Emily Post Hates You

So I’m quietly sitting there, in the complete silence that is only found in places like this. My every shift and movement is magnified but since I’m not moving all that much, the deafening silence is the norm. And I’ll admit it, I’m casually browsing on my phone. If you say you don’t do that in here, I will call you a liar to your face, sir.

And then I hear it. The accursed door opens & I hear someone walk in. Damn. And the inner begging begins. “Please, not over here. Not by me. There are so many other options. Pleeeeeeeeeease.”

And where do you think she sits?

IN THE BATHROOM STALL DIRECTLY NEXT TO MINE.

Who are these people? Who walks into a bathroom with this layout:

What, doesn't everyone look at their right foot when they poop?

What, doesn’t everyone look at their right foot when they poop?

and sits in the stall RIGHT next to the bathroom’s ONLY other occupant? Who goes into the bathroom looking for the support of a fellow human being? Honestly, if pooping is that difficult and emotionally trying for you, I really must insist that you seek medical attention.

Even more baffling to me is the fact that this is a regular occurrence at work. There are people who routinely decide that “we’re all in this together!” when they have to evacuate their bowels. The reason that mystifies me is that I’d think they would learn from past experiences that, unlike people I know (and you know who you are), I do not play Poop Chicken. I will not politely wait for you to finish your business so that I can begin mine. It doesn’t particularly concern me that you’re going to be subjected to a foulness that I’ve just authored ’cause guess what, buddy? YOU CHOSE THIS! So I’ll vindictively will my body to create the most awful environment EVER, just to punish you for having poor bathroom etiquette.

That’s a concept that gets ignored far too often. Not just bathroom etiquette (although close-poopers aren’t the only menace…I’m lookin’ at you, Women-Who-Hover-And-Refuse-To-Wipe-Up-Their-Tinkles!) No, I’m talking about etiquette in general. Particularly while driving. Oooooooh, how I despise driving on the interstate! Driving near semis sucks balls but that’s not even the worst part. The worst is someone I lovingly refer to as Mr. Jerkface.

Mr. Jerkface is VERY important. He has many, many pressing engagements and cannot be bothered with something as mundane as public safety. I imagine Mr. Jerkface likes to condescendingly chuckle at people while gesturing with his alcoholic beverage of choice and say things like, “Ha ha, you know it, Tiger!” and “Good job, Big Guy!” And then Mr. Jerkface climbs into his car and does this:

Road

Why can’t Mr. Jerkface just wait until I pass?!? There’s absolutely no traffic behind me. I’m obviously advancing quickly in my lane; he won’t have the wait that Mr. Already-Dead-But-Forgot-To-Stop-Driving-Before-Dying is giving him. Just wait FIVE SECONDS and you can safely change lanes!

*grrrr* I can only hope that he chooses to sit next to me in the restroom someday.

Chuck E. Cheese, The Unlikely Harbinger

What a weekend it’s been! We had L’s birthday party yesterday in an inflatable wonderland, full of noise, chaos and other people’s children. Today we attended a friend’s son’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese…noise/chaos/children redux. After 3+ hours of insanity & a 30 minute drive home, we finally got the kids to bed…kinda feeling like a shell-shocked soldier right about now.

The interesting thing about ol’ Chuck E’s place was how…revealing…a certain attraction was. They have a really cute photo booth that “sketches” your picture. J absolutely couldn’t get enough of it. I think she took about 6-7 pics of herself and had she discovered it earlier in the visit, we’d have come home with quite a few more. Here’s a glimpse into our Chuck E visit, via “sketches”:

"I'm gonna take a serious picture...or not..."

“I’m gonna take a serious picture…or not…”

There’s a good 20 second time span between dropping in the token & the picture being captured. Twenty seconds is FAR too long for L to hold one particular pose. She sat there smiling for most of that time but right at the end she decided to pull her ear lobes way out & impersonate Will Smith.

Wait, why did she decide to do THAT?!

Wait, why did she decide to do THAT?!

Okay, so here’s the part where I hope Chuck E. The Harbinger is wrong. WAY wrong. Because what’s L’s impulse when a camera’s going to take a picture of her? To flash it, of course! She’s looking up because The Man & I are laughing our asses off while we repeatedly tell her to put her shirt down.

Are you legally allowed to pose like this if you don’t have a Facebook profile to post it to?!

Damn you, Harbinger!!! Thank you SO much for this insanely accurate glimpse into J’s teen years. No really, this is exactly what I needed this weekend, when I’m already reeling from the fact that her little sister is turning THREE YEARS OLD tomorrow. My BABY is turning three TOMORROW. Nope, that’s not enough of a blow to this mama’s heart…we must add a photo of her older sister looking sixTEEN, rather than six.

SIGH. I’ll recover, I know. It’s just…can’t they stay THIS way:

JandManLandme

…for a while longer? Like, a decade or so?

Pretty please? :-/

Joy…so much joy…

A couple of months back, a friend sent me the link to a video that quite honestly made me a little teary. I’m sure many of you have seen it already but I saw the link on Facebook today & fell in love all over again. Just like the first time, the video’s slowly building crescendo took hold of me almost instantly. There’s something about strings that touches my very soul and makes my heart sing. I started playing the violin the summer after 5th grade & continued all the way through high school. While my talent for the instrument (mediocre on my best day) has faded, my love for an orchestral arrangement has not.

The ONLY way to give this performance justice is to listen through a pair of headphones. If you absolutely cannot, just wait until you can listen with the volume up, up, UP!

We start with a lone bass player. Deep and rich, the bass is the absolute backbone of any orchestra. He’s soon joined by a cellist and the music is instantly more rich. Once they are joined by the bassoonist and two violinists, the crowd can see that they are about to experience the most amazing flash mob ever gathered. I’m starting to float at this point but around the 2:20 mark when the soprano strings enter, I’m flying. This piece is called Ode to Joy and the reason becomes quite apparent once the vocals join in.

There are two ways to experience this video, both equally amazing.

  1. Close your eyes and focus all of your energy on trying to capture every nuance in the music. It’s nearly impossible but it’s a hell of a lot of fun to try. HOWEVER, I recommend this method only upon the 2nd viewing of the video.
  2. While listening to this masterpiece expertly performed, watch the crowd. From the youngest child to the most elderly in attendance, they are all soaring. The music absolutely lifts them up. It’s transcendent. It’s ethereal. It. is. breathtaking.

Now, go listen to it again. And be transformed. :)

New Project! (sorta)

Upon reading a few other blogs, I’ve run into a concept a few times now that I’ve found interesting. Some bloggers participate in a Photo A Day type project, wherein they take a photo everyday based on that day’s random word or concept.

I’ve decided to take that concept & completely bastardize it to fit my own definition (*coughcoughStephanieMeyervampirescough*)…I’m going to do a Word of the Day project. Except it probably won’t be every day because I’m lazy. And it may or may not involve a photo. So I guess the only part that’s the same is the “random” part…which is SO me. I am the Queen of Random.

Anyhoo, I’m using an online random word generator & today’s word is “surgery”. I’m actually quite happy with this choice as surgery is such a complex word for me. When I think of it, the very first thing that comes to mind is:

These two

These two

A weird correlation, eh? Not for me. Both of my babies came into this world via c-section, which is not at ALL the way I originally thought childbirth would be for me. When I was pregnant with J, I was all geared up to deliver vaginally, declining drugs until I absolutely couldn’t deal with the pain on my own anymore. I’m a fairly tough gal & the pain didn’t really deter me. However, I reached my due date and she still hadn’t even begun to drop into my pelvis. My doc was estimating her weight at around 10 pounds and was concerned that she wouldn’t fit through my pelvis. He suggested entertaining the idea of a c-section delivery. Initially, I was opposed to it but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the only thing that mattered to me was that my baby arrive healthy & under as little duress as possible.

So, I was in the semi-unique position of knowing exactly what day my little girl would be born. We arrived at the hospital at 3:30pm and by 5:10, I was looking into the most beautiful set of eyes I’d ever seen. My throat kept locking & I could barely speak through the tears…she was just amazing.

So not fair that I LOOK like I went through hard labor, even though I didn't

So not fair that I LOOK like I went through hard labor, even though I didn’t

With L’s birth, I had a decision to make. I could try for a vaginal birth, which was completely possible. However, there’s a good chance that a woman’s who’s had a c-section previously might go through hours of labor and end up having to go the c-section route anyway. I was not about to put either of us through that so I had my 2nd c-section delivery.

For a while, I felt as though I should mourn the loss of opportunity to deliver vaginally; I’d read so many amazing birth stories and wondered if I somehow cheated me and my girls out of something special. But ya wanna know a secret? Those c-sections? They were the EASIEST things I’ve ever gone through. Seriously. I was not in a super amount of pain afterwards, the babies were completely healthy and we bonded instantly.

So while I know some would be saddened to know that my brain equates birth with surgery, I’ve embraced it. Obviously c-sections are not for everyone but they were absolutely right for us. I know not all surgeries will give me such lovelies as these:

*SWOOOOOOOON*

*SWOOOOOOOON*

But at least two did & that’s enough to color my view of the word for eternity.

And now I’m back…from outer space…

So, yeah. Hello, internets. Nice to visit with ya again. Sorry I’ve been MIA for MONTHS. I’ll admit, partly, I was a little butthurt that, since the switch from old blog to new, no one seemed to read my rantings anymore. But honestly, that wasn’t even the main reason for my absence…that bug to write, that spark…it just hadn’t bitten/ignited (choose your own analogy) in quite a long damn while.

Add the lack of a spark to the little voice in my head that’s whispering things like, “Who the hell would want to read your drivel?” and you get a whole lot of internet silence. I know low readership shouldn’t bother me but obviously I’m more vain than I’d hoped. And it doesn’t help that WordPress has that lovely stat page that shows you EXACTLY how pathetically seldom your blog is visited. “Why don’t you just not look at the stats?”, you ask? Haha. Oh, Internets…you are so funny to assume that I have self control.

If you need proof of my complete LACK of will power, you could just look at my dresser. It’s covered in evidence. The plastic baggies…they’re everywhere. Someone might be tempted to inform the authorities.

20130328-214320.jpg

That’s right…I’m addicted to Lane Bryant. OMG, the cute fat-girl clothes…they are my weakness! As a young adult fat-girl, I used to be so disgusted by the tablecloths that stores like Wal-mart would pass off as “plus size fashions”. Hmmm, do I WANT a muumuu made out of a picnic blanket?

20130328-215209.jpg

All signs point to “no”

Now, as an adult-adult fat-girl, I have finally found a store that sells attractive clothes that cover my considerable (and quite luscious, or so I’m told) ass. And seriously, how am I supposed to pass THAT up? “Oh, so sorry, LB. I don’t need your beautimous clothing since I can get a tropical flower covered muumuu at Wal-mart for $2.95. Bonus: it’s made of completely immobile fabric that is guaranteed to chafe my limbs to the bone!”

My LB obsession is getting a weeeee bit out of hand, though. I recently acquired 5 more camis. Five camisoles by themselves isn’t terribly alarming but when you consider that my closet already looked like this:

20130328-220337.jpg

…then yeah, I’m having a little too much fun in the dressing room. But I can stop any time I want to. Seriously. I don’t need it. I can totally quit.

Yikes, I got the DTs just thinking about quitting…

Anyway, if you noticed & it bothered you, sorry for the radio silence. Having dinner with a good friend tonight seemed to have re-opened the flood gates of inanity. If the sound of silence didn’t bother you, bad news, man. My fingers found the keys again & I’m once more running at the cyber-mouth.

Cyber-mouth sounds dirty.

Which is why that term belongs here.

Feel free to run your cyber-mouth down below (BWAHAHAHAHA) in the comments section.

Retro: Your freaky deaky, your business

Oh this poor blog has been so neglected lately. Hopefully, by reviving some of the posts from my old blog, I’ll re-light the fire under my ass and write some new material. At any rate, I thought in light of recent events, this post was relevant.

—————————– originally posted 5/19/11 —————————–

There are many things I don’t understand in this world. Quantum physics. The inner workings of my car. Why Kathy Lee Gifford still has a career.

Number one on my “I don’t get it list”, though? Why the fuck people can’t just let consenting adults do whatever it is that turns them on. I don’t care that it squicks you out or that it goes against your moral code – it’s none of your damn business. You can make the choice not to participate in that action. AND you can choose not to THINK about things that gross you out, without taking anything away from someone else.  I mean, I have no desire to think about Bill O’Reilly having sex with anyone ever in any position under any circumstances. EVER.  EWWWWW.

oreilly

See, it even grosses HIM out!

But guess what? Just because I don’t think it’s kosher for ol’ Billy to get his groove on doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be allowed to. I shouldn’t get to use my own personal predilections (and gag reflex inducers) to infringe upon the rights of others.

Even more unfathomable to me than trying to legally control the sexual rights of consenting adults is the desire to deny marriage rights to consenting adults. I mean, we’re talking about denying two people the right to make a loving commitment to be true to each other as long as we both shall live. Oh, the horror!

Yes, this is truly cause for concern

Yes, this is truly cause for concern

Not sure if I can take all of these scary images

Not sure if I can take all of these scary images

Did I say scary? 'Cause I meant reeeeeeally HOT *rawr*

Did I say scary? ‘Cause I meant reeeeeeally HOT *rawr*

Okay, so maybe that last one wasn’t from a marriage ceremony but damn, it was tasty.  Mama needs a cold shower now…

Crap, where was I? I seem to have trouble concentrating…

ANYway! I’m tired of seeing all of this legal and “morally” supported bigotry. It’s never okay to teach our children to hate or discriminate against anyone. Period.

You can teach your children about your beliefs and that’s awesome. That’s your job as a parent. But I will never understand teaching children that a practice/lifestyle isn’t right AND shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Especially when said practice/lifestyle isn’t hurting anyone or infringing on anyone else’s rights. Or that the people who do practice such things should be second-class citizens solely for that reason.

It’s heart-breaking enough to hear stories about adults who aren’t permitted to be themselves and enjoy the rights that everyone else enjoys. But to hear about teenagers who are committing suicide because of their classmates’ torment…classmates whose parents are usually the source of their bigotry…it SHATTERS my heart.

Many of these homosexual kids don’t have the loving support of their parents, who are sometimes the ones telling them that it’s immoral to be gay. These kids have no safe haven, nowhere to turn. This should never happen, to any child. True, bullying does exist everywhere, even for children who aren’t homosexual. But the majority of those heterosexual children have their parents’ love and support to help get them through the rough years.

For those children who don’t, finally there is hope. Organizations like Dan Savage’s brainchild, the itgetsbetterproject, are out there now to try to give these kids hope. I’ve been a fan of Dan’s for a number of years now & my respect for him has only grown since this latest project of his.

Let’s end this ranty post on a hilarious note. Rebecca Drysdale has created the absolute anthem for the itgetsbetterproject and for all those kids that need love, encouragement…and maybe a few laughs.

Letter to my girls, vol. 3

My little thieves,

I cannot believe that you are 2 & 6 years old! It still feels like L just came home from the hospital (and oh what a blissful stay that was…we had such a beautiful first three days together). The time is far past “flying” and has officially reached warp speed.

The Graceful Daredevil

J, sometimes I still can’t believe how daring you’ve become on the playground. Up until about a year ago (and even now, occasionally) you used to climb to the top of a slide, take one look down that endless stretch & decide that you really didn’t need to go down that suicide slope anyway, thankyouverymuch. But now it’s commonplace to see you hanging upside down from one piece of equipment or another. You LOVE to monkey up/across all the bars you can find. You also love to swing as high as you can propel yourself and sometimes that’s not enough to quench your thirst for the sky. Daddy & I are often called in to push you even higher and oh, the giggles that escape you then. Hearing that much joy in your voice melts my heart every single time.

You’re still very much the fashionista and now you’ve recruited your sister into your weekly fashion shows. The two of you will disappear upstairs for an inordinate amount of time and come downstairs putting on regal airs & flitting around the living room. Your Uncle N made your day when he sent you some new dress up outfits for your birthday, as you’d long since outgrown your old ones (which L has now inherited). You’ve been a princess since the first time your little personality reared its gorgeous little head and a princess you still are.

During one of many fashion shows

J, there’s one more aspect of your personality that’s developed and it’s delighted your Daddy…your absolute adoration for Legos. The first time you saw your Daddy’s big ol’ box of Legos, I thought your little eyes would pop right out of your skull. Once he started showing you all the different ways to connect pieces and create things, that was it. You were completely sold on ‘em. And now the devious masterminds at Lego have created Lego Friends. I mean, come on. Girlie Legos? It’s like they KNOW you! And while Daddy was the one who introduced you to them, lately you & I have had a blast putting the sets together. I never had many Legos myself as a kid but following the directions to assemble sets greatly appeals to my meticulous side. I realized this afternoon that I am still capable of sitting on the floor for over an hour without mortal peril, so thanks for that, Sweet Pea. ;o) Best of all, though, is the overwhelming pride you feel when you assemble one of those sets yourself…baby, you absolutely GLOW and it’s beautiful to see.

The Scientific Wild Child

L, you seem to advance overnight. You were a bit slower to talk than your big sis but one day it was like the floodgates had opened while you slept and suddenly this vast vocabulary started to show itself. We always knew you understood about 20 times what you could articulate but now that ratio has changed considerably. You’ve mastered putting multiple sentences together & expressing yourself so that you make damn sure we understand what it is you’re after. Still, though, you’re not the most patient creature on the planet (or even in the room) so the most common “request” we’re treated to is, “Again, again!”

You’ve started singing a lot lately and OMG, nothing is cuter than your versions of songs. Whether it’s you singing your “ABCDs” or your version of “Jesus Wuvs Me”, your Daddy and I often look at each other with dopey grins when we hear you sing. Today I was treated to these lyrics while giving you a bath:

“Dis I know, for da Bible tells me so

Little ones want to sing song

Yes Jesus wuvs me

Da Bible tells me so”

You are constantly on the prowl for someone to “pway wis me”. I quite clearly remember this phase when J was your age but, silly me, I thought that having two children would let me off the hook this time around. WROOOOOONG. While J is really good about including you in her playtime more often than not, she still gets to the breaking point & decides that she wants to play by herself. This happened today…you were both upstairs playing but about 15 minutes later you came down all by yourself, saying, “J no want to pway wis me. I be sad at her.” Yeah, like Mama could resist that pathetic little pout! I immediately invited you to come play with me and we had ourselves some fun time with toy doggies.

You try saying “no” to this face

As usual, girls, my happiest moments are seeing you be kind & loving to each other. My absolute favorite mental picture of you two is any one of the million times I’ve seen you sitting amicably together in the overstuffed recliner, watching TV & just happy to be together. I want so much for you to continue to grow closer as you get older. While I know that sibling rivalry will play a huh-yooge part of your childhood, I hope that you can emerge out the other side not only sisters, but friends. I hope that when you have big events in your lives, your sister is the first person you want to call. And I hope that when you have to experience the hardships of life (lets hope those are much, much fewer), you can lean on each other for strength, love and support. That’s your Mama’s fondest dream for you, my lovelies. I do so hope it comes true.

Love always,
Mama

Retro: Signs that you might be a parent

Disclaimer: From time to time, I’m going to bring over some of my favorite posts from the old blog. Sorry for the rambling repeats.

—————————– originally posted 1/21/11 —————————–

 

  1. You find Cheerios in your coat pocket.
  2. Leaving the house without a sippy cup of something is tantamount to saying, “What could POSSIBLY go wrong?!”
  3. You routinely give good night kisses to inanimate objects.
  4. In an effort to train yourself to speak politely to your child, you often find yourself asking the dog to, “Please get down off the couch.”
  5. Having the bathroom to yourself is a novelty.
  6. Having a meal to yourself is a novelty.
  7. Having your body to yourself is a novelty.
  8. You measure a kitchen utensil’s usefulness not by the ease in which it helps you prepare dinner but by the length of time it can successfully entertain your baby.
  9. The baby has a month’s worth of clean, sorted & folded outfits (some of which won’t even be worn).  You have to pull a shirt out of the hamper to leave the house.
  10. Routinely seeing your husband wearing a tiara is not an unusual or worrisome issue.
  11. You’ve come to loathe glitter.
  12. It’s become your responsibility to keep another person’s hands out of their own butt.
  13. You’ve often wished for a pain-free way to staple various items to a child (hat, gloves, pacifier, underwear, toy, etc.)
  14. You’ve had to say, “Don’t put anymore crackers up your sleeves, okay?”

 

(Of course, some of these may apply to being a spouse, too…)

Garbage Bags, Yarn & Closet Monsters

Hey, everyone! Who got to inadvertently traumatize their children last night? Oh, just me, huh? Damn.

So yeah, we had some pretty nasty weather in our neck o’ the woods. L was already in bed & as I was reading J her bedtime story, the town sirens went off. I called Da Man on his cell phone downstairs (don’t ya love technology? No more yelling down…just whip out the cell phone!) & asked him to check the weather reports. Sure enough, a tornado was headed in our direction. He scanned the skies & didn’t see any immediate danger so we decided to let the kiddos stay in bed until it was necessary.

Fifteen minutes later, the sirens go off again. No more screwin’ around, we’re bringing the kids downstairs. Poor L, she was already totally in dreamland when I so rudely grabbed her out of her crib. Everyone got to chill on the loveseat near our refuge…the creepy closet under the stairs. This thing is the stuff of horror movies. Not too spacious with lots of pipes and unfinished walls, its sole purpose is just to reach the entrance to the crawl space under our oh-so-basementless 100+ year old house. Da Man had already prepared the space, laying down a comforter for us to sit on & gathering flashlights. We weren’t going to make the kids go in until we had to but once he started seeing hail fall outside, it was time.

J wasn’t happy about it but she went in willingly enough. L, however, was like, “Are you effing serious?” And here’s my wonderfully brainless moment of the day…I kinda shuffled along behind her, urging her to go in after J, trying not to look worried but still wanting to convey urgency. I have no idea why my brain decided on this course of action…WHY didn’t I just pick her little self UP? Because apparently in severe weather conditions, my brain is made of yarn & dust bunnies.

It’s itchy.

So L’s shuffling in & suddenly she drops down about a foot & starts crying. Right at the entrance to the Closet of Terror is a garbage bag-lookin’ pipe that goes down into a hole in the floor (you can tell how handy I am around the house, yes?) And since it’s made of something that looks like a garbage bag-like material, it has quite a bit of give to it. Ya know, enough give for a teeny tiny baby leg to get stuck between it & the edge of the floor hole.

Have you voted me Dumbass Mother of the Year yet? Because I have. Numerous times.

I felt SO awfully awful. I picked her up right away & put her down next to J so I could maneuver my big ass into the closet. I walk in & turn around to sit down so I can take the cat carrier from Da Man when I go falling through the crawl space entrance. Did I mention that the “cover” for that thing is little more than a piece of cheap aluminum? No? That’s because I DIDN’T KNOW EITHER. So let’s recap…I’m trying SO desperately to keep my cool because I hate nasty weather but don’t want to scare the kids. L’s already had the invisible closet monster try to take her leg off & now it’s EATING HER MAMA.

So I get my hippo butt out of the crawlspace and sit on one edge while resting my feet on the other side. We get everyone into the closet try to calm the kiddos down. Da Man’s actually using his noggin (so glad one of us was!) and he starts playing some music for the kids on his phone. I start making comparisons to camping and anything else I can think of to make the kids okay with being in a dirty, cramped Cave O’Creepiness. I swear, I was so thankful for the Harry Potter “cupboard under the stairs” reference that I would’ve gladly made out with J.K. Rowling.

My new girlfriend

We were only in there for about fifteen minutes and then everyone got to go back to bed. L didn’t even wake up with bad dreams but she does have a one inch scrape on her leg. That hurts my heart so much. I’ve probably made a claustrophobic out of her now since going in small spaces = losing body parts & family members to the Closet Monsters. *sigh*

I wonder how many other ways I’ll scar them for life.

Retro: Evolution of love

Disclaimer: From time to time, I’m going to bring over some of my favorite posts from the old blog. Sorry for the rambling repeats.

—————————– originally posted 3/25/11 —————————–

Love is a tricksy little emotion. It’s sometimes suffocating and sometimes freeing. It can make you feel like someone kicked your fucking teeth in with a golf cleat. Or you can feel as if you’ve just come from an hour long massage with chocolate body frosting, given by a shirtless Matthew McConaughey…

I’m sorry, what was I saying…?

Personally, I’ve experienced multiple degrees of love, each one deeper and more intense than the last. They go something like this:

Childhood love: My world is pretty small at this point. My mother is the most important person in the world to me and I can’t imagine loving anyone more than her. Even when she carries out such heinous acts as changing the TV channel WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME FIRST! (I seriously have a journal entry wherein I suspect that she doesn’t love me anymore because of this awful act of betrayal.)

Preadolescent love: My world has gotten a bit larger. My bedroom walls are PLASTERED with pictures of the New Kids on the Block. I have a “boyfriend” now. We have kissed…with tongues! I am a woman of the world.

Teenage angsty love: The world continues to expand and I have to figure out how to interact with new people on a regular basis. I am terribly concerned with being cool and having really tall, crunchy bangs. My current boyfriend and I have “done it”…or so he claims. I can’t really see what the fuss was about but I know that totally makes me a grown up now. We get into fights on the phone at least 3-5 times a week and I am often in tears over our “relationship”. The day that he wants to “take a break” is the day I write the most deliciously angsty journal entry ever written. Seriously, I think I could to this day crumple up that page and squeeze out pure teenage hormones.

Kind-of-a-grown-up love: After getting my heart shattered into a million angsty pieces, I meet someone who is still the nicest guy I’ve ever known. We get along famously and try to figure out how to be adults together. I have never experienced a love like this – wherein I’m a giver AND a receiver. We go out into the grown-up world and overwhelm ourselves with responsibility. Ugh, seriously? We have to go to college full-time AND work full-time jobs AND pay our own bills AND clean our own apartment AND still spend meaningful time with each other?! Unbeknownst to my conscious mind, I am attempting to be the person I believe he wants me to be. I lose myself, piece by piece, and never even realize it until it’s too late and our relationship is broken beyond repair. I rip my own heart out (and his) ending the most important relationship I’ve had to date.

Adult love: In the preceding year, a complete stranger has become my best friend. He’s gotten to see the real me from the very beginning and I couldn’t hide myself if I wanted to. I am comfortable in my own skin – FINALLY. We connect on every level. We laugh over the stupidest shit EVER. (I once thought Pizza Hut would refuse to deliver to us because midway through the phone call he gave me the giggles so bad I could barely speak. That poor Hut worker must’ve thought I was sooooo high.) We are far from perfect but we figure our shit out together. We help each other through our own baggage and become better people because of it. We endeavor to tackle parenthood together. It’s scary and wonderful and amazing…we are a team like never before. We create new life and watch her grow from a squirmy little bundle of awesome into the most breathtaking, remarkable person either of us have ever known.

Motherhood love: I realize that my soul mate is no longer the person I love most in the world. This little person we’ve created takes that prize hands down. I’d rip someone’s fucking arm off with my teeth before I’d let them be a threat to her. She is perfect and awe-inspiring and eloquent and funny and graceful and kind. And just when I thought I couldn’t love anyone ELSE as much as I love her, her little sister enters the world. That all-encompassing, all-consuming love has doubled and I sometimes think my heart will suffocate me. When they giggle together, I stop breathing for that instant, not sure that my poor, inexperienced heart can handle this much joy.

And then the girls dog-pile on Daddy and I die.

And then I get up and hug the hell out of all three of them. :)

By ALSTblog Posted in retro