. I figured he had a tall, leggy supermodel-type girlfriend at home.
But he didn't.
And we talked for a while, and laughed for a while, and I forgot about how cold it was on a November night in the upper Midwest. And suddenly he was kissing me. He had soft lips and warm hands, and I remember feeling so safe and content (and a little drunk. And a LOT surprised) wrapped up in him.
Until the standing ovation started. Apparently we weren't as alone as we had thought; someone inside had opened the blinds and there we were, making out in front of all of our friends and a few strangers. Hello, embarassment.
We decided to find a place where we could talk that was a little more private. Here's where the story diverges: There's what actually happened, what Canon says happened, and the urban legend that's been propagated by our friends for the last decade. Needless to say, I won't spoil the mystique here. I will say that I did not go home with Allison.
To this day, I'm still a little bit amazed that that moment actually happened to me. And when I use that frame of mind to look at the life we've built in the ten years since that moment, I'm still amazed. The Best Dog In The World is curled up at my feet. The Co-Best Dog In The World is sleeping on Canon's lap. Our daughter is asleep in her room down the hall. And us? Here we sit, in the home that we've built together, still making each other laugh.
And occassionally making each other roll our eyes and sigh, or scream, or cry, but it's so worth it.
It's all been so worth it.
Allison and I were among the first to arrive. Jax mixed us some of her trademark Crystal Light and vodka. My tongue turned bright orange as I sucked it down. The doorbell kept ringing and pretty soon the party was on. We drank, and laughed, and flirted mercilessly. We played strip Jenga. We stargazed from the third floor balcony, but damn, it was cold out there.
Until it wasn't. Until it was so jam-packed and hot inside I just had to get out for some air. And this guy, the one with whom I had flirted mercilessly for the past month, followed me out.
He was the kind of guy that was totally out of my league. He was tall, and slender, and tall, and he had great arms and a gorgeous smile. With dimples. His auburn hair had a just a hint of red lowlights. It was long -- longer than mine, and incredibly sexy. All those weeks of flirting, and I always assumed he saw me as a little sister type of kid; someone to tease, someone he found amusing. I figured he had a tall, leggy supermodel-type girlfriend at home.
But he didn't.
And we talked for a while, and laughed for a while, and I forgot about how cold it was on a November night in the upper Midwest. And suddenly he was kissing me. He had soft lips and warm hands, and I remember feeling so safe and content (and a little drunk. And a LOT surprised) wrapped up in him.
Until the standing ovation started. Apparently we weren't as alone as we had thought; someone inside had opened the blinds and there we were, making out in front of all of our friends and a few strangers. Hello, embarassment.
We decided to find a place where we could talk that was a little more private. Here's where the story diverges: There's what actually happened, what Canon says happened, and the urban legend that's been propagated by our friends for the last decade. Needless to say, I won't spoil the mystique here. I will say that I did not go home with Allison.
To this day, I'm still a little bit amazed that that moment actually happened to me. And when I use that frame of mind to look at the life we've built in the ten years since that moment, I'm still amazed. The Best Dog In The World is curled up at my feet. The Co-Best Dog In The World is sleeping on Canon's lap. Our daughter is asleep in her room down the hall. And us? Here we sit, in the home that we've built together, still making each other laugh.
And occassionally making each other roll our eyes and sigh, or scream, or cry, but it's so worth it.
It's all been so worth it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
...You can keep it
I was just reading an article on Joan Didion, where she discussses her process of writing. She says, “I thought, ‘If I can write it down, I can keep it.’"
That struck me like a lightning bolt. If you write it down, you can keep it.
But what if you don’t want to keep it? Because lately, I don’t want to ‘keep it’ at all. And I think that’s why I haven’t been writing. Maybe if I don’t talk about feeling lousy and lazy and uninspired, it will all just go away, vanish into the past, and I won’t ever have to confront it.
Confront what? you’re asking. Well, I’m not exactly sure. Anything and everything. Life. Work. Deciding what to wear, what to make for dinner. Some days it just feels so entirely overwhelming.
I wake up in the morning and force myself to find a reason to get out of bed. Maybe it’s indulging myself an extra long a hot shower. Or spending five minutes doing nothing but cuddling and scritching my dogs before I get dressed. Or maybe it’s because I know it’s a Gilmore Girls night. Thinking about the whole day ahead is too overwhelming.
I’m afraid of writing, in fact, and writing is my job. I can sit and type all day but all I read is garbelymumbo… is any meaning even coming through? I can’t believe people pay me to do this. I have to keep quiet about not knowing what I’m doing or someone will find out and then I’ll be screwed. And then what? I know how to pretend to be normal, but oh God, it's tiring. I don’t know what comes after you get exposed.
And that's the scariest thing of all.
That struck me like a lightning bolt. If you write it down, you can keep it.
But what if you don’t want to keep it? Because lately, I don’t want to ‘keep it’ at all. And I think that’s why I haven’t been writing. Maybe if I don’t talk about feeling lousy and lazy and uninspired, it will all just go away, vanish into the past, and I won’t ever have to confront it.
Confront what? you’re asking. Well, I’m not exactly sure. Anything and everything. Life. Work. Deciding what to wear, what to make for dinner. Some days it just feels so entirely overwhelming.
I wake up in the morning and force myself to find a reason to get out of bed. Maybe it’s indulging myself an extra long a hot shower. Or spending five minutes doing nothing but cuddling and scritching my dogs before I get dressed. Or maybe it’s because I know it’s a Gilmore Girls night. Thinking about the whole day ahead is too overwhelming.
I’m afraid of writing, in fact, and writing is my job. I can sit and type all day but all I read is garbelymumbo… is any meaning even coming through? I can’t believe people pay me to do this. I have to keep quiet about not knowing what I’m doing or someone will find out and then I’ll be screwed. And then what? I know how to pretend to be normal, but oh God, it's tiring. I don’t know what comes after you get exposed.
And that's the scariest thing of all.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Silent
For a long time after my miscarriages, I imagined my uterus was lined with spikes. Sharp, pointy, jagged spikes that would tear and crush any life that dared to grow there. I hated that killer uterus, the thing that took two babies away from me. I thought it was useless and defective and cruel. For a long time I was convinced that it was eating away at my future, from the inside of my body out.
My uterus, as we finally discovered, works well enough. But the feelings persisted.
Those spikes – raw, gnashing, ugly – they’re still there. In my soul. I can’t stand myself. For a while I thought it was my exterior. I thought maybe losing some weight or getting a pedicure would make me feel better. And then the nail polish would wear off, the calluses returned and for all my good intentions, the weight kept creeping up. And I only hated myself more, and found more excuses.
I hate what I am, what I appear to be. My inside is just as ugly as my outside. I constantly feel that nothing I do is right. I don’t look right or say the right things, or act right, or write right.
I certainly don’t feel right.
Once I told a counselor that I was having “dark thoughts.” I imagined no one loved me, that no one even liked me, that I was a burden on everyone around me, that I embarrassed people just by being in their presence. “Dark” to me meant admitting some of my deepest fears. “Dark” to her meant something else. She laughed and said that I didn’t know what “dark” was. I never went back. That was four years ago. I didn’t ever talk about it with anyone else.
I thought that I needed to be suicidal to seek the help of a professional therapist. I didn’t want to die, so I felt trapped inside a person I hated. I tried to hide. I crawled inside myself and chewed on my fears, my failures, till they were raw. I pulled away from my husband, my family and my friends. I caused a lot of problems by not being honest with them, and by not being honest with myself.
I have a lot to face up to. I have a lot to say. This is going to suck, but there’s just no way around it. I’m scared as hell.
----------------------------
I wrote that a month ago. But I still couldn't bring myself to post it. Doing it now means that I'm better. Not all the way... we're still talking baby steps here. But I have a new found respect and admiration for SSRIs. They help. They really do.
I'm sorry I left my blog so abruptly, and for so long. I'm pretty sure no one's even checking it anymore, and that's ok with me. It means I can ease back into blogging. And if you're still checking up on me, well... thanks.
My uterus, as we finally discovered, works well enough. But the feelings persisted.
Those spikes – raw, gnashing, ugly – they’re still there. In my soul. I can’t stand myself. For a while I thought it was my exterior. I thought maybe losing some weight or getting a pedicure would make me feel better. And then the nail polish would wear off, the calluses returned and for all my good intentions, the weight kept creeping up. And I only hated myself more, and found more excuses.
I hate what I am, what I appear to be. My inside is just as ugly as my outside. I constantly feel that nothing I do is right. I don’t look right or say the right things, or act right, or write right.
I certainly don’t feel right.
Once I told a counselor that I was having “dark thoughts.” I imagined no one loved me, that no one even liked me, that I was a burden on everyone around me, that I embarrassed people just by being in their presence. “Dark” to me meant admitting some of my deepest fears. “Dark” to her meant something else. She laughed and said that I didn’t know what “dark” was. I never went back. That was four years ago. I didn’t ever talk about it with anyone else.
I thought that I needed to be suicidal to seek the help of a professional therapist. I didn’t want to die, so I felt trapped inside a person I hated. I tried to hide. I crawled inside myself and chewed on my fears, my failures, till they were raw. I pulled away from my husband, my family and my friends. I caused a lot of problems by not being honest with them, and by not being honest with myself.
I have a lot to face up to. I have a lot to say. This is going to suck, but there’s just no way around it. I’m scared as hell.
----------------------------
I wrote that a month ago. But I still couldn't bring myself to post it. Doing it now means that I'm better. Not all the way... we're still talking baby steps here. But I have a new found respect and admiration for SSRIs. They help. They really do.
I'm sorry I left my blog so abruptly, and for so long. I'm pretty sure no one's even checking it anymore, and that's ok with me. It means I can ease back into blogging. And if you're still checking up on me, well... thanks.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Funked Out
So, what’s it been, a month? Longer? *Sigh.* I was afraid blogging would turn into another responsibility for me, and so it has.
You’ll figure this out on your own, I’m sure, but I’m in a serious funk today. I don’t know why, really. There is no good reason. But for some reason, it seemed the right time to return to the blog.
A lot has happened in this month. I am full of stories. But they’re not coming out right, and I just get all frustrated about not having anything witty to say or not being able to thread certain events together into a cohesive story. So, I chose to duck and cover.
We had a nice vacation. It was stressful, because Em was a lot of work. She was pretty clingy and it was a lot of time in the car for her, so it was tough. She did great… probably as great as we could expect from a 10-month old. But I returned home tired and cranky and disheartened that there wasn’t a vacation to look forward to anymore.
And then came Advopalooza. A baby-free weekend with old friends that left me invigorated and content. And suddenly I figured it out; I need to take some time for myself. So now I have a new hobby, and I’m going to try to find a few hours a week to devote to it… and not worry about the work deadlines or the household chores.
Em’s birthday is roaring up. There’s so much I want to do before the party, but I have a feeling that most of it won’t happen. For some reason I can either be productive at work or productive at home, but doing both at once is more than I can handle. And work’s been a bitch lately.
So yeah. Tired, crabby and blue, that’s today’s theme. But tomorrow, that’s another day. Hopefully I’ll have a better story by then.
You’ll figure this out on your own, I’m sure, but I’m in a serious funk today. I don’t know why, really. There is no good reason. But for some reason, it seemed the right time to return to the blog.
A lot has happened in this month. I am full of stories. But they’re not coming out right, and I just get all frustrated about not having anything witty to say or not being able to thread certain events together into a cohesive story. So, I chose to duck and cover.
We had a nice vacation. It was stressful, because Em was a lot of work. She was pretty clingy and it was a lot of time in the car for her, so it was tough. She did great… probably as great as we could expect from a 10-month old. But I returned home tired and cranky and disheartened that there wasn’t a vacation to look forward to anymore.
And then came Advopalooza. A baby-free weekend with old friends that left me invigorated and content. And suddenly I figured it out; I need to take some time for myself. So now I have a new hobby, and I’m going to try to find a few hours a week to devote to it… and not worry about the work deadlines or the household chores.
Em’s birthday is roaring up. There’s so much I want to do before the party, but I have a feeling that most of it won’t happen. For some reason I can either be productive at work or productive at home, but doing both at once is more than I can handle. And work’s been a bitch lately.
So yeah. Tired, crabby and blue, that’s today’s theme. But tomorrow, that’s another day. Hopefully I’ll have a better story by then.
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