Today was day 1 of the real deal transition. I am exhausted. I'm leaving tomorrow and going home. I have too many emotions. I'm most likely going to bed.
I am going home. The prevailing emotion following that sentence is excitement. I kinda miss my husband.
So tomorrow I will tell you about my idea for a consulting business where I can tell assisted living places why they suck and get paid to tell them how not to suck.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Focused but not Present
At church this morning I had another one of my lovely experiences of being focused but not present. I was fully participating and paying attention to many details of the service, just none of the ones I was supposed to. This happens to me from time to time- too often in my parents' church, but whatever. So today as I waxed feminist and critical, I came up with all sorts of details to focus on. And I thought about them. Meanwhile, everyone else enjoyed a nice service.
I forgot how historically male and bloody Baptists are. All of the hymns we sang had only and very male images for God, and most of the references to Jesus involved something with blood or refering to the cross. I think that long ago I thought this was just something a lot of churches did, now I'm thinking it might be more a Baptist flavor. There is nothing wrong with male imagery for God or bloody images from the scene of Jesus on the cross- all these things are apprropriate. But now I know a little better about why I am so done with it. Because my whole life in the church has been nothing but this. Many other churches include other imagery, you might go a whole Sunday without blood, and the word "he" may not necessarily be capitalized (which the language nut in me is so annoyed by - he is a pronoun, no matter who it describes and grammatically shouldn't be capitalized- although I get the respect thing, it doesn't make it less annoying). Anyway. Our church in Virginia, for example- is not the golden goose for inclusivity, but I'm realizing that the language is already more diverse just by having Methodist Hymns. It's too bad they aren't as lively or catchy as the Baptist ones.
OK- so I noticed the whole HE HIM BLOOD JESUS CROSS thing. Then the ushers come up- almost military style, I swear one guy turned on his heel to go in front- all men. All men. To collect the offering, which is a weird signal to send anyway having military style men gather the offering. Give me a vagina up there, come on.
Then there was the children's sermon- not bad actually- but the question was posed to the kids "how many of you love coming to the church" - ha- some kids didn't raise their hands and I'm sure most people blew it off as shyness- but come on- not all kids are there by choice. Then she asked why they loved going to church. One kid said "to learn more about God." The woman was good- and even though she picked up on that answer as the "good" answer- she did mention seeing friends, etc and opened it up a little bit. But it made me think- it is possible that this child truly has nothing more fun than learning about God- and her Sunday school teachers might be kick-ass, but maybe just maybe she gave that answer because she thought it was the right one.
It made me think about how I sometimes judge people in church. Oh yes- I judge. SO bad, I am. But I see people- and you know them- that almost have this look of pride just being in the church. And not the good pride- but the preaching to the choir kind of pride. The kind where the minister says one thing and the proud shake their heads in obvious agreement. "Oh yes, we know what's right and wrong." That kind. They make my skin crawl. I try to let it go- but it's true. I'm putting it out there. They are also everywhere- in every church- in all variations of beliefs. They drive me crazy and I judge them. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't. My church experience would be less jaded if I would stop this. But I can't seem to help myself. Well- I don't try too hard. Anyway, so this pride thing. I thought about the kids and the right answer, the military men and their proud march, the whole thing. And I had a mini-epiphany. There are many churches whose congregations come to hear that they are right. They are right about who God is, they are right about what sin is, they are right about where they should go from here. Even when we talk about how we're wrong, it's about how we know we're wrong and need to do what we know is right. This is how many churches and preachers function. Shoot- it's how we all function before we get the rug swept out from our feet by life and realize we have no idea what the hell we're doing. The false illusion that we are right leads us to fall even harder when we are horrifyingly confronted with the fact that we were wrong, at least about a couple things. The strongest people go one of two ways: adapt and grow, or stay so stubbornly in belief of their rightness that nothing changes. What do the rest of us do? Fall apart at the seams until someone picks us up and whispers "I was wrong once too, my life fell apart and I made it, and God actually did help."
So when the little girl answered the children's sermon question- was she trying to be right? Or be real? When the men march down the aisle, are they proud of their role in the right place, or are they proud to give money to God, because they have nothing better to do with it? When we nod in agreement with the pastor- are we nodding because we know we're all right, or is it because we know we have something to learn here?
In my judging and bitterness, I know I don't have much more to hang on than these pride packs. I do have hope that I can be a part of a congregation that doesn't mind learning together. That will be wrong together. That will shout from the beginning of the hymns to the end: I HAVE NO IDEA! I'M LEARNING! SHOCK ME AGAIN!
The guest preacher for the next 6 weeks is good. And I don't mean necessarily amazing as a preacher- although he wasn't bad- but if I'm not mistaken- I think he's goood at what his role is: helping a church change and adjust to a new pastor. His sermon was talking of the inevitability of change. But better than that were the little details of his sermon. He mentioned each staff member by name. He mentioned the last pastor affectionately. He quoted several lines of scripture. He spoke of change in not so scary ways, but clearly change. He talked about our creation in Genesis- which if he ever heard the last preacher preach- was a part of nearly every one of his sermons. I don't think this was a coincidence. He quoted a female priest to appeal to the folks like me, scripture to appeal to the militia men, Genesis for the Pastor mourners and Staff names for the uneasy. This man was goood.
I've written a lot today. Hope I haven't annoyed too many people. Oh, real quick- a revelation from today: Grandmother will occassionally get into what I not-so-sensitively call suicidal moods. She'll say how she should jump in a lake, we'll be glad when she's gone, she's glad she had a shower because the mortician will appreciate it- not kidding - all quotes from my cutsy little grandmother. These comments are frequent enough that they just generally annoy me now. She does it when she's feeling like a burden or frustrated to not be able to do something for herself. All it really does is make the rest of us feel like shit for making her want to die. And you almost always have to respond- how can you leave a suicidal remark hanging? You can't. Well today Dad mentioned that the people at her new place were looking forward to her "checking in." This struck a memory for Grandmother and she proceeded to tell us about how her Dad used to say in times of annoyance or frustration: "I think I'll just check out." Verbatim, I've heard my Grandmother say this phrase. Now I know who to blame. Watch what you say folks, your great great grandchildren may be paying the price.
I forgot how historically male and bloody Baptists are. All of the hymns we sang had only and very male images for God, and most of the references to Jesus involved something with blood or refering to the cross. I think that long ago I thought this was just something a lot of churches did, now I'm thinking it might be more a Baptist flavor. There is nothing wrong with male imagery for God or bloody images from the scene of Jesus on the cross- all these things are apprropriate. But now I know a little better about why I am so done with it. Because my whole life in the church has been nothing but this. Many other churches include other imagery, you might go a whole Sunday without blood, and the word "he" may not necessarily be capitalized (which the language nut in me is so annoyed by - he is a pronoun, no matter who it describes and grammatically shouldn't be capitalized- although I get the respect thing, it doesn't make it less annoying). Anyway. Our church in Virginia, for example- is not the golden goose for inclusivity, but I'm realizing that the language is already more diverse just by having Methodist Hymns. It's too bad they aren't as lively or catchy as the Baptist ones.
OK- so I noticed the whole HE HIM BLOOD JESUS CROSS thing. Then the ushers come up- almost military style, I swear one guy turned on his heel to go in front- all men. All men. To collect the offering, which is a weird signal to send anyway having military style men gather the offering. Give me a vagina up there, come on.
Then there was the children's sermon- not bad actually- but the question was posed to the kids "how many of you love coming to the church" - ha- some kids didn't raise their hands and I'm sure most people blew it off as shyness- but come on- not all kids are there by choice. Then she asked why they loved going to church. One kid said "to learn more about God." The woman was good- and even though she picked up on that answer as the "good" answer- she did mention seeing friends, etc and opened it up a little bit. But it made me think- it is possible that this child truly has nothing more fun than learning about God- and her Sunday school teachers might be kick-ass, but maybe just maybe she gave that answer because she thought it was the right one.
It made me think about how I sometimes judge people in church. Oh yes- I judge. SO bad, I am. But I see people- and you know them- that almost have this look of pride just being in the church. And not the good pride- but the preaching to the choir kind of pride. The kind where the minister says one thing and the proud shake their heads in obvious agreement. "Oh yes, we know what's right and wrong." That kind. They make my skin crawl. I try to let it go- but it's true. I'm putting it out there. They are also everywhere- in every church- in all variations of beliefs. They drive me crazy and I judge them. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't. My church experience would be less jaded if I would stop this. But I can't seem to help myself. Well- I don't try too hard. Anyway, so this pride thing. I thought about the kids and the right answer, the military men and their proud march, the whole thing. And I had a mini-epiphany. There are many churches whose congregations come to hear that they are right. They are right about who God is, they are right about what sin is, they are right about where they should go from here. Even when we talk about how we're wrong, it's about how we know we're wrong and need to do what we know is right. This is how many churches and preachers function. Shoot- it's how we all function before we get the rug swept out from our feet by life and realize we have no idea what the hell we're doing. The false illusion that we are right leads us to fall even harder when we are horrifyingly confronted with the fact that we were wrong, at least about a couple things. The strongest people go one of two ways: adapt and grow, or stay so stubbornly in belief of their rightness that nothing changes. What do the rest of us do? Fall apart at the seams until someone picks us up and whispers "I was wrong once too, my life fell apart and I made it, and God actually did help."
So when the little girl answered the children's sermon question- was she trying to be right? Or be real? When the men march down the aisle, are they proud of their role in the right place, or are they proud to give money to God, because they have nothing better to do with it? When we nod in agreement with the pastor- are we nodding because we know we're all right, or is it because we know we have something to learn here?
In my judging and bitterness, I know I don't have much more to hang on than these pride packs. I do have hope that I can be a part of a congregation that doesn't mind learning together. That will be wrong together. That will shout from the beginning of the hymns to the end: I HAVE NO IDEA! I'M LEARNING! SHOCK ME AGAIN!
The guest preacher for the next 6 weeks is good. And I don't mean necessarily amazing as a preacher- although he wasn't bad- but if I'm not mistaken- I think he's goood at what his role is: helping a church change and adjust to a new pastor. His sermon was talking of the inevitability of change. But better than that were the little details of his sermon. He mentioned each staff member by name. He mentioned the last pastor affectionately. He quoted several lines of scripture. He spoke of change in not so scary ways, but clearly change. He talked about our creation in Genesis- which if he ever heard the last preacher preach- was a part of nearly every one of his sermons. I don't think this was a coincidence. He quoted a female priest to appeal to the folks like me, scripture to appeal to the militia men, Genesis for the Pastor mourners and Staff names for the uneasy. This man was goood.
I've written a lot today. Hope I haven't annoyed too many people. Oh, real quick- a revelation from today: Grandmother will occassionally get into what I not-so-sensitively call suicidal moods. She'll say how she should jump in a lake, we'll be glad when she's gone, she's glad she had a shower because the mortician will appreciate it- not kidding - all quotes from my cutsy little grandmother. These comments are frequent enough that they just generally annoy me now. She does it when she's feeling like a burden or frustrated to not be able to do something for herself. All it really does is make the rest of us feel like shit for making her want to die. And you almost always have to respond- how can you leave a suicidal remark hanging? You can't. Well today Dad mentioned that the people at her new place were looking forward to her "checking in." This struck a memory for Grandmother and she proceeded to tell us about how her Dad used to say in times of annoyance or frustration: "I think I'll just check out." Verbatim, I've heard my Grandmother say this phrase. Now I know who to blame. Watch what you say folks, your great great grandchildren may be paying the price.
Alone Time
So I got in the car today and realized that it was the first time in nearly two weeks that I have been truly alone. By myself. AAAAaaalone. Like the 80s song, only not sad- but more triumphant and rare. I've even been sharing a bed with my sister (until she left Thursday). I will say- I enjoyed the alone time. I made the best of it by calling Nancy and talking without worry that someone was waiting on me, needed me, heard me, etc. I am looking forward to going home, but I am also feeling good about what is going on here. Things in Grandmother's apartment look pretty good. The staff at the place seem pretty friendly. My parents are making plans and doing good things. Grandmother will see one or both of my parents 4 times a week. And it is not too much for anyone. This makes me happy.
And now I'm trying to think of what I really want to write about. It was interesting watching the interaction between my Grandmother and Dad as the past stories are brought up- particularly Dad's acceptance and journey through college at the Air Force Academy. I don't think I ever really thought very much about the fact that he really did not have a good time in college. It's kind of amazing that he let all three of us girls go and do the big ridiculous college thing. He could have reacted in the opposite way to his lacking of a real college experience. Instead- he was happy to watch us go- and enjoyed living slightly vicariously through us. It struck me that Dad has never been back to the academy. Not once since he graduated. That's intentional. Even as he was talking about it- I could hear something in his voice that was sort of cold and distant about the whole thing. He didn't sound resentful. It was more a disappointed acceptance that he just never got to experience a real college. Grandmother could pick up on his lack of enthusiasm for the school and kept saying how proud she was of him and how it was so good for his career and how he was going to make her feel guilty about letting him go there if he kept talking about how hard it was. It was a little tense- I even muttered under my breath to Dad that he may want to reassure her about the whole thing. He didn't. Not really. He deflected the topic a little- but he ever actually said it was a good thing, and when she asked if he regreted it- he didn't say yes, but he didn't say no. I think that Dad enjoyed and appreciated most of his military career- but he was always kind of on the fringe of the military mentality. As well as he can fit into that mold- he didn't buy the whole kit. I'm eternally grateful for that. He didn't turn into an asshole fighter-pilot. He retired in his flight suit. When Grandmother assumed he retired full colonel and he said no, it was just lt. colonel- and she was kind of like- oh well no matter. I could feel a little tension. It was strange. Then it sort of hit me. Dad has issues (had/has) with his parents. Opa was demanding and stubborn- his rank made it so that Dad was commissioned first in hs class and he made Dad memorize the commissioning speel. No one else did and Opa was disgusted. Grandmother expected you to do what was best and the way she showed it was by smothering you with her pride if you did one thing so that you felt awful to do another. At the same time- I can see her as a gentle and firm mother. Dad is closer to his mother than he was Opa... and I think Dad is surprisingly gentle and sweet with us considering how stoic both his parents were. I've never seen Grandmother cry. or my Dad. The closest I ever saw was when Grandmother went to the rehab place after her hospital stay (vicodin erases everything) and she realized she wasn't home yet. She was so scared. But no tears.
How can someone not ever cry?
Anyway. That was interesting - and there were more bits and pieces to that conversation tonight - but those were some of the more interesting parts. It's so funny how no matter how far you get into adulthood- there's still small pieces of you that believes your parents are perfect- or at least don't really recognize that they are who they are because of a whole host of reasons hidden from your eye- their past being a huge part of it. I'd never heard my Dad talk much about the academy- and tonight was the first time I really took notice of that.
by the way- my parent's house makes all sorts of funky noises that I don't know yet and it freaks me out. their AC for one is obnoxious.
ok- going to bed. with family history and wonky AC on the brain.
And now I'm trying to think of what I really want to write about. It was interesting watching the interaction between my Grandmother and Dad as the past stories are brought up- particularly Dad's acceptance and journey through college at the Air Force Academy. I don't think I ever really thought very much about the fact that he really did not have a good time in college. It's kind of amazing that he let all three of us girls go and do the big ridiculous college thing. He could have reacted in the opposite way to his lacking of a real college experience. Instead- he was happy to watch us go- and enjoyed living slightly vicariously through us. It struck me that Dad has never been back to the academy. Not once since he graduated. That's intentional. Even as he was talking about it- I could hear something in his voice that was sort of cold and distant about the whole thing. He didn't sound resentful. It was more a disappointed acceptance that he just never got to experience a real college. Grandmother could pick up on his lack of enthusiasm for the school and kept saying how proud she was of him and how it was so good for his career and how he was going to make her feel guilty about letting him go there if he kept talking about how hard it was. It was a little tense- I even muttered under my breath to Dad that he may want to reassure her about the whole thing. He didn't. Not really. He deflected the topic a little- but he ever actually said it was a good thing, and when she asked if he regreted it- he didn't say yes, but he didn't say no. I think that Dad enjoyed and appreciated most of his military career- but he was always kind of on the fringe of the military mentality. As well as he can fit into that mold- he didn't buy the whole kit. I'm eternally grateful for that. He didn't turn into an asshole fighter-pilot. He retired in his flight suit. When Grandmother assumed he retired full colonel and he said no, it was just lt. colonel- and she was kind of like- oh well no matter. I could feel a little tension. It was strange. Then it sort of hit me. Dad has issues (had/has) with his parents. Opa was demanding and stubborn- his rank made it so that Dad was commissioned first in hs class and he made Dad memorize the commissioning speel. No one else did and Opa was disgusted. Grandmother expected you to do what was best and the way she showed it was by smothering you with her pride if you did one thing so that you felt awful to do another. At the same time- I can see her as a gentle and firm mother. Dad is closer to his mother than he was Opa... and I think Dad is surprisingly gentle and sweet with us considering how stoic both his parents were. I've never seen Grandmother cry. or my Dad. The closest I ever saw was when Grandmother went to the rehab place after her hospital stay (vicodin erases everything) and she realized she wasn't home yet. She was so scared. But no tears.
How can someone not ever cry?
Anyway. That was interesting - and there were more bits and pieces to that conversation tonight - but those were some of the more interesting parts. It's so funny how no matter how far you get into adulthood- there's still small pieces of you that believes your parents are perfect- or at least don't really recognize that they are who they are because of a whole host of reasons hidden from your eye- their past being a huge part of it. I'd never heard my Dad talk much about the academy- and tonight was the first time I really took notice of that.
by the way- my parent's house makes all sorts of funky noises that I don't know yet and it freaks me out. their AC for one is obnoxious.
ok- going to bed. with family history and wonky AC on the brain.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Good Enough Day
So today was a pretty decent day. I went up and down on the rollercoaster of frustration between Hunter and Grandmother- but all in all the good moments outweighed the frustrating. Hunter is a genuine toddler- as in- nearly 2- as in totally a stinker. That can be "fun."
My favorite part of the day? Well maybe not my favorite, but certainly memorable... Grandmother and I sat in the same room reading (actively, no dozing) our respective books for an hour and a half. I think we both really enjoyed it- I could tell by her tone of conversation and contented reading that Grandmother really did enjoy reading. I think she needs some chill time (not sleeping time) as much as the rest of us. So it was rewarding. Except for the fact that I read a book given to me by Christina of aforementioned cool-dom who forgot to mention it was one in a series. So I was excited for the book to end, but rather it was just the beginning. Of a series. A little annoying. Now I have to read more intense books.
I'm pretty tired today- so I'm keeping it short.
My favorite part of the day? Well maybe not my favorite, but certainly memorable... Grandmother and I sat in the same room reading (actively, no dozing) our respective books for an hour and a half. I think we both really enjoyed it- I could tell by her tone of conversation and contented reading that Grandmother really did enjoy reading. I think she needs some chill time (not sleeping time) as much as the rest of us. So it was rewarding. Except for the fact that I read a book given to me by Christina of aforementioned cool-dom who forgot to mention it was one in a series. So I was excited for the book to end, but rather it was just the beginning. Of a series. A little annoying. Now I have to read more intense books.
I'm pretty tired today- so I'm keeping it short.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
My friends are out of control
OK- so everyone wants a shout out. Apparently if you please one person you have to please them all. So here in no particular order are the various shout outs for my friends that may or may not read my blog and may or may not give a damn.
(by the way today was a good day, Hunter took a 2.5 hr nap, the movers came and Grandmother got new hearing aids- but let's get back to the shout outs.)
Jessica Elizabeth Kimbrough Wood Garrison. She is one of my best friends who is fiercely loyal. She and I met when I went across the hall from my freshman dorm to find someone with a TV so I could check the weather channel and see how my parents were faring in the latest hurricane. 30 minutes later I had an instant friend, but she realized she didn't have a TV. She is also OCD and has the ability to get more done than the energizer bunny, all while napping when the kids nap and making frequent trips home and beyond. I used to write smiley faces on her Chemistry notes in class just to watch her rewrite the whole page again without the unwanted accessory. She was insane enough to fly by herself to DC to visit me in her first trimester with a 3 yr old and 1 yr old. And we had a great time. She is the stay-at-home-super-mom that the rest of us decide doesn't really exist- except she does- and she likes to monogram, too. She loves people completely- like a fierce mother hen- and she's real southern about it too. She lets you know how she feels about things but dips it in sugar and honey before she forces it down your throat. She forgave me for many sins and holds me to my bond of friendship no matter how slack I might get. I love her- even if she specifically asked for this shout-out.
Nancy Speas Hill. I already changed my blog design to suit her geriatric eyeball needs. She has been grateful. She is someone that I absolutely love and want to live nearby and raise babies around. She is also one of the few friends I have let in close enough to get in a fight with. I can argue with Nancy like I do my sisters. I think that means we're close. She loves me despite the fact that my very existence as a mother with a gigantic child should piss her off. I am connected to her babies story in an intimate way as I felt at times that I wished I could give Becca a room in my womb if it would help. Nancy is the strongest person I know- even though she's got more issues than Freud. Freud drowned himself in crack- Nancy goes for ice cream- that's the healthiest alternative I could imagine. She and I bonded before babies- way back when she was cool in seminary and we spent many hours at the Snowhillbert (may it rest in peace). Nancy is the friend I could easily talk to on a daily basis.
Megan Schneider Gambrel. Megan is another good college friend, circa Jessica Garrison. Megan is also awesome- but in the "let's have some wine and laugh at this thing we call life and motherhood." Megan has always been on the same page as me as far as the whole expectations of women thing - she sort of had some plans but ultimately fell into motherhood and doubting herself all the way has become a true stay at home Mom- with every intention of getting a house on the lake and rowing out to the middle to meet me with a glass of wine. Megan is emotional and stoic, stubborn and flexible- she does her own thing and invites you to come along. Megan is the kind of friend you want to be neighbors with.
Let's see- Cliff Landis. Cliff is certifiably insane, but he makes his crazy work for him, dammit. He taught me more about God and life and gay people than media, church and Sunday School had to that point we met in college junior year. He is one of the most selfless selfish people I know. His whole world revolves around him, but at the same time he really wants you to follow your dreams and make them come true. And you have no excuse if you aren't working toward it. Cliff taught me that people who are "different" are really the best friends you'll ever find.
Amanda Landis-Hanna. Cliff's sister- she is also certifiably insane, but the more socially acceptable kind. She makes type A look like type Z and tells the hairs on your head which way to go. She also embraces you and your family and cooks for you even with a newborn sleeping or waking 5 feet away. She is worried about her abilities as a mother- but has been a mother all along- she is worried about her abilities as a professional vet but she is more professional and personal than even she can stand sometimes. She also constantly asks if Bruno wants to get his teeth cleaned. And maybe in 5 years we'll wish we had done it.
Tasha Rothwell. She is my soul mate in the friendship world. Our lives look polarly opposite- but really we are just an example of similar souls making a series of different choices. She embraces the passion and fear that comes with dreams. She and I share as much of a childhood as military brats can. She makes me think and dream and sometimes I wonder if I'm still all that interesting- not because she makes me feel that way, but because she is glowing so brightly- even with struggles she glows. She is one of the few friends my Grandmother remembers.
Ashley Brien. Speaking of glowing. Ashley is a friend I don't keep in close contact- but she is youth and spirit personified. I took her to a butterfly conservatory and I literally saw wonder erupting from her being. Ashley taught me joy and wonder.
OK- sisters- I'll save you for after sister weekend.
Christine- you got your blog.
Kelly Stewart- I talked about you- but a short shout out- you're like the pick-up close friend. The kind of friend I met twenty seconds ago and I'm convinced in twenty more seconds we're like soul mates friends.
hmmm...Katy Hinman. The most well-adjusted person I know. By far. One of the coolest people I know. Katy can be taken to any party, any crowd, any group and needs no help. She's so freakin sufficient you are in awe that she's your friend- because surely she can hang out with cooler people than you.
Erin Miller. She's another friend I haven't been as good about keeping in touch with. But suffice it to say that she is so intensely relational that it often gets her into deep trouble- and when it doesn't- it's very very rewarding. I still remember our trip to St Louis - it was so fun, and I remember driving early in the morning to witness the sunrise and the frozen ground. It was beautiful.
hmm- I'm sure I've left out glaring things- like my husband- but when he writes me a love letter- he'll get his shout-out.
otherwise - if i forgot you- i suck and i wont do it again. and family didn't count.
People pleasing time is over. Book closed. Door shut. It's all about me again.
(by the way today was a good day, Hunter took a 2.5 hr nap, the movers came and Grandmother got new hearing aids- but let's get back to the shout outs.)
Jessica Elizabeth Kimbrough Wood Garrison. She is one of my best friends who is fiercely loyal. She and I met when I went across the hall from my freshman dorm to find someone with a TV so I could check the weather channel and see how my parents were faring in the latest hurricane. 30 minutes later I had an instant friend, but she realized she didn't have a TV. She is also OCD and has the ability to get more done than the energizer bunny, all while napping when the kids nap and making frequent trips home and beyond. I used to write smiley faces on her Chemistry notes in class just to watch her rewrite the whole page again without the unwanted accessory. She was insane enough to fly by herself to DC to visit me in her first trimester with a 3 yr old and 1 yr old. And we had a great time. She is the stay-at-home-super-mom that the rest of us decide doesn't really exist- except she does- and she likes to monogram, too. She loves people completely- like a fierce mother hen- and she's real southern about it too. She lets you know how she feels about things but dips it in sugar and honey before she forces it down your throat. She forgave me for many sins and holds me to my bond of friendship no matter how slack I might get. I love her- even if she specifically asked for this shout-out.
Nancy Speas Hill. I already changed my blog design to suit her geriatric eyeball needs. She has been grateful. She is someone that I absolutely love and want to live nearby and raise babies around. She is also one of the few friends I have let in close enough to get in a fight with. I can argue with Nancy like I do my sisters. I think that means we're close. She loves me despite the fact that my very existence as a mother with a gigantic child should piss her off. I am connected to her babies story in an intimate way as I felt at times that I wished I could give Becca a room in my womb if it would help. Nancy is the strongest person I know- even though she's got more issues than Freud. Freud drowned himself in crack- Nancy goes for ice cream- that's the healthiest alternative I could imagine. She and I bonded before babies- way back when she was cool in seminary and we spent many hours at the Snowhillbert (may it rest in peace). Nancy is the friend I could easily talk to on a daily basis.
Megan Schneider Gambrel. Megan is another good college friend, circa Jessica Garrison. Megan is also awesome- but in the "let's have some wine and laugh at this thing we call life and motherhood." Megan has always been on the same page as me as far as the whole expectations of women thing - she sort of had some plans but ultimately fell into motherhood and doubting herself all the way has become a true stay at home Mom- with every intention of getting a house on the lake and rowing out to the middle to meet me with a glass of wine. Megan is emotional and stoic, stubborn and flexible- she does her own thing and invites you to come along. Megan is the kind of friend you want to be neighbors with.
Let's see- Cliff Landis. Cliff is certifiably insane, but he makes his crazy work for him, dammit. He taught me more about God and life and gay people than media, church and Sunday School had to that point we met in college junior year. He is one of the most selfless selfish people I know. His whole world revolves around him, but at the same time he really wants you to follow your dreams and make them come true. And you have no excuse if you aren't working toward it. Cliff taught me that people who are "different" are really the best friends you'll ever find.
Amanda Landis-Hanna. Cliff's sister- she is also certifiably insane, but the more socially acceptable kind. She makes type A look like type Z and tells the hairs on your head which way to go. She also embraces you and your family and cooks for you even with a newborn sleeping or waking 5 feet away. She is worried about her abilities as a mother- but has been a mother all along- she is worried about her abilities as a professional vet but she is more professional and personal than even she can stand sometimes. She also constantly asks if Bruno wants to get his teeth cleaned. And maybe in 5 years we'll wish we had done it.
Tasha Rothwell. She is my soul mate in the friendship world. Our lives look polarly opposite- but really we are just an example of similar souls making a series of different choices. She embraces the passion and fear that comes with dreams. She and I share as much of a childhood as military brats can. She makes me think and dream and sometimes I wonder if I'm still all that interesting- not because she makes me feel that way, but because she is glowing so brightly- even with struggles she glows. She is one of the few friends my Grandmother remembers.
Ashley Brien. Speaking of glowing. Ashley is a friend I don't keep in close contact- but she is youth and spirit personified. I took her to a butterfly conservatory and I literally saw wonder erupting from her being. Ashley taught me joy and wonder.
OK- sisters- I'll save you for after sister weekend.
Christine- you got your blog.
Kelly Stewart- I talked about you- but a short shout out- you're like the pick-up close friend. The kind of friend I met twenty seconds ago and I'm convinced in twenty more seconds we're like soul mates friends.
hmmm...Katy Hinman. The most well-adjusted person I know. By far. One of the coolest people I know. Katy can be taken to any party, any crowd, any group and needs no help. She's so freakin sufficient you are in awe that she's your friend- because surely she can hang out with cooler people than you.
Erin Miller. She's another friend I haven't been as good about keeping in touch with. But suffice it to say that she is so intensely relational that it often gets her into deep trouble- and when it doesn't- it's very very rewarding. I still remember our trip to St Louis - it was so fun, and I remember driving early in the morning to witness the sunrise and the frozen ground. It was beautiful.
hmm- I'm sure I've left out glaring things- like my husband- but when he writes me a love letter- he'll get his shout-out.
otherwise - if i forgot you- i suck and i wont do it again. and family didn't count.
People pleasing time is over. Book closed. Door shut. It's all about me again.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Christina
So I met a new friend the other day at the church softball game (which I did not watch). She's friends with my sister, my mother loves her, and she's going to seminary in the fall. We're now Facebook friends and she went to the movie with us last night (the movie btw was ok- I really wish they had cast someone other than Nicholas Cage- none of the romances were believable- oh well). Back to Christina- She's hilarious in the snarky cool like that way- and so of course when she joked that she was real hurt that I didn't mention her in my blog, I decided I would dedicate this blog to her. : ) I'm all about people pleasing- changing my blog design so my apparently blind best friend can read it and now name-dropping for a new friend.
Today went better. Hunter decided to return to his body and evict the demon that possessed him over the past three days. I far prefer Hunter to the crazy child that visited with us. SO- I'm glad he's back. He even slept in til 8 today- and since it was "my day" to get up with him- that was oh so very nice. We went swimming- a conquered temporary fear for Hunter (the demon child decided to be traumatized for no reason) so with Hunter back- we convinced him swimming was for the cool kids. Bath time - also a temporary fear induced by crazy child- was much better tonight. Think of today as a full day of successful therapy. Rock therapy actually. My mother convinced Hunter to do everything through the cunning use of rocks. No kidding. She's a little crazy awesome with creative methods of parenting. When Hunter was about to crawl out of my arms up the pool wall- Mom dashed to the yard to grab rocks and proceeded to thoroughly entertain and distract my son from his pretend fears by throwing and fetching the rocks from the bottom of the pool. Soon Hunter was throwing the rocks and my mother and sister took turns getting them and swimming between my legs to surface triumphantly with the victorious pebbles. Hunter was nipple-deep in the water before the end of the pool-time and actually agreed that the pool was fun. He didn't want to learn to float, but he thought it was cool that all of us could "sleep" face up on the pool water.
Again- with the bath- Hunter wouldn't sit down- so Mom grabbed a rock- and basically the same therapy worked. 20 minutes later and we were convincing Hunter bath time was over and he needed to brush his teeth. All these baby/toddler books leave out one very important tool you need: family. Help is so nice. Even though I'm ready to go home and a little stir-crazy here- it is so good to be with family. I really wish we lived closer.
So there ya go. Tomorrow we are expecting a tropical depression of some sort to head our way, the truck full of Grandmother's stuff, Grandmother's new hearing aids, and an ENT appt to boot. And Jessa's driving to Auburn for a wedding. I'm really going to miss her. I'll talk more about that later. Oh- and correction- Memaush did not coin the phrase "y'all stay up all night"- it was Grandmother! And now my Dad says it on occasion. Memaush would say before retiring to bed:
"It's been real."
Today went better. Hunter decided to return to his body and evict the demon that possessed him over the past three days. I far prefer Hunter to the crazy child that visited with us. SO- I'm glad he's back. He even slept in til 8 today- and since it was "my day" to get up with him- that was oh so very nice. We went swimming- a conquered temporary fear for Hunter (the demon child decided to be traumatized for no reason) so with Hunter back- we convinced him swimming was for the cool kids. Bath time - also a temporary fear induced by crazy child- was much better tonight. Think of today as a full day of successful therapy. Rock therapy actually. My mother convinced Hunter to do everything through the cunning use of rocks. No kidding. She's a little crazy awesome with creative methods of parenting. When Hunter was about to crawl out of my arms up the pool wall- Mom dashed to the yard to grab rocks and proceeded to thoroughly entertain and distract my son from his pretend fears by throwing and fetching the rocks from the bottom of the pool. Soon Hunter was throwing the rocks and my mother and sister took turns getting them and swimming between my legs to surface triumphantly with the victorious pebbles. Hunter was nipple-deep in the water before the end of the pool-time and actually agreed that the pool was fun. He didn't want to learn to float, but he thought it was cool that all of us could "sleep" face up on the pool water.
Again- with the bath- Hunter wouldn't sit down- so Mom grabbed a rock- and basically the same therapy worked. 20 minutes later and we were convincing Hunter bath time was over and he needed to brush his teeth. All these baby/toddler books leave out one very important tool you need: family. Help is so nice. Even though I'm ready to go home and a little stir-crazy here- it is so good to be with family. I really wish we lived closer.
So there ya go. Tomorrow we are expecting a tropical depression of some sort to head our way, the truck full of Grandmother's stuff, Grandmother's new hearing aids, and an ENT appt to boot. And Jessa's driving to Auburn for a wedding. I'm really going to miss her. I'll talk more about that later. Oh- and correction- Memaush did not coin the phrase "y'all stay up all night"- it was Grandmother! And now my Dad says it on occasion. Memaush would say before retiring to bed:
"It's been real."
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
10 minute nap
Hunter is playing in his crib. The reason he is not napping: he slept a grand total of 10 minutes in the car. So naturally, it is preposterous to assume he would need futher sleep. I'm not sure why he remembers that he napped or feels he doesn't need additional sleep- but it's fine with me to leave him playing in his crib.
We're still in Florida. Jason is home with the dog and houseguests. My soul is floating somewhere above the gulf coast and wondering what to do with life. I feel like such a tool, because ultimately my thoughts keep resting back on "what am I going to do?" I'm presently concerned with others, but eternally concerned with myself it seems. Whatever- at least I own it. I keep thinking a week-long vacation to the beach would be nice- by myself. I feel bad for thinking that. I really do. But think it I do.
Tonight Jessa and I have a date to the movies- we're going to see the Sorceror's Apprentice - from what I hear it is fabulously mindless entertainment. Just what we need. Well, maybe not what we need so much as what we want. And sometimes what you want can be a little of what you need.
Usually being in Florida fills me with a sense of peace or prickles of joy, seeing water makes me happy... it seems this time the spell is broken. Sad.
The doctor called back to schedule Grandmother's appointment... September 16th. That's the earliest. Seriously. So now I need to call her old doctor and get her more Aricept sent down here so she can last. Good thing she doesn't take something more serious! How elderly people exist without family is beyond me.
We're still in Florida. Jason is home with the dog and houseguests. My soul is floating somewhere above the gulf coast and wondering what to do with life. I feel like such a tool, because ultimately my thoughts keep resting back on "what am I going to do?" I'm presently concerned with others, but eternally concerned with myself it seems. Whatever- at least I own it. I keep thinking a week-long vacation to the beach would be nice- by myself. I feel bad for thinking that. I really do. But think it I do.
Tonight Jessa and I have a date to the movies- we're going to see the Sorceror's Apprentice - from what I hear it is fabulously mindless entertainment. Just what we need. Well, maybe not what we need so much as what we want. And sometimes what you want can be a little of what you need.
Usually being in Florida fills me with a sense of peace or prickles of joy, seeing water makes me happy... it seems this time the spell is broken. Sad.
The doctor called back to schedule Grandmother's appointment... September 16th. That's the earliest. Seriously. So now I need to call her old doctor and get her more Aricept sent down here so she can last. Good thing she doesn't take something more serious! How elderly people exist without family is beyond me.
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