I had a meeting a few days ago at a new little restaurant called the Creperie. The atmosphere was lovely, and the food even more so. I left with every intention of going back soon. I also left missing my father more than I have in years.
He loved crepes. Loved to make them almost as much as he loved to eat them. What I would give to share a brunch at the Creperie (because according to my father, that's when crepes are best enjoyed) with him and tell him all about what he's missed these last 6 years. And I can't help but wonder if he would be proud of what I've accomplished.
I haven't always been the best wife, but I know he was proud of the choice I made in Mark. He told me that often.
I haven't always been the best mother, but I know he would be proud of who his granddaughters have become.
I haven't always been the best friend, but I know he would be proud of the friendships I have worked hard to maintain through the years.
But is that enough? Would he, after taking a look at the woman I am today, be content knowing I have become all he had hoped for?
As I have taken this month off from the blogging world, I have had a bit of time to pause and reflect on this past year. So many people close to me are welcoming the close of 2010, eager to usher in a year full of promise and new beginnings. I am sad to see 2010 end.
I adopted a motto in 2010 that I have grown quite fond of: Screw it. Just do it.
I have decided that I wasted too many years being fearful of my own limitations, scared of failure, weighed down by the inevitable judgment of others. I realized that I was only as powerful as I believed myself to be. So "Screw it. Just do it." was born.
For once I don't feel like I need a clean slate. I'm not in need of a new year to act as a "do over" and rectify a year riddled with mistakes. Sure I made some (a lot, but who's counting), but I had such an incredible year. We were blessed with health and security and friendship and happiness. That coupled with some of the best new memory-making experiences made for a year that was quite simply so much fun. I wouldn't change a thing.
And if I was sitting across from my father, dining on a savory crepe while telling him what I just told you, I suspect he would be proud. To have a child live an entire year without regret? As a parent I'm not sure there's more we can hope for.
December 30, 2010
November 28, 2010
Because sometimes M.A.S.H. lies
In the middle of a deserted lot in Arizona you will find a massive heap of scrap metal. One particular metal scrap is about the size of my garage door. If a strip mall hasn't been built on top of it, that piece of metal would tell you that "S.P. hearts A.H. FOREVER."
It took S.P. about a week to carve his love proclamation to the world. To him, it was his way of assuring me that while most junior high relationships couldn't survive the duration of his 3 month grounding, ours could. It was the real deal. It was, as the scrap metal indicated, forever.
I haven't seen S.P. since 1993. In my defense, at 13, 2 weeks certainly does seem like forever. And if I had remained true to S.P. via handwritten, Malibu Musk-scented notes as he suggested, that would not have allowed me to begin "going out" with his best friend J.F.
This Thanksgiving I find myself more grateful then ever for all of the S.P.s and J.F.s I lived through. I am thankful for every ridiculous relationship, every missed opportunity, every misstep I have ever taken. Because of all of them, I have this:
Because all of the whatifs in my life never materialized, I have them:
Because I've made a bunch of decisions I questioned at the time, I get to be their mother:
I know now that every turn I've ever taken has lead me to them:
And while Mrs. S.P. had a certain ring to it as I practiced it on the back of my Trapper Keeper, I think I'll take this forever any day.
It took S.P. about a week to carve his love proclamation to the world. To him, it was his way of assuring me that while most junior high relationships couldn't survive the duration of his 3 month grounding, ours could. It was the real deal. It was, as the scrap metal indicated, forever.
I haven't seen S.P. since 1993. In my defense, at 13, 2 weeks certainly does seem like forever. And if I had remained true to S.P. via handwritten, Malibu Musk-scented notes as he suggested, that would not have allowed me to begin "going out" with his best friend J.F.
This Thanksgiving I find myself more grateful then ever for all of the S.P.s and J.F.s I lived through. I am thankful for every ridiculous relationship, every missed opportunity, every misstep I have ever taken. Because of all of them, I have this:
November 10, 2010
Choose The Right
I would like to believe I know how to be a good mother to my daughters. I have an amazing mother as an example, and was raised around strong woman who mothered me like their own. I am also blessed to be surrounded by friends who are now mothers themselves, and incredible ones at that. I get what I should be doing. I understand what qualities I should be emulating. But often times, energy and a lack of patience get in the way. And I fail.
Many days that failure is catastrophic. Other days I teeter on good parenting, only to succumb to a random screaming rant. And then I lay in bed at night certain I have ruined my children. Confident I have over-parented, not hugged them enough or made the worst choices for them. Recently, that guilt has been consuming me.
Cora began attending the most incredible preschool when she was 3. Claire was not yet walking. Through the years, the women at that preschool have watched my children grow. They have not only provided an impressive learning base, but have also adored my girls more than one could hope. I knew when I dropped them off, they were surrounded by people who loved them like I love them. That is rare.
We began our 4th year there this September, Claire's last before kindergarten. Right before we began the year we got word that the owner has sold the preschool. I was upset, but had no qualms about Claire continuing her education there because the rest of her teachers remained the same, as did the curriculum. Or so I thought.
Fast forward two months. Last week the final hold out from her original teachers quit. The new owner informed me she did not believe in Montessori (you bought a Montessori preschool lady, come on!) and she also did not "get" my child. They had conflicting personalities she said and she was unsure how to teach her. And while I appreciated her honesty, I was a wreck.
Claire LOVES her preschool. She thrives there, her friends are there and it is her home, as it has been for 4 years. I did not want to uproot her. Plus, I spent weeks researching and touring preschools years ago and I was not impressed with the alternatives.
The new owner assured me that we could make it work. She was hiring teachers that would be able to relate to Claire. Claire was learning and excelling there. And she was right.
But remember that part about not "getting" my daughter? How do I continue to send her to a place where she is not understood. A place where she is not truly appreciated. And how does someone not love Claire? I had never encountered that. It is always just the opposite. "Claire just makes me happy." "You can't help but smile when you're around her." "Claire is just like bottled sunshine."
That is who Claire is. And I get she is also a pain in the butt. And difficult. And defiant. And naughty. I am her mother after all. I see all of that. But I have never come across anyone who saw only that. And I'm not sure what to make of it. I feel like whatever decision I make will be the wrong one. I already feel like I have failed her leaving her there, but I would feel worse ripping her from a place she loves.
I know children are resilient. Regardless of the choices I make, she will bounce back. But how many wrong choices can I make as her mother before they start having lasting affects. How many times can I screw her up and expect her to turn out okay in the end. And how on earth am I supposed to know how to make the right choices when this is all uncharted waters. I am running blind here. I can't fast forward to see what the clay will become after the years of molding I've done. How do you stop making mistakes you can't see the consequences of for years to come?
How do you become a good mother, when most days the hard truth is you don't even know how to be a mother at all?
Many days that failure is catastrophic. Other days I teeter on good parenting, only to succumb to a random screaming rant. And then I lay in bed at night certain I have ruined my children. Confident I have over-parented, not hugged them enough or made the worst choices for them. Recently, that guilt has been consuming me.
Cora began attending the most incredible preschool when she was 3. Claire was not yet walking. Through the years, the women at that preschool have watched my children grow. They have not only provided an impressive learning base, but have also adored my girls more than one could hope. I knew when I dropped them off, they were surrounded by people who loved them like I love them. That is rare.
We began our 4th year there this September, Claire's last before kindergarten. Right before we began the year we got word that the owner has sold the preschool. I was upset, but had no qualms about Claire continuing her education there because the rest of her teachers remained the same, as did the curriculum. Or so I thought.
Fast forward two months. Last week the final hold out from her original teachers quit. The new owner informed me she did not believe in Montessori (you bought a Montessori preschool lady, come on!) and she also did not "get" my child. They had conflicting personalities she said and she was unsure how to teach her. And while I appreciated her honesty, I was a wreck.
Claire LOVES her preschool. She thrives there, her friends are there and it is her home, as it has been for 4 years. I did not want to uproot her. Plus, I spent weeks researching and touring preschools years ago and I was not impressed with the alternatives.
The new owner assured me that we could make it work. She was hiring teachers that would be able to relate to Claire. Claire was learning and excelling there. And she was right.
But remember that part about not "getting" my daughter? How do I continue to send her to a place where she is not understood. A place where she is not truly appreciated. And how does someone not love Claire? I had never encountered that. It is always just the opposite. "Claire just makes me happy." "You can't help but smile when you're around her." "Claire is just like bottled sunshine."
That is who Claire is. And I get she is also a pain in the butt. And difficult. And defiant. And naughty. I am her mother after all. I see all of that. But I have never come across anyone who saw only that. And I'm not sure what to make of it. I feel like whatever decision I make will be the wrong one. I already feel like I have failed her leaving her there, but I would feel worse ripping her from a place she loves.
I know children are resilient. Regardless of the choices I make, she will bounce back. But how many wrong choices can I make as her mother before they start having lasting affects. How many times can I screw her up and expect her to turn out okay in the end. And how on earth am I supposed to know how to make the right choices when this is all uncharted waters. I am running blind here. I can't fast forward to see what the clay will become after the years of molding I've done. How do you stop making mistakes you can't see the consequences of for years to come?
How do you become a good mother, when most days the hard truth is you don't even know how to be a mother at all?
November 05, 2010
Old McDonald had a Farm
It's been a wild week here at the Abercrombie house. I'm finally coming up for air. And just as things are settling down, Mark decides to go hunting. Boo.
The plan is to clean the house from top to bottom while he is gone. Or sit in a corner & shove Almond Joys in my mouth while trying to quiet the crinkling of the wrapper so my kids don't catch on. Could go either way.
So if you come to visit (please do, as I get lonely and I'm very needy) & I open the door dressed in my elastic-waisted pants, well then you'll know.
And before I sign off to slave away in the kitchen (I'm making a mean batch of Fruity Pebbles and milk. I'll send the recipe if you'd like), I would like to share a few random events.
One was a 5K charity race called The Farm Man Challenge I ran last Saturday through a local corn maze. It was below freezing. My legs were completely numb and I lost all feeling in my ears/cheeks/lips. But it was so. much. fun.
I was trying to color coordinate and match the hair color to the jacket. And the socks. We're bringing the 80s back.
Um, bootylicious?
We didn't win. We never do. That is never the point. But Evelyn (my running partner in crime) and I always finish. And that IS the point.
The next time I decide to wear shorts to a race when it is 30 degrees outside, please remind me that it took 4 hours to thaw out my legs. Thank you.
And the second thing that deserves mention is the conversation I overheard between Cora and Claire.
Cora: When we get a cat (as if) we have to make sure it doesn't have long nails.
I knew I raised her right.
The plan is to clean the house from top to bottom while he is gone. Or sit in a corner & shove Almond Joys in my mouth while trying to quiet the crinkling of the wrapper so my kids don't catch on. Could go either way.
So if you come to visit (please do, as I get lonely and I'm very needy) & I open the door dressed in my elastic-waisted pants, well then you'll know.
And before I sign off to slave away in the kitchen (I'm making a mean batch of Fruity Pebbles and milk. I'll send the recipe if you'd like), I would like to share a few random events.
One was a 5K charity race called The Farm Man Challenge I ran last Saturday through a local corn maze. It was below freezing. My legs were completely numb and I lost all feeling in my ears/cheeks/lips. But it was so. much. fun.
I was trying to color coordinate and match the hair color to the jacket. And the socks. We're bringing the 80s back.
The next time I decide to wear shorts to a race when it is 30 degrees outside, please remind me that it took 4 hours to thaw out my legs. Thank you.
And the second thing that deserves mention is the conversation I overheard between Cora and Claire.
Cora: When we get a cat (as if) we have to make sure it doesn't have long nails.
I knew I raised her right.
October 31, 2010
No tricks, just treats
I had to take a second and post a few Halloween pictures. Mainly because if I'm typing, it means I can't be inhaling candy.
Their original costumes were a warm and fuzzy peacock and butterfly. They both came apart at the seems last night (high quality clothing Old Navy!) so we scrambled to find new costumes. The pickins were slim, but I actually adore these little butterflies!
Their taxi cab awaits. Because of said taxi, here was our routine:
Claire gets tired after 3 steps. Claire whines. Claire strips off her wings in order to fit in bike trailer and deposits 80 pound candy bucket in my hands. Claire buries herself under blankets for the 30 seconds it takes to peddle to the next house. Claire scrambles to retrieve wings and bucket and clomp her way up to the doorbell all while screaming at Cora for her impatience. Repeat.
It sprinkled on us for about a minute and then we got to enjoy a big fat rainbow above our house. Beautiful backdrop to trick or treat to!
Hope you all survived Halloween without lapsing into a sugar coma. I'm well on my way after discovering I can actually type and simultaneously shove my face with Baby Ruths. Not a good thing to know.
Claire gets tired after 3 steps. Claire whines. Claire strips off her wings in order to fit in bike trailer and deposits 80 pound candy bucket in my hands. Claire buries herself under blankets for the 30 seconds it takes to peddle to the next house. Claire scrambles to retrieve wings and bucket and clomp her way up to the doorbell all while screaming at Cora for her impatience. Repeat.
It sprinkled on us for about a minute and then we got to enjoy a big fat rainbow above our house. Beautiful backdrop to trick or treat to!
Hope you all survived Halloween without lapsing into a sugar coma. I'm well on my way after discovering I can actually type and simultaneously shove my face with Baby Ruths. Not a good thing to know.
October 30, 2010
The Sweet Life
Halloween is tomorrow.
This is not good (unless of course you are our dentist).
October 23, 2010
I know, I know
No excuses. Our plane didn't crash. We've been back for awhile. I've wanted to blog. But have had no energytimemotivation to get it done.
The trip was perfect. No, seriously. I was staying with my in-laws & I can honestly say we would have loved to stay another week. We enjoyed every minute of it. The kids were well behaved on the 5 hour road trip to the airport and the cross-country flights. The weather was nice. We had BBQs and date nights and naps and late night talks with family. We laughed and ate and played and explored. And I have so much to say about all of it. But I'm not going to today because I need pictures to go along with my words. And I don't have a single picture.
I thought I would be a nice daughter-in-law & upload all of the pictures from our camera to my MIL's computer before we flew home so she would have them too. I neglected to uncheck the little "delete all photos from device after uploading" button. So now I am left with zero pictures. Which means you are left with zero pictures.
But that's fine too because this post is not about Alabama (although for being not about Alabama I sure have talked a lot about Alabama. But I digress). This post is about how I've lost my mind. Honestly and truly lost it.
I ran 13.1 miles last Saturday. As in half a marathon. People train for them and run them all the time. Only difference is I didn't train for it. I decided late Friday night to run the "Girls Rock the Half" taking place the next day. In fact, before Saturday the longest distance I'd ever run was half of a half marathon. As in not even 7 miles.
And do I need to remind you about how I'm so not a runner. Not even a little bit. I hate every. single. step.
But I finished it. And it felt good. Really good. Until the next day when everything hurt. Neckbacklegstoesarmshead. My body was stiff and my knees were buckling and I was so sick to my stomach I couldn't eat anything. And my sports bra had rubbed all of the skin off the top of my stomach, so I had a massive bloody rugburnish thing to deal with. And my toenails were falling off.
I know you're wondering why, and the day after I seriously was too. But I clearly remember the reason, now that my body is functioning again. I ran that race because I don't have cancer.
Over on Fabulessly Frugal we are advertising for an upcoming charity race. The race is benefiting a mother my age. She has two young boys and stage 4 cancer. She has a 5% chance of survival. That 95% is screaming at me, but not her. She is determined to kick the crap out of cancer.
She blogs about her journey. I began reading her blog and found links to the blogs of other young women and mothers battling terminal cancer. I lost myself for a few hours as I clicked from journey to journey. I sobbed mostly selfish tears as I thought about leaving behind my beautiful little girls. And then I remembered I didn't have to. I am perfectly healthy. I have a body that is capable and cancer free.
So I ran 13.1 miles the next day. Because I could.
The trip was perfect. No, seriously. I was staying with my in-laws & I can honestly say we would have loved to stay another week. We enjoyed every minute of it. The kids were well behaved on the 5 hour road trip to the airport and the cross-country flights. The weather was nice. We had BBQs and date nights and naps and late night talks with family. We laughed and ate and played and explored. And I have so much to say about all of it. But I'm not going to today because I need pictures to go along with my words. And I don't have a single picture.
I thought I would be a nice daughter-in-law & upload all of the pictures from our camera to my MIL's computer before we flew home so she would have them too. I neglected to uncheck the little "delete all photos from device after uploading" button. So now I am left with zero pictures. Which means you are left with zero pictures.
But that's fine too because this post is not about Alabama (although for being not about Alabama I sure have talked a lot about Alabama. But I digress). This post is about how I've lost my mind. Honestly and truly lost it.
I ran 13.1 miles last Saturday. As in half a marathon. People train for them and run them all the time. Only difference is I didn't train for it. I decided late Friday night to run the "Girls Rock the Half" taking place the next day. In fact, before Saturday the longest distance I'd ever run was half of a half marathon. As in not even 7 miles.
And do I need to remind you about how I'm so not a runner. Not even a little bit. I hate every. single. step.
But I finished it. And it felt good. Really good. Until the next day when everything hurt. Neckbacklegstoesarmshead. My body was stiff and my knees were buckling and I was so sick to my stomach I couldn't eat anything. And my sports bra had rubbed all of the skin off the top of my stomach, so I had a massive bloody rugburnish thing to deal with. And my toenails were falling off.
I know you're wondering why, and the day after I seriously was too. But I clearly remember the reason, now that my body is functioning again. I ran that race because I don't have cancer.
Over on Fabulessly Frugal we are advertising for an upcoming charity race. The race is benefiting a mother my age. She has two young boys and stage 4 cancer. She has a 5% chance of survival. That 95% is screaming at me, but not her. She is determined to kick the crap out of cancer.
She blogs about her journey. I began reading her blog and found links to the blogs of other young women and mothers battling terminal cancer. I lost myself for a few hours as I clicked from journey to journey. I sobbed mostly selfish tears as I thought about leaving behind my beautiful little girls. And then I remembered I didn't have to. I am perfectly healthy. I have a body that is capable and cancer free.
So I ran 13.1 miles the next day. Because I could.
October 05, 2010
Leavin' on a jet plane
Heading to Alabama for a week. My husband's old stomping ground. He hasn't been home in 4 years. He's as excited as a porcupine meeting a pineapple (not even sure what that means. Had an old boss that used to say it all the time & I've never had a chance to use it. It was probably best unused).
My girls are equally excited. The mailman/butcher/server/clerk/lady in line in front of us all know when we are leaving, where we are going & who we are going to see. Here's hoping they don't use this information to rob us blind (which would be a bad idea because we live in a neighborhood with a lot of cops, mean biting dogs, nosy neighbors with big shot guns and really loud security alarms. I'm just sayin').
Be back in a week to tell you all about it....
September 30, 2010
Kitchenology According to Claire
Man I hope she never grows up.
September 25, 2010
I'm a mess
Our internet was down for a day and a half. I have a few large projects with looming deadlines. I have no time for uncooperative internet. I declared today a "stay home" day so I could throw a few scraps of food in front of my children, turn on some Tom and Jerry reruns and ignore them until lunch while I buried myself in the office.
That lasted all of 10 minutes before they became restless and went about trashing each room in the house while reenacting the lame-O Alpha and Omega movie I took them to last night. The "wolves" needed a blanket shelter. The "wolves" needed grapes. The "wolves" needed a bungee cord leash. I totally get why wolves are an endangered species.
The doorbell rang and two unsuspecting neighbor kids doubled the "pack" size. When the howling got out of control I traded Tom & Jerry for the Wii, refreshed the snacks and retired to my computer screen. 4 children: 2 Wii remotes. Not my brightest idea. I became referee. And chef. My solution to any problem is to feed it.
On my way to the kitchen I tripped over one of the "wolves" lairs? Dens? Whatevers. Nine-year-old neighbor girl said, "My parents would never let our house get this messy. They are way cleaner than this."
And there you have it. I was schooled by a 3rd grader. I tried to pretend her comment didn't affect me. She likes Silly Bandz and I-Carly after all. Her opinion of me does not matter. Except she was spot on.
I'm a wreck. I never have it all together. Not even half-way together. And I can't even fake it anymore. My house it ALWAYS messy. Always. I just can't seem to keep up. I don't have enough energy. I don't have enough patience. I don't have enough motivation.
I do however have enough restraint to keep myself from strangling an observant 9-year-old. That counts for something, doesn't it?
That lasted all of 10 minutes before they became restless and went about trashing each room in the house while reenacting the lame-O Alpha and Omega movie I took them to last night. The "wolves" needed a blanket shelter. The "wolves" needed grapes. The "wolves" needed a bungee cord leash. I totally get why wolves are an endangered species.
The doorbell rang and two unsuspecting neighbor kids doubled the "pack" size. When the howling got out of control I traded Tom & Jerry for the Wii, refreshed the snacks and retired to my computer screen. 4 children: 2 Wii remotes. Not my brightest idea. I became referee. And chef. My solution to any problem is to feed it.
On my way to the kitchen I tripped over one of the "wolves" lairs? Dens? Whatevers. Nine-year-old neighbor girl said, "My parents would never let our house get this messy. They are way cleaner than this."
And there you have it. I was schooled by a 3rd grader. I tried to pretend her comment didn't affect me. She likes Silly Bandz and I-Carly after all. Her opinion of me does not matter. Except she was spot on.
I'm a wreck. I never have it all together. Not even half-way together. And I can't even fake it anymore. My house it ALWAYS messy. Always. I just can't seem to keep up. I don't have enough energy. I don't have enough patience. I don't have enough motivation.
I do however have enough restraint to keep myself from strangling an observant 9-year-old. That counts for something, doesn't it?
September 16, 2010
Heaven on Earth
Be. Still. My. Heart.
A dear friend introduced us today at a lunch-time BBQ. I fell hard.
Thing is about this friend of mine, she's a foodie too. To say we gorged ourselves would be an understatement.
The peaches
+ freshly grilled corn on the cob
+ jalapeno mango Aidell's sausage
+ fresh chips and queso
--------------------------
= FOOD HANGOVER
Because I too want you to experience this kind of bliss, here's the recipe:
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup seedless blackberry preserves
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil
5 (ish) large peaches
Stir together softened butter, blackberry preserves and chopped fresh basil until blended. Serve with warm grilled peaches. Thank me later.
September 11, 2010
And I gladly stand up...
I was fuming as the cleaning man shut the movie theater door. If their recording says a movie is playing at 11:15 and my daughter is giddy about seeing a movie at 11:15 and I show up at 11:15 to find the theater closed, Mama Bear in me comes out.
To stop Claire's tears, I begrudgingly drive across the street to McDonalds. We eat, she plays and all sadness about broken movie promises vanishes. I begin cleaning up our table when a small tow-headed girl bounces over to us and proclaims, "It's my birthday today. I'm FOUR YEARS OLD!"
"I'm four years old too," Claire says. I turn to the child's mother who is situating their meal on the table next to us, "They grow up so fast don't they."
She begins sobbing.
Not sure how to react, I fumble through some version of "I'm sorry" before she explains.
Her husband, who had been stationed in Afghanistan for 8 months had been killed two weeks ago. She is obviously still reeling. She divulges just enough to explain her tears, then turns around to bury them in her food.
As I help Claire get her shoes on, I try to piece words together in my mind that might comfort her. I fail. Useless generic phrases are the only things that come to mind. I grab my purse to leave as I hear her whisper, "Oh no. I can't do this."
I follow her gaze and immediately locate the root of her words. Two soldiers dressed in complete uniform have just sat down. She scoops her daughter up as the bright-eyed child fights her mother's grasp and sobs about half-eaten hamburgers.
We are a few steps behind her as she makes her way to the door. She pauses in front of the soldiers table just long enough to thank them for their service before she rushes to her car. I try to keep my emotions in check as I explain the young widow's situation to the two men. They immediately jump up from the table and follow her out.
I do not know what words were exchanged. I do not see their interaction at all. But I can only imagine they, unlike me, know the right things to say. About sacrifice and heroes, honor and service.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I can no longer fight it. I cry. An ugly cry. My nose is running and my shoulders are shaking and I can barley see the road through my tears.
Claire asks me what's wrong. "Nothing," I say. And I mean it.
There is not a thing in my life that justifies a true complaint. Not a trial that deserves a pity party. I have no true needs, only wants. I am able to choose where I live and work and raise my children. I am not controlled by anyone. I do not fear for my life or the lives of my family. I am free in every sense of the word.
That freedom was bought and paid for with the life of that woman's husband and the countless others who have died serving this country. I will never be able to thank them properly. But I am grateful. Deeply grateful. And on this day in particular, regardless of whether you support the war or our President or our mission overseas, let's pause our busy lives to appreciate those selflessly serving.
"It is my earnest hope - indeed the hope of all mankind - that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past, a world found upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice."
- General Douglas Macarthur
To stop Claire's tears, I begrudgingly drive across the street to McDonalds. We eat, she plays and all sadness about broken movie promises vanishes. I begin cleaning up our table when a small tow-headed girl bounces over to us and proclaims, "It's my birthday today. I'm FOUR YEARS OLD!"
"I'm four years old too," Claire says. I turn to the child's mother who is situating their meal on the table next to us, "They grow up so fast don't they."
She begins sobbing.
Not sure how to react, I fumble through some version of "I'm sorry" before she explains.
Her husband, who had been stationed in Afghanistan for 8 months had been killed two weeks ago. She is obviously still reeling. She divulges just enough to explain her tears, then turns around to bury them in her food.
As I help Claire get her shoes on, I try to piece words together in my mind that might comfort her. I fail. Useless generic phrases are the only things that come to mind. I grab my purse to leave as I hear her whisper, "Oh no. I can't do this."
I follow her gaze and immediately locate the root of her words. Two soldiers dressed in complete uniform have just sat down. She scoops her daughter up as the bright-eyed child fights her mother's grasp and sobs about half-eaten hamburgers.
We are a few steps behind her as she makes her way to the door. She pauses in front of the soldiers table just long enough to thank them for their service before she rushes to her car. I try to keep my emotions in check as I explain the young widow's situation to the two men. They immediately jump up from the table and follow her out.
I do not know what words were exchanged. I do not see their interaction at all. But I can only imagine they, unlike me, know the right things to say. About sacrifice and heroes, honor and service.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I can no longer fight it. I cry. An ugly cry. My nose is running and my shoulders are shaking and I can barley see the road through my tears.
Claire asks me what's wrong. "Nothing," I say. And I mean it.
There is not a thing in my life that justifies a true complaint. Not a trial that deserves a pity party. I have no true needs, only wants. I am able to choose where I live and work and raise my children. I am not controlled by anyone. I do not fear for my life or the lives of my family. I am free in every sense of the word.
That freedom was bought and paid for with the life of that woman's husband and the countless others who have died serving this country. I will never be able to thank them properly. But I am grateful. Deeply grateful. And on this day in particular, regardless of whether you support the war or our President or our mission overseas, let's pause our busy lives to appreciate those selflessly serving.
"It is my earnest hope - indeed the hope of all mankind - that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past, a world found upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance and justice."
- General Douglas Macarthur
September 08, 2010
The fabric of our lives
I made dinner tonight. Claire dumped her entire plate on the ground so I gave her mine. I ate Fruitloops instead.
Mark and I argued today about having a clean house. I cried because I always do when I'm frustrated and wrong. I mean I want a spotless house and all, I was just so busy doing stuff for that other blog of mine that I had no time to even pause and look around to see I was getting swallowed up by dishes and laundry and Bendaroos (if your children don't know what those are, keep them ignorant. Thank me later).
We spent hours cleaning the house. I was mad the entire time. Cue over-the-top pouting to make my husband feel bad. I'm obnoxious most days.
I worked out so hard tonight (frickin Insanity) that I puked up said Fruitloops. And so I ate an Oreo to replace them and instantly felt guilty.
And now I'm going to crawl into bed where I have brand new $220 700 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I got on clearance for $27-that's right TWENTY SEVEN DOLLARS- after coupon (because who in their right mind would pay over $200 for sheets-albeit GLORIOUS ones?) waiting to greet me and make everything okay again.
Ah fine linen. Way to heal the world.
Mark and I argued today about having a clean house. I cried because I always do when I'm frustrated and wrong. I mean I want a spotless house and all, I was just so busy doing stuff for that other blog of mine that I had no time to even pause and look around to see I was getting swallowed up by dishes and laundry and Bendaroos (if your children don't know what those are, keep them ignorant. Thank me later).
We spent hours cleaning the house. I was mad the entire time. Cue over-the-top pouting to make my husband feel bad. I'm obnoxious most days.
I worked out so hard tonight (frickin Insanity) that I puked up said Fruitloops. And so I ate an Oreo to replace them and instantly felt guilty.
And now I'm going to crawl into bed where I have brand new $220 700 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I got on clearance for $27-that's right TWENTY SEVEN DOLLARS- after coupon (because who in their right mind would pay over $200 for sheets-albeit GLORIOUS ones?) waiting to greet me and make everything okay again.
Ah fine linen. Way to heal the world.
August 31, 2010
In conclusion...
Today, I was going to post about the post that would have been yesterday. Different words, different pictures, different tone. But that would undo what my husband did and I don't want that. So instead, I'll show you how we partied after our day of "firsts" yesterday.
A trip to the salon for some manicures with some friends, followed by a scoop of ice cream seems like the perfect way to celebrate heading back to school.
But I would have had ice cream anyway, because:
a. It was Monday.
b. Jordan Knight likes big thighs (and probably muffin tops too).
c. It is my final post of my insane posting daily promise (whew! I had to dig deep some days).
It's been fun, but I'm taking a few days off. Thanks for sticking with me!
August 30, 2010
Day 22 (1st Day of School)
Amber has been bugging me about "guest-posting," so here goes. Today was the first day of school. Cora started 1st grade and Claire began her second year of preschool. As you can see in the picture Cora is loving it, Amber is being the good mother/wife and filling out paperwork (which also included volunteering to help out with just about every party/event), and Claire is pretending to read. I like this pic because it has all three of my beautiful girls in it. I then went on to spend all day in court....yay. That's it Wife, hope you like it.
*This post made me laugh for so many reasons. First, Mark hijacked my blog without me knowing which was ubber sweet of him. If you know Mark, you know how not Marklike that is. Next, this post sums up my husband to a T. When you ask him how his day was, he will always say "fine." He could have shot and killed someone or not taken a single call all night. Regardless, the answer would be the same. He is very matter of fact; seemingly void of all emotions. And while this post reads much like an arson report at work would, I wouldn't have it any other way. It wouldn't be organic otherwise. Ah, how I love that "fine" man.*
*This post made me laugh for so many reasons. First, Mark hijacked my blog without me knowing which was ubber sweet of him. If you know Mark, you know how not Marklike that is. Next, this post sums up my husband to a T. When you ask him how his day was, he will always say "fine." He could have shot and killed someone or not taken a single call all night. Regardless, the answer would be the same. He is very matter of fact; seemingly void of all emotions. And while this post reads much like an arson report at work would, I wouldn't have it any other way. It wouldn't be organic otherwise. Ah, how I love that "fine" man.*
August 29, 2010
Day 21
Because we live in a world of biggerfasterbetter, the pansy beaters I grew up licking would just not do. Kids, meet Kitchen Aid Mixer. Because stirring is such strenuous work, someone had to create a machine to do it for us. To the kind inventor of said mixer, my arms thank you (my wallet however, does not).
ps. I loath character clothing of any kind and only allow my daughters to wear clothing of that nature around the house, or as a flour-catcher while making cookies. Does that make me a mean mom?
August 28, 2010
Day 20 (Celebrating Clairebear)
For months we planned for you. We picked your name and your paint colors and your coming home outfit. We washed and arranged and organized, so everything would be perfect when you finally joined our family. What we couldn't have prepared for was how you would change our view of the world entirely.
You affect people. You radiate with such a zest for life and tackle this world head-on. You pay no attention to what others think of you. While you do aim to make others laugh, you march to the beat of your own drum (a very loud drum) while never giving a second thought to the music playing all around you.
Because you can't concern yourself with what others say about you, let me tell you. People adore you. Friends. Strangers. Neighbors. You sparkle (and not in a creepy vampire sort of way) and people notice. I can't count the number of times people have approached me to tell me how much you make them smile. Most of them I have never met. And while they may never get to see how, um, "busy" you are when you're at home, just getting to experience a few moments with you affects them.
You are our little sunshine. And you have made us laugh everyday for the last four years. You remind us that simple is best and smiling is easy and a cookie cures everything. This world is so much brighter with you in it.
We love you THIIIIIIS much,
Mommy and Daddy
August 27, 2010
Day 19
I'm posting photos today. I'm posting photos because when it's 105 degrees outside you do what any sane person would do. You head towards water. And I'm posting photos because for the 1st time all summer, I remembered my camera. And I'm posting photos because big fat smiles on my babies makes me happy.
Truthfully, I'm posting photos to keep my mind off the fact that tomorrow, my baby turns 4. And that makes her not my baby anymore. And occasionally, when she is talking back or copping an attitude, I want to shrink her. Because as the years pass, the memory of her tininess fades. I don't remember what it is like to cradle my infants. Borrowed infants from friends, sure. But my own? I'm forgetting.
So stare at these pictures with me. If you squint, can you still see their littleness?
Me, I just see giants. Very happy, very exhausted giants.
Where did my babies go?
Truthfully, I'm posting photos to keep my mind off the fact that tomorrow, my baby turns 4. And that makes her not my baby anymore. And occasionally, when she is talking back or copping an attitude, I want to shrink her. Because as the years pass, the memory of her tininess fades. I don't remember what it is like to cradle my infants. Borrowed infants from friends, sure. But my own? I'm forgetting.
So stare at these pictures with me. If you squint, can you still see their littleness?
August 26, 2010
Day 18
If I just post a link to a blog I'm guest posting on today, does that count as a post?
What if I told you the particular blog I'm guest posting on belongs to my lovely friend Andrea? Still not enough?
Okay, tough crowd.
Well then, what if I told you the owner of said blog, another one of our mutual friends and I once puffy-painted a big fat "B" and 2 glittery "Fs" onto some t-shirts and then wore those bad boys during a $5 Walmart portrait session. And that we laughed so hard while the kind photographer snapped shots that we all almost peed ourselves. Still no?
What if that particular incident didn't happen when we were 16? Or 20? Or even 29? But it might possibly have happened the last time I was with those crazy girls.
It does count you say? Yep, that's what I thought.
What if I told you the particular blog I'm guest posting on belongs to my lovely friend Andrea? Still not enough?
Okay, tough crowd.
Well then, what if I told you the owner of said blog, another one of our mutual friends and I once puffy-painted a big fat "B" and 2 glittery "Fs" onto some t-shirts and then wore those bad boys during a $5 Walmart portrait session. And that we laughed so hard while the kind photographer snapped shots that we all almost peed ourselves. Still no?
What if that particular incident didn't happen when we were 16? Or 20? Or even 29? But it might possibly have happened the last time I was with those crazy girls.
It does count you say? Yep, that's what I thought.
August 25, 2010
Day 17
Summer means...
popsicles....
a backyard full of friends....
last second trips to see people we love....
and forgetting our camera in the busyness....
and using a junky camera phone to document our adventures instead.
We only have a few days left Summer, please let them be as sweet as a handful of ice cream (yes, that's what you see in Claire's little paw. The "guts" of a mutilated ice cream sandwich).
August 24, 2010
Day 16
I have posted about this in the past and even emailed it to a few of you. I love it more every time I hear it. I envy that she was able to so perfectly capture my feelings. It encompasses everything I believe about the strength of women. The strength of YOU.
If you ever need anyone to howl or clutch or circle with, please know I'm available. And knowing you are too is often the only thing that gets me through the day.
ps. First pause my crazy music at the bottom before watching. I know I need to set it so it doesn't automatically start playing when you view my page, I'm just too lazy to log in & figure it out!
August 23, 2010
Day 15
I read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and then I reread it (read my full review HERE if you're interested). It fascinated me and troubled me. Made me angry and happy simultaneously. I have never wholeheartedly agreed and disagreed so fiercely with someone all at once.
I was eager for the movie to come out because, a. I'm a visual person and b. I adore Julia Roberts ("Man this baby must corner like it's on rails," anyone?). I think I enjoyed the movie more than the book. That is rare.
One thing the movie reminded me of was all of the talk about finding "her word." In the book she speaks extensively on how, much like cities have words that define them, people do as well. She actually titles her book in one-word reflections of the places she visits, and then spends the entire book searching for her word. Which she finds.
I remember pondering that as I was reading. What is my word? What one word sums me up? Is one word enough to define who I am? Quite simply, no.
I process everything through written word. The click of keys has unraveled every heartache, every struggle, every triumph. My entire life has been defined by a series of scribbles and journals and essays. I am a writer. Not a great one. Some days an awful one. But a writer still the same.
I feel limited choosing just one word. While I am not the most complex person you will ever meet, as evidenced by this silly little blog of mine, my emotions are broad and ever changing. And I wear those emotions on my blog. I do that by taking a whole mess of words and cramming them together in an effort to make sense of my life.
It rarely works, but I am left with a fascinating trail of those jumbled words documenting that journey. If I had to choose just one word to sum that up, well, it would not do my life justice.
So I am left wordless. Or I guess you could say wordy?
I was eager for the movie to come out because, a. I'm a visual person and b. I adore Julia Roberts ("Man this baby must corner like it's on rails," anyone?). I think I enjoyed the movie more than the book. That is rare.
One thing the movie reminded me of was all of the talk about finding "her word." In the book she speaks extensively on how, much like cities have words that define them, people do as well. She actually titles her book in one-word reflections of the places she visits, and then spends the entire book searching for her word. Which she finds.
I remember pondering that as I was reading. What is my word? What one word sums me up? Is one word enough to define who I am? Quite simply, no.
I process everything through written word. The click of keys has unraveled every heartache, every struggle, every triumph. My entire life has been defined by a series of scribbles and journals and essays. I am a writer. Not a great one. Some days an awful one. But a writer still the same.
I feel limited choosing just one word. While I am not the most complex person you will ever meet, as evidenced by this silly little blog of mine, my emotions are broad and ever changing. And I wear those emotions on my blog. I do that by taking a whole mess of words and cramming them together in an effort to make sense of my life.
It rarely works, but I am left with a fascinating trail of those jumbled words documenting that journey. If I had to choose just one word to sum that up, well, it would not do my life justice.
So I am left wordless. Or I guess you could say wordy?
August 22, 2010
Day 14
Man this is hard. When your life is as boring as mine, posting daily is a lofty goal. Which is why I typically don't do it.
I want my posts to matter. If not to anyone else, at least to me. I want them to have some sort of substance. Which this one won't. At all.
I knew taking on this daily posting challenge was going to be difficult, because I rarely have enough material to post once a week, let alone every. single. day. But I had been in such a blogging slump on my personal blog lately and I had to snap out of it.
Go big or go home, right?
Tonight I had nothing. No pictures to post. No words of wisdom. No funny Claireisms. I didn't even have the desire to fake it. But a promise is a promise, so I headed into the office to post.
I found my husband on the computer and the wheels started turning. I would log into my blog and hand over the reigns; let him run wild. He could write about anything his little heart desired. But I would leave the room of course so he could transform it into a why-I-adore-my-wife-so-much post. And then I would log on and act surprised and read it and weep a little. It was the perfect plan.
So I presented it to him.
He laughed.
And now you're stuck with this.
I want my posts to matter. If not to anyone else, at least to me. I want them to have some sort of substance. Which this one won't. At all.
I knew taking on this daily posting challenge was going to be difficult, because I rarely have enough material to post once a week, let alone every. single. day. But I had been in such a blogging slump on my personal blog lately and I had to snap out of it.
Go big or go home, right?
Tonight I had nothing. No pictures to post. No words of wisdom. No funny Claireisms. I didn't even have the desire to fake it. But a promise is a promise, so I headed into the office to post.
I found my husband on the computer and the wheels started turning. I would log into my blog and hand over the reigns; let him run wild. He could write about anything his little heart desired. But I would leave the room of course so he could transform it into a why-I-adore-my-wife-so-much post. And then I would log on and act surprised and read it and weep a little. It was the perfect plan.
So I presented it to him.
He laughed.
And now you're stuck with this.
August 21, 2010
Day 13
Cora is my healthy child. She doesn't get sick. Scratch that, she doesn't get sick until Mark takes a rare Saturday night off so we can go out with one of our favorite double date couples who we never get to go out with because Mark has worked every weekend for like the last 6 years. She started barfing and didn't stop. We got the call from the babysitter just as we were settling into our movie. Since we all arrived in the same car, we all promptly left, popcorn and Milk Duds in hand, in the same car. Bummer.
What was not a bummer? That the poor babysitter had to clean up the puke and not me (I've never paid a babysitter more in my life!).
August 20, 2010
Day 12
I loved Ben. I was certain of it. He was tall and strong and handsome and smart and athletic and perfect. He was also a 21-year-old alcoholic and I was a naive 17-year-old. Our relationship was a train-wreck. One with many casualties.
When he loved me, he really loved me. I felt important and beautiful and adored. But when he passive-aggressively made me feel worthless, I believed him and began trying harder to please him. My self-worth was directly tied to how much he loved me. Which he never truly did. That was not his fault.
He was a good guy with a great heart from a great family. But we should have never been together. It never made sense. Our relationship was never easy.
Square peg. Round hole. Every time.
He was too comfortable to break up with me and I was too terrified of losing him to allow it. I'm not sure how many years that dysfunctional relationship would have continued had I not left for college. He wrote one time. I ached for him for years.
Years later we ran into each other at a basketball game and he asked if he could take me to dinner to catch up. His cologne was the same. His hug, familiar. But his words were foreign.
He apologized. For everything.
We talked for hours about where our lives had taken us and how our dreams had shifted since we'd been making them together. I remembered every facial expression and still knew when he was going to laugh before the sound came out. I had memorized so much about him.
When we emerged from the restaurant, the parking lot had frozen over. He asked me if I remembered the night of my senior Christmas Ball when we had "ice skated" through the school parking lot. I did.
He offered me his hands and began to "skate" me around the parking lot. He tightened his grip and began spinning me faster. His hands were so strong. I closed my eyes and remembered exactly why I had chosen to stay with him for so long. He made me feel safe.
And then the spinning stopped. I was light-headed and giggly. He told me I had never looked more beautiful.
I rejected his compliment. I began blabbing on about how my hair was a mess and how he must be mistaken, when he paused me mid-sentence.
"When someone gives you a compliment Amber, you simply say 'Thank you,'" he said. "They wouldn't take the time to say it if they didn't mean it."
I forgave him. For everything.
When he hugged me goodbye, I knew I would never see him again. I didn't need to. Our relationship had come full circle, and to start at the beginning again would be a mistake. He knew it. I knew it. But this time, both of us had the wisdom to walk away.
When he loved me, he really loved me. I felt important and beautiful and adored. But when he passive-aggressively made me feel worthless, I believed him and began trying harder to please him. My self-worth was directly tied to how much he loved me. Which he never truly did. That was not his fault.
He was a good guy with a great heart from a great family. But we should have never been together. It never made sense. Our relationship was never easy.
Square peg. Round hole. Every time.
He was too comfortable to break up with me and I was too terrified of losing him to allow it. I'm not sure how many years that dysfunctional relationship would have continued had I not left for college. He wrote one time. I ached for him for years.
Years later we ran into each other at a basketball game and he asked if he could take me to dinner to catch up. His cologne was the same. His hug, familiar. But his words were foreign.
He apologized. For everything.
We talked for hours about where our lives had taken us and how our dreams had shifted since we'd been making them together. I remembered every facial expression and still knew when he was going to laugh before the sound came out. I had memorized so much about him.
When we emerged from the restaurant, the parking lot had frozen over. He asked me if I remembered the night of my senior Christmas Ball when we had "ice skated" through the school parking lot. I did.
He offered me his hands and began to "skate" me around the parking lot. He tightened his grip and began spinning me faster. His hands were so strong. I closed my eyes and remembered exactly why I had chosen to stay with him for so long. He made me feel safe.
And then the spinning stopped. I was light-headed and giggly. He told me I had never looked more beautiful.
I rejected his compliment. I began blabbing on about how my hair was a mess and how he must be mistaken, when he paused me mid-sentence.
"When someone gives you a compliment Amber, you simply say 'Thank you,'" he said. "They wouldn't take the time to say it if they didn't mean it."
I forgave him. For everything.
When he hugged me goodbye, I knew I would never see him again. I didn't need to. Our relationship had come full circle, and to start at the beginning again would be a mistake. He knew it. I knew it. But this time, both of us had the wisdom to walk away.
August 19, 2010
Day 11
31 pictures like this to be exact.
ps. While this series of shots did make me laugh out loud, I know this post is a cop out. I am seriously drained from yesterday's post. And while I thank each and every one of you for your kind words, I also know as my friends you are required to say things like that. That is of course why I keep you around!
August 18, 2010
Day 10 (the post that almost wasn't)
Blast. Grrr. Ugh.
I have scheduled and deleted this post 3 times today. It really has been an internal struggle. One that runs deeper than I will ever talk freely about.
I don't like my body. I never have. Even when there was sooo much to like, I hated it. Hated it to the point I did horribly unhealthy things to it. Hated it when I was 100 pounds soaking wet. Hated it when I had an actual six pack. Hated it when there was not an ounce of fat on me.
I have no one to blame for my unhealthy relationship with body image, and yet I blame everyone: the media, an absent father, my high school friends who thought encouraging bulimic behavior was so "hip." Never myself.
Now I have two daughters I am accountable to. I can no longer hate my body because I love them too much to allow them to follow in my footsteps. I am the most influential female example in their lives. I probably always will be. I cannot teach them to love themselves exactly as they are while hypocritically cringing in the mirror. My actions would teach them far more than my words.
For years I have been working on embracing my body, imperfections and all. It is the most difficult journey I have ever taken.
This photo is my final step. One I tried so hard to sabotage. I ate an entire large sub from Quiznos right before it was taken, knowing full well I would hate the results and refuse to post it. I'm posting anyway. In a permanent, ridiculously public way.
I want to pick this photo apart, joke away the things I despise about it. And there are many. But I'm done feeling guilty about being curvy. I'm through obsessing about how much time on the treadmill that candy bar will cost me. I'm over beating myself up for enjoying a sandwich. I'm exhausted from years of hating my body. I have wasted so many hours of my life that I can never get back. And so I say enough.
I'm hitting post.
And once I do you can find my prude, body-conscious self sobbing in the corner. But please know they will be proud tears.
I have scheduled and deleted this post 3 times today. It really has been an internal struggle. One that runs deeper than I will ever talk freely about.
I don't like my body. I never have. Even when there was sooo much to like, I hated it. Hated it to the point I did horribly unhealthy things to it. Hated it when I was 100 pounds soaking wet. Hated it when I had an actual six pack. Hated it when there was not an ounce of fat on me.
I have no one to blame for my unhealthy relationship with body image, and yet I blame everyone: the media, an absent father, my high school friends who thought encouraging bulimic behavior was so "hip." Never myself.
Now I have two daughters I am accountable to. I can no longer hate my body because I love them too much to allow them to follow in my footsteps. I am the most influential female example in their lives. I probably always will be. I cannot teach them to love themselves exactly as they are while hypocritically cringing in the mirror. My actions would teach them far more than my words.
For years I have been working on embracing my body, imperfections and all. It is the most difficult journey I have ever taken.
This photo is my final step. One I tried so hard to sabotage. I ate an entire large sub from Quiznos right before it was taken, knowing full well I would hate the results and refuse to post it. I'm posting anyway. In a permanent, ridiculously public way.
I want to pick this photo apart, joke away the things I despise about it. And there are many. But I'm done feeling guilty about being curvy. I'm through obsessing about how much time on the treadmill that candy bar will cost me. I'm over beating myself up for enjoying a sandwich. I'm exhausted from years of hating my body. I have wasted so many hours of my life that I can never get back. And so I say enough.
I'm hitting post.
And once I do you can find my prude, body-conscious self sobbing in the corner. But please know they will be proud tears.
August 17, 2010
Day 9
We are ditching the kids and heading to the water park. Yes, as in Roaring Springs. The place I typically take my kids to frolic in the water and beat the heat.
No kids tonight. Unless you count how we'll be acting, as I'm actually giddy to spend hours slipping down water slides and splashing my husband. I'm a dork like that.
We have season passes, which means I haul the kids there multiple times a week. This season alone we have been 20+ times. And out of those 20+ times, do you know how many times I have remembered my camera? ZERO!
I don't have a single picture of our water adventures. Pathetic.
So my vow is to take my camera along on my HOT date. Not only will you get to see my fancy new bikini, but also my husband's farmer tan. Consider this your warning. If you have sensitive eyes, you might want to avoid this here blog for a few days. Unless you are dying to see my back fat.
August 16, 2010
Day 8
ps. I did not take that beautiful picture. I stole it from my dear friend Krista, who, unlike me, is actually capable of capturing a shot like that!
August 15, 2010
Day 7 (an expose on Amber's beauty)
*Our power went out for a LOOONG time today. I was frightened that I would miss a day and break a promise. Which I couldn't do. So I begged my dear friend Andrea to hack into my blog and write something brilliant. What I forgot was that Andrea is blind in one eye (perhaps both). And a liar. Both important things to remember before reading her post below. Another thing to keep in mind is that I adore her.* 
I'm not Amber.
Believe me, I wish I were, but I am not.
I am Andrea, but don't feel bad, it's easy to get us mixed-up:
our names both start with 'A' (but so do a lot of names)
we were in the same English class as high school freshmen (but so was everyone else in our grade)
we share a love of The Outsiders (I almost named my firstborn Ponyboy)
we have each, now, posted on this blog (highlight of my life!)
we both possess a rare and exotic beauty (okay, that might be stretching the truth, but that's how I like my truth: nice and stretchy)
Do you know that I didn't like Amber when I first met her? (Did YOU know that, Amber?)
It was the summer before our freshman year, and I had character judgment down to a science:
pretty = I don't like you. Squared.
It was a simple equation, and one that was probably unfair, but it worked for me.
I don't know when I started liking Amber. It was right around the time I first had a conversation with her, I think. I'm warning you now, that is all it takes with that girl! She's a wizard at making a person feel interesting and understood.
She was back then, and she still is today, almost 47 years later (or is it just 13? I'm tellin' ya, she's THAT good).
And she's still drop dead gorgeous, to boot.
What a brat.
*picture taken last October while Amber was here visiting. 'Nuf said.
I'm not Amber.
Believe me, I wish I were, but I am not.
I am Andrea, but don't feel bad, it's easy to get us mixed-up:
our names both start with 'A' (but so do a lot of names)
we were in the same English class as high school freshmen (but so was everyone else in our grade)
we share a love of The Outsiders (I almost named my firstborn Ponyboy)
we have each, now, posted on this blog (highlight of my life!)
we both possess a rare and exotic beauty (okay, that might be stretching the truth, but that's how I like my truth: nice and stretchy)
Do you know that I didn't like Amber when I first met her? (Did YOU know that, Amber?)
It was the summer before our freshman year, and I had character judgment down to a science:
pretty = I don't like you. Squared.
It was a simple equation, and one that was probably unfair, but it worked for me.
I don't know when I started liking Amber. It was right around the time I first had a conversation with her, I think. I'm warning you now, that is all it takes with that girl! She's a wizard at making a person feel interesting and understood.
She was back then, and she still is today, almost 47 years later (or is it just 13? I'm tellin' ya, she's THAT good).
And she's still drop dead gorgeous, to boot.
What a brat.
*picture taken last October while Amber was here visiting. 'Nuf said.
August 14, 2010
Day 6
August 13, 2010
Day 5
I'm packing the car for a trip.
Candy. Check.
More candy. Check.
Sour Patch Kids (the most important candy of all). Check.
A last second trip to help someone I love dearly.
I also get to stop in and see one of my favorite friends.
Knowing that makes the 3+ hour car ride with my 2 freaks bearable.
The DVD player helps too.
First solo trip with my daughters.
I miss my husband already.
Pictures of our adventures to come.
Wish me luck.
Candy. Check.
More candy. Check.
Sour Patch Kids (the most important candy of all). Check.
A last second trip to help someone I love dearly.
I also get to stop in and see one of my favorite friends.
Knowing that makes the 3+ hour car ride with my 2 freaks bearable.
The DVD player helps too.
First solo trip with my daughters.
I miss my husband already.
Pictures of our adventures to come.
Wish me luck.
August 12, 2010
Day 4
We are a normal family.
See, when my siblings come into town we do normal family things.
Like take the kids to small town carnivals.
And feast on yummy fair food.
And hang out at the pond by the park.
Yep, we are a normal bunch.
Totally
And
Completely
Normal.
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