The lovefest in the comments of the previous post…? Thank you. Y’all are so kind. (and GiBee…? Valentine’s will be on the 14th this year. Ha!)
When we went to Dallas a few weeks back, we got to spend some time with HolyCousin. In the space of an hour, she took great pictures of the boys, and then this week she sent me a link titled "HolyBoys." Hmm. Catchy. Cute.
And then I clicked on it, and just CRIED. And then clicked again. And cried. Again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Y’all are going to love this, but here are a few warnings:
1. you’ll want one of your own kids/dogs/cats/ferrets/shoe collection/whatever
2. you’ll ADORE my kids by the end of it if you don’t already
3. you’ll wish she were YOUR cousin. (and too bad. she’s not.)
But it’s a free service, and although you may not be the photographer that she happens to be – with a great sense of contrast and perspective – you CAN do this if you want and it’ll be great! (but remember – you WILL want to!)
(Turn up the volume now, before you click below)
We’re back from visiting Kim-12yr. I thought it would be easier than last time, or at least not as excruciating. I was wrong.
We were supposed to come back on Sunday, but we drove in on Saturday instead. Mike and I were really annoyed with one another, and emotional and stressed and there was no reason to stay the extra day. We weren’t scheduled to see Kim-12yr that day, it was just supposed to be a day ‘off’ from the Vomit Your Soul type of intense therapy. Ha. Some day off. Not.
Sunday was our tenth anniversary and we were barely speaking. Then we worked it out (translation: Mike gave a heartfelt, LONG OVERDUE apology) and we sat on the couches and stared at each other. Mike mumbled something about our anniversary, and I mumbled something about "for better or worse."
And that was it. No cards, no kisses, no diamonds. I’m so surprised that I’m okay with that. But really…? It’s okay. I love him. He loves me. We’re in this thing for good. And this is just where we are right now. Maybe eleven years of marriage will be something different, but ten is okay for just what it was: lame. Meeting no romantic delusions or fantasies in any way.
Ok. Real depressing.
I don’t know why at 1 in the morning I"m trying to make this sound okay and failing miserably. But it WAS just ok, and not awful, and thank you GOD I wasn’t really serious about wanting jewelry or diamonds and then didn’t even get a card, because then it would have been devastating. And it wasn’t that at all. It was just lame. Hmm. There I go again.
Nevermind. Our anniversary totally sucked worms. We did not look happy, in love, or even as if we knew one another. We probably looked like annoyed mutes, shooting the occasional glance at the other to see if the other were still around and if the other might be finally wising up and getting repentant.
Yeah. That’s better. That’s how it was.
Hi y’all. It’s Tuesday night, and I’m ‘pre-blogging.’ I’ll be home soon, and by the time you read these words i’ll probably REALLY, really, REALLY want to be home.
If you liked HolySIster’s poem, be sure to share the love. I want her to let me post more. (And shhhh! This is how we’re easing her into blogging… aren’t we so sneaky?!)
Ethan-6yr and I had an entire, totally serious, conversation today that lasted about 10 minutes. This is not unusual. What IS unusual is that we only used variations of one word: meow.
It was an odd, spontaneous thing. He was on the couch, I walked over. He meowed. I looked at him for a moment and meowed back. We solemnly tried out different inflections and realistic attempts at mewing and meowing at each other. Then, like cats, one of us got bored and wandered off and that was the end of that.
It’s a weird world Ethan-6yr lives in, and I had a lovely visit.
And, although I really like her, I don’t. So, tough.
It’s too smart and too deep
and it puts me to sleep.
But then HolySister wrote stuff I ADORE!
It’s always cute and funny and then i want more
so i begged and i pleaded
said this blog really, really needed (‘her stuff’, you know. pretend this isn’t here and it rhymed AND made sense, ‘kay?)
and she said yes!
so without further ado…
(you woulda loved it anyway
even without my suckage to compare it toooooo…)
Only two, our little bird-lover,
our connoisseur of vegetables.
He is Mischief in Elmo briefs,
blue and blonde and pink.
His rose-bud smile outfoxes Mona Lisa
for sly reticence.
Under all that wriggling energy –
the circular dance led by the right hip –
he is perceptive.
Little hands, row of dimples
across the knuckles,
His brow furrows, small
He knows comfort is needed.
I’m okay. You’re okay.
(Did y’all sing that Girl Scout song too, or are y’all trying to figure out that title still?)
Sorry Corina, you’re the ‘old’ one, but I mean it in the nicest possible way. Check her out! She’s hilarious and inspiring, and she’s physical comedy in the blogworld.
New one: Rebecca. She fascinates me with her analytical approach to fashion and style. I adore her frugality and her love of links. I get lost in her blog posts, but it’s so much fun I don’t mind. We’re also on an undercover assignment together, and no. I won’t tell what it is. But it’s how we ‘met.’
I’m supposed to be packing. I’m supposed to be cleaning, packing, child caring, and sooo not supposed to be blogging. But Seth-10mth needed to nurse and nap, and now he’s snuggled up next to me and oops! There’s a laptop within reach…
I’ve done almost everything on my Get Out of Town list. Including pack the kids, paint my toenails (important, y’all, important), clean the bathroom so the always stylishly dressed interior designer does not get cheerios stuck in her shoes. I forgot the eyebrows, though. Yes, that was actually on the list, and it is not yet crossed off.
When you do hours of intense face to face therapy with a kid who delights in your every single imperfection and shortcoming, ‘Eyebrows’ totally gets put on the Get Out of Town to do list. And it didn’t get done.
And while Mike insists that the car be washed just as we leave on any road trip (i have no idea why – it’s about to be bug spattered for hundreds of miles)… well, i’m thinking he will be distinctly less understanding of my need to visit an eyebrowist before we hit the road. But I’ll give it a shot.
And pack the tweezers just in case.
Two women need lots of prayer over lumps they found recently. Would y’all please leave encouraging words or prayers in the comments for them? I’ve been there and I needed all the love and support I could possibly get. Thank you!
Today this blog went a little more, um, public. And yaknow, blogs ARE usually public, as this one certainly is. I make no secret of my scheming to build a readership THEN approach a publisher. But I suppose I had a certain idea of who that readership is. Specifically, a few friends and my family and all of y’all. ‘All of y’all’ being the people I’ve met through this blog, of course. Today a couple things happened that made me realize that I don’t have any idea who actually reads this. And that’s ok, really – but it did surprise me.
It started with an email from someone I went through elementary and high school with – but never really spoke to. She was a very pretty, perfect-y sort, in my opinion. I was… not. She emailed and asked if I was that particular Kelsey. I shot off a quick email, not thinking it through very well, asking how she figured that out. She politely and tactfully said something like, "Um. The picture looked like you…?"
(Turns out she’s lovely, and probably always was, although I was too intimidated by her back then to notice. Nice surprise!)
But that’s not all.
Dum de dum…
The other day I was having lunch with Mike and a friend/colleague of Mike’s and the friend/colleague says something like, "Hey, my wife likes your site…"
Huh. I wondered how that happened, but forgot about it until today when i remembered to ask Mike.
"So, um, how did Friend/Colleague’s wife hear about my blog?"
Mike’s eyes get shifty and he says, "Oh. It’s a blog. So… people read it… and tell people… that’s how those things work… right?"
I raise my eyebrows.
He gets the point.
Smart Man says, "I’m proud of you! I support you! …I might have sent out a mass email announcing it…"
(I should point out that there is a faint swooshing sound in my head after he says those words ‘mass email,’ and I wonder if it is the sound of blood or adrenaline rushing around in there)
"YOU WHAAAAAT? And didn’t TELL ME?!"
He gets weird and defensive and says, "It’s not like I’m going to… to… hide it under a bushel."
"HIDE IT UNDER A BUSHEL? You’re not supposed to hide the Good News of JESUS CHRIST under a BUSHEL! THat’s not the same as your wife’s blog! I talk about BOOBS, MIKE! Boobs! And… and BUTTS. A lot of BOOBS AND BUTTS!"
"And I"m proud of you."
Oh, he’s so sweet. And he clearly doesn’t read it, or he NEVER would have done that.
"So… who’d you send this email to?"
"Everyone but my parents."
As HolySister later said, "Thank God for small blessings."
Oh he’s so infuriatingly sweet and wonderful and totally clueless sometimes. My TMJ started acting up moments after this conversation. (Yeah, Mom. Wearing my ‘nightguard.’ Thanks.)
Hello to our accountant. Hi to all of Mike’s business associates and CLIENTS, for pete’s sake. Hi to our friend and attorney. And hi to anyone who might be out there who I might have unfairly judged and been intimadated by when I was fifteen. You’re all quite welcome to stay if you’d like. (And if you’ve only stayed because you thought you SHOULD after receiving a mass email from Mike, you are hereby released from any further obligatory boob/butt or other such blog posts. But stop reading now…!)
On the subject of boobs…? WAY TO GO, Y’ALL! We reached 31 self exams this month! And PLEASE pray for a reader who has an appointmen to check on a lump. (I’ve been there, and that’s a hard waiting game.) It is SO important to do these self exams, so good for all of you who did!
Thank you for your kind, kind words and comments. So very much appreciated, y’all.
If you haven’t gotten around to this, get to it! Palpate, please palpate. (We still haven’t reached our goal of 30.) And a BIG PINK RIBBON to HolyAuntie, who is responsible not only for her own boobs, but she also bugged 4 other women into doing a self exam as well. (If you’d ever met her, you’d understand that she is the sort who just. gets. things. done. Yes -even other women’s BSE’s. And we love her for it.)
We’ll be going to see our daughter in a few days. (I normally don’t mention we’ll be away, but no biggie. We’ll have a security system, a fiery little cat-sitter, and possibly an interior designer around. Which means, that should anyone try to break in, they might be apprehended by a screeching siren sound, a redheaded teenager with a flare for the dramatic, a twenty pound cat, and an always stylishly dressed designer. Yeah. We’re safe.)
Gratuitous Baby Photos Mainly for My Mom:
Seth-10mth, thinking, "HELP! I am too close to the woman with lots of teeth and only one eyeball! Heeeelp!"
"Oh, yeah. it was Mom. Totally knew that."
I don’t talk about our daughter much. It’s been just over 2 months since we placed her in residential treatment for attachment disorder. We’ve visited once, and are about to visit again. Visiting her is consecutive days of serious therapy that makes you feel like you’ve just vomited your soul. Can’t wait to go back.
She’s 12. My teeth are clenching even now, as we just had a phone call with her that makes me want to scream. I’ve sat here, looking at the screen, wondering how to come up with words that would convey how lovely and gifted and wonderful she truly is. But those aren’t the words that I want to type. Or think. Those words make me want to laugh right now. Wouldn’t it sound like I had enviable faith and hope and vision if I were to talk about how great she is despite our circumstances…? Sometimes I can do that, and do it with great sincerity. Now is not one of those times.
She’s a force most people underestimate, even those who know her well. She has an ability to destroy viciously, and intentionally, all the while smiling and effortlessly convincing others her innocence is unquestionable. She’s a hard kid to parent. Even now, from a distance, when I have few to no responsibilities, still it’s hard.
For so long our lives have been directed by the sick, twisted dance of dealing with her disorder. Surviving each day meant something different for each of us. I was required to wear thick, thick armor at all times around her. Twenty four hours a day, every day, and never ever let down my guard or slip up. If I did, she took advantage in any way she could. She was constantly looking to hurt me, to drive me away, to rid herself of me in any way she could. Any weakness or misstep or mistake on my part was cause for her celebration. She can admit that now, whereas before she wouldn’t.
It’s still the same, even now, though.
I am hopeful that she’ll be helped by the people who are caring for her. They’re amazing individuals, with more talent and love and dedication than I’ve ever before seen in a group of people.
Sometimes I’ll go off on some tangent when I’m talking to my mom on the phone and she’ll say, "Um… what’s your point?"
Are we at that part of this post? I guess my point is that I’ve put off writing about her at all because I couldn’t do it in a way that didn’t sound like this. But this is what it is, pretty or not, and I want to be genuine. So here.
(Now, go feel up your boobs and comment on the post below, please. Goals are important, y’all , and ours is 30 this month.)