How I Begin My Day

This morning around 4:00am Cody vomited in the bed. Where we were sleeping.

4:00am.

That'd be the time I got up this morning.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

This evening just after work and walking the dog, Eddie and Cody and I all snuggled in the bed for a bit. It was such a nice little moment. Our little family. Until I teased the dog so much that he couldn't stand it and we all wound up on the floor wrestling with a quilt. After our wrestling match, Eddie and Cody settled in on the bed while I got changed for my trip to the gym.

I was searching for my running shoes when I hear my cell ringing in the kitchen. I run to catch it because that's what you do when your phone rings from the other end of the house. I answered knowing full well what would happen if I did.

On the other end of the line my friend begged us to meet her for dinner. I balked. I was going to the gym. I was dressed, my hair was already up and ugly. I suppose I shouldn't have had her on speaker phone for Eddie to hear when she threw out Fleur de Lis as an option. He groaned. All I had to do was say, "let's go."

So I did. And we did. I ate pizza in my gym clothes.

Little White Lie

This evening I met with my girls group. My friend and I agreed almost four years ago that we'd take on this challenge. We have 7 girls (they were all 12-13 when we started) that are part of our circle. Each week, we have dinner, talk and focus on a "lesson" of some sort that usually jolts us out of the routine of our lives for a bit. It makes us think a little more about how we choose to live our lives, or about why we've chosen to live our lives pointed in a certain direction. As the leaders, we are ever aware that we do not have any of the answers and make it alarmingly clear each week, whether intended or not. While the group is based out of our common church, we tackle more than just Jesus. Neither of us who lead wanted another poorly attended Sunday School class during the week.

I'd say it's going well in year four. Our girls (I love calling them "our girls") are maturing and it's easier to have a conversational type "lesson" without being simply a moderator between stories about their grandmothers or their dogs. We can participate in the group discussion and have to direct it back toward the original topic less and less. Now, if there are tangents, the questions they birth will often prove more thoughtful than we could have hoped. The girls (our girls) are bringing the discussions into their lives and bringing their lives back into the discussions.

This evening, nearing the end of our time together, we decided to go around the group, each giving one high and one low for their week since we last met. I listened to highs of upcoming Thanksgiving break and lows of painful dental surgery. I would be the last to contribute. I was thinking about it. I had to THINK about my high for the week. I already had a low. My parents aren't doing so well at the moment. I thought about how much I loved my husband and how much I enjoy being with him, but immediately felt guilty because I take him for granted sometimes. I couldn't come up with a high right away. That's not usually like me. I can find the humor in anything. Especially if it's inappropriate for 16 yr olds.

Then it was my turn.

I decided to go ahead and start with the high. I told them something that I was proud of for the week, but it wasn't a high. I lied. It was just too pathetic NOT to have a high for the week. I'm a little low.

I kept the smile on, we all hugged and parted and I was on my way home. My usual go-to talk radio stations had been taken over with sports so I hit "scan." I stopped at a dj's story that caught my ear. She hadn't had a great week either. I was in the mood to take comfort in another's pain. Wait. That came out wrong. I was in the mood to take comfort in the fact that there are others out there, others like me, who have crappy days and live to tell about it.

Don't tell me you don't do it.

So, I'm listening to this story about how she's in a hurry to get something in a store, about how she's frustrated because she can't find the item and is carrying around her 9 month old, about how she finally gets to the check-out where this little old lady and some kids are in front of her and she's late for where she needs to be. Then she stops because the kids in front of her are playing with their new toys, their prizes from the trip to the store. She watches them and loses track of just how long she'd been in line (like when you get a juicy magazine and suddenly don't care about how long the person in front of you is taking to move on - even though you hunted for the shortest line). When she realized she'd been there for longer than she'd expected, she looked up to see the old lady was stalling, digging in the bottom of her purse for the change she needed to pay the entire bill for those prizes. When she caught on to what was happening, she dug in her purse and helped meet the bill.

While still late, she said it was the highlight of her day.

I have things to learn this week.

Not Just For Special Occasions

First, let it be known that I hate shopping for food. I have to do that quite frequently for work and while I love to cook, I'd rather have this list of things that I need and give that to another person who would then bring me everything on that list and put it away neatly in my house.

The problem with that scenario is the fact that I almost never shop with a list. I get inspired by what I see in the store and there's dinner. I'm still working on a solution for that. I won't give up.

I've also gotten a little too good at the whole letting the dishes wait thing. This combination could only have resulted with the following admission:

A couple of evenings ago, I had a bowl of cereal for dinner. On my wedding china.

Ongoing Home Projects

In February, I posted about closing on this house. Since that time I haven't really posted any pictures. We've managed to do quite a bit of painting, staining and new floor and sink installation. Still, I haven't been so gung-ho.

It was really rough for me when we didn't get the first house, especially when we went so far in the process. After that, no house measured up. In the end, when we decided to purchase this house, it was a lot to do with the fact that it was definitely time to buy and because it was a killer deal. With the other house, it was move-in ready. I wouldn't change the cabinets or the floor or the colors on the walls.

This house is a different story.

We'll be replacing this tomorrow.



(The fan and not the popcorn ceiling. THAT'S another project altogether.)

Sweet Smelling Update

Earlier this week, I shared a little story that gave a peek into the extent of my neurosis. A majority of the time I can keep the minor things under control. I can recognize when I start to obsess over something, like when we first got married, I had to have the dishes and laundry done before we went to bed each night...except I'd put it off until later and at bedtime, I'd choose cleaning over sleep. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't ME that recognized it. It was Eddie. It wasn't that he minded me staying up to clean, it was the attitude I had when it was time. I wanted to be together, with my new husband, so it made total sense to ask him to help.

It wasn't his idea of together time.

I've made progress. There are dishes in the sink that will stay there until the morning and I've generally run out of time to do laundry during the week. It gets done on the weekends.

I wasn't kidding about worrying about whether or not I was beginning to smell. I checked each day, several times a day for the rest of the work week. I applied the deodorant in the morning after drying my underarms meticulously. I used a different towel. I didn't change deodorant or anything because I'm limited in a deodorant choice, which is an entirely different post altogether. I don't do scented.

My week of intense observation has confirmed that I, in fact, do not smell. My body has not built up an immunity to deodorant and flowers do not fall as I pass (as I turn around to check one more time, just in case).

At The Speed of Retail

On Halloween this year, I waited until the last minute to pick up some candy. I went into a local store just after work to search through what was left on the Halloween aisle in an effort to get a bargain and still compete for the 'good house' on the block.

I was in such a hurry to pick through the bags of Butterfingers and KitKats that I didn't slow down until I was forced to stop at the check-out. I glanced at the week's gossip and debated on picking up one of those magazines, but I still have that fear of "getting caught" with one.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I totally check the MSN entertainment section most mornings on the web BUT before I could reach my hand out to pick up the latest on Britney, I noticed it. I heard the CHRISTMAS music playing in the store. Halloween wasn't even OVER yet. In fact, it hadn't even started.

During the holidays, one of our local radio stations switches over to all Christmas music, all the time. I scanned my radio stations this afternoon and I ran across it. There it was. Christmas music. It's November 8th.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Our Middle Names Are The Same

I've been thinking about my cousin a lot this week. I've been struggling with feeling left out of her life for the past few years. Which makes me feel a little guilty. My uncle, her father, died two years ago this month. He was my father's only brother. His little brother.

When my uncle died, my father wanted to swoop in and help the family with everything, but he never wanted to intrude. He made it clear that he loved them and was there if they needed him, but he didn't push. He waited. I imagine that was pretty difficult. I'd never really know because my father has built a pretty good stone wall. It's been well crafted through the years of being the oldest, being The Dad and always having a good answer to any hard question I'd ask. I never really knew if he was scared of anything.

I followed his lead in loving them. I'd call and leave short messages on their answering machine to let them know I was thinking of them, or I'd just leave a little joke to make them laugh. It was easier not to push them when they were an 8 hour car ride away.

Then they moved a little closer. I'd have to ride only 3 hours to visit. They worked, I worked. Time passed. Fast. It passed so fast that Susan met, dated and became engaged to a man that I had never met. The first I heard of him was when we got a call from my aunt telling us to expect a wedding invitation in the mail. I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden I felt completely over-protective. My uncle was gone and totally out of the blue I felt like the self-appointed guard dog for his side of the family. If this guy was going to get to my cousin, he was going to have to get through ME.

Just in case you were wondering, it really wasn't helpful to have adopted this attitude when I met him for the first time. At his wedding. I introduced myself and my parents before the ceremony and waited for him to...I don't know, bow or something. I expected him to go on and on about how sorry he was that we hadn't met before and how he'd promise to love and cherish my cousin like the queen that she is, because he knows (from reputation) that I'd have to hurt him if he did otherwise.

But that didn't happen. He shook my hand and that was it. I can't say I warmed to him. Then he started treating Susan like she was HIS. I don't think he understood that she was MINE for 26 years. He didn't know me and that meant that he didn't know her. We grew up together.

Now we're both grown up. And she's married. And I feel guilty for not having been there. I feel guilty for not pushing harder. I feel selfish and I know it's unjustified. Frustrating.

It's frustrating because I love her and she seems so happy. I feel selfish because I had nothing to do with that.

How's that for honesty?

After Thirty Minutes This Afternoon

After work, after the workout, I was down on the mat for a bit of stretching. I was reaching far to my toes and turned my head to the side to reach a bit farther. And I smelled myself.

Yes, I had run hard and I was sweaty AND it was near the end of the day but the question ran through my mind, did I put on deodorant this morning? I went through my morning routine in my mind, the cell phone, the bath, the pill, the toothbrush, and yes - the deodorant. Maybe it was just too soon after the bath for such an application and I was a little too wet for the deodorant to, you know, stick.

I refuse to believe that my body's capacity for emitting smell has exceeded my deodorant's capacity to cover it up or stop it altogether. After 31 years and a savvy sense of smell, this can't be an unnoticed ongoing occurrence. That kind of thing can't just magically change overnight. Can it?

I don't look forward to the rest of the week when I'm compulsively checking to see if I smell. Or when I smell. At what point in the day do I need to reapply? Do I really want to publish this little event on the internet?

Yes. Neurosis is interesting. Isn't it?

Geez.

The Laws Of Attraction

Loudly, from down the hall while carrying clothes to hide in another room, I playfully ask: "Sparky, what will it take? What will I have to give you to change that light bulb before the girls get here?"

Do you know what he said? He said,"A light bulb."


THAT's why I love this man. He could have taken total advantage of me in my desperation to have the house ready before my guests arrived. But he didn't.

Opposites do attract.

The Inner Judgemental

My cousin Susan, 26, got married yesterday evening. She married a Pentecostal minister and joined a ready-made family. Her new husband is a widower with a little girl. I can't help but be a little afraid for what the future holds for her. I don't like admitting that, or thinking that my adult cousin isn't capable of making her own correct life choices. I also don't like admitting that the reason I don't think she's capable of making her own choices is because they aren't MY choices. You know, for her.

Like finishing her degree or the part in their vows where she had to say, "obey." OBEY. I didn't think we did that anymore. "WE" as in ALL WOMEN.

No matter our differences, nothing changes the fact that she was a beautiful, happy bride. I will work on that whole trust thing.

Curls And Bows

This evening I will be attending a Pentecostal wedding. The hairstyles are always interesting.

11.2.82

Happy Birthday Katheryn.


Katheryn would have been 25 today. She was/is my little sister.

I hated typing that sentence. Even after seven years, I haven't mastered the art of sharing a story about my siblings in a discussion where other people are sharing stories about their siblings without some kind of awkward confusion about tense. And death. I can't bring myself to say, "she was my little sister" because she is my little sister -- wherever she is. But if I tell some story and I don't clarify the fact that to some she was my little sister, inevitably questions like "So, where is she living now?" will be asked. Then I have to answer them. I've run out of euphemisms for "she died."

I don't like answering those kinds of questions because it makes people uncomfortable (me included) and then the mood of the conversation changes from sharing happy, funny stories to serious and concerned and suddenly all about me. There's got to be some unwritten social rule that says you can't smile or laugh within 10 minutes of someone mentioning death. Everyone seems to know that rule. In my experience they obey it more than any other social rule out there. I'm usually the first one to crack a joke if I've been put in that position.

I just want to tell the stories and laugh with the group that's sharing about their brother or sister. And for a minute, while I'm laughing and no one knows better, I can pretend she's still here.

Weekend Getaway

A couple of weekends ago, Eddie and I drove a few hours and wound up in Natchez, Mississippi. It wasn't really all that unplanned. Eddie's aunt has a second house there. Her first house is in New Orleans, which is why she decided to go ahead and purchase a second house just in case that first house is ever again...inaccessible. It also makes a great destination for her freeloading relatives looking for a manageable but lovely weekend escape. I guess it would be unfair to call us all freeloaders. She did invite us. Visitors help to keep the place lived in between the times she ventures up there. So, I guess you could say we were really helping out. That's right. We HAD to go. To help his aunt. And we didn't even charge her anything.

It was a completely stress-free trip. I was able to take quite a few pictures, which should make their way on my flickr page in due course. There's one I thought captured Natchez:



It's a beautiful, historic town that wasn't bustling with any familiar pace. I wouldn't call it neglected; it's just been there long enough to have the dirty turn into interesting. In my mind, there's "new dirty" and that's just dirty. It's supposed to be clean and it isn't. It's wrong. Then there's the "old dirty" which has had a chance to develop some character. It's like those wrinkles caused from squinting into the sunshine. They are in just the right places and show that your lips and eyes and cheeks follow familiar paths to a smile.




*The mansion in the background is Rosalie.
*Update (the set of Natchez photos on flickr can be seen here.)

This Is Not A Bill

So. This is getting a little out of hand. I began this blog a couple of years ago in an effort to write more, to feel better about writing more and because I can't really keep up with the scrapbook. I haven't posted in over a month and realizing this, I've decided to do something drastic. I've joined NaBloPoMo. Even with the ENTIRE month of November looming, I couldn't let October end without a post.

I've been a little afraid to sit down in front of a blank screen and a keyboard for fear of what inappropriate content may seep through my fingertips well-versed in type. I haven't been confident in my ability to edit myself. It was just easier to stay away than to feel like I was leaving something out or trying to type around the elephant in this room. Deciding to challenge myself by committing to post every day in November, I've basically decided to work a little harder in that editing effort. In the end, I know I'll feel better. I've missed this small, little outlet. I've missed contributing my pieces to the universe of useless data out there.

There are a few things in this world that I'll never understand. Instead of having them explained to me, I'd MUCH rather complain about the fact that I don't understand them. That's usually much more fun. And funny. I don't understand why, while on our daily walks, when Cody runs out of pee, he will still stop at everything he deems pee-worthy, lift his leg and wait for the pee that would have come. I don't understand why I'm only 5'2" and I don't understand why the doctor will send you something detailing a variety of costs, procedures and insurance information if above it all it states, "This Is Not A Bill." O.k. So, this is not a bill. This is not a lot of things. This Is Not A Shoe. This Is Not A Software Program. This is something that is useless to me.

As you may have guessed, we received a "This Is Not A Bill" sheet of paper in the mail this afternoon. It was accompanied by another sheet of paper marked, "This Is A Bill." The total was -$56.80.

I don't understand that.

I Like To Sweat

These are my running shoes.

About two weeks ago I began going to the gym. Again. Again. You see, we have never stopped our membership at the local gym. Every month I see that money (our dues) leave my checking account and I thought that simple fact would motivate me to "get my money's worth" because I'm totally that kind of person, but that psychology hasn't worked so well for the past 5 years. We haven't stopped our membership because of the fact that I MIGHT want to go or I'll eventually go AND because if you try to stop your membership they send Uncle Nunzio to your house to help you change your mind. That usually works.

Eddie and I get in little gym jags when the guilt of not going has built up to a point where we HAVE to go just to get rid of it. Kind of like the dentist. You pay for that torture too.

These past two weeks I've been going every day that I can (even on weekends) in an effort to feel better in general. IF I happen to lose a few pounds in the process, then I can find it in my heart to accept that.

Our gym recently opened up a satellite location just for us girls. Chicks are great and all but the fact that it opened almost DOWN THE STREET is a huge plus for me. It's really just one less excuse not to go. I've never been to a chick gym before. The biggest differences are that there are no sports magazines and there are more than enough fans circulating air everywhere. You can't be in any work out area without feeling the breeze of a nearby fan. I'm not worried about my hair; it's the fact that when I'm finished running I don't step off of the treadmill wearing the badge of having worked out - the extremely sweaty shirt. When I come home from the chick gym, Cody gives me the sniff-down and treats me like some sort of salt lick. I don't care for this.

For now I'll have to settle for the sweat-drenched sport bra and a nice, quick shower after the gym.

On Being Me

Two evenings ago I came home from work, walked the dog, rested a bit and changed into those clothes you change into when you know you're not going to be leaving the house anymore that evening. I put my hair up in a ponytail, put the fluffy socks on and got comfortable.

Then someone called. It was some of our friends and they were game for sushi. In like an hour. I LOVE sushi. Once Eddie got home from work and was excited to get out for the evening I actually had to get dressed. Again.

I threw on some pants from the work day and dressed them up with a few choice accessories and a shirt/sweater thingy. I wasn't confident so I turned to my loving husband and asked, "How do I look?" We were almost running late and I'd hate to think he took that into account when he answered, "You look great."

We get into the car and I have to check the second half-hearted make up job of the day in the flip down mirror on the passenger's side every five minutes on the way there. I still wasn't confident, so I asked Eddie that question again. I got the same answer. I wanted him to find something wrong so I could fix it. Anything.

We finally get to our destination. We get out of the car and are walking toward the restaurant through the parking lot. I ask him again. He smiles and gives me the same answer. Now, I know he loves me, but what did I really expect him to say? We were AT the restaurant. Even if he had found something wrong with the make up or the outfit or the... anything, what was I going to do about it then? I told him so and he laughed. He grabbed my hand and led me through a group of people blocking the entrance. He kept smiling.

I'm glad he loves me.

I'm glad the light wasn't very good in the restaurant.

The Donut Letter

So. I go to the mailbox this afternoon after a brisk walking-of-the-dog. The walk was short because Cody is irrationally afraid of rain. Or wind. Or of any discussion involving rain or wind. When it thunders, he crawls right under the bed and puts his paws directly over his shaggy eyebrows to block out the world.

I remove the mail and start to flip through the envelopes and flyers. There's an envelope from the holder of my student loans telling me that another month's worth has been electronically zapped from my checking account. There's an invitation to the Annual Red Apple Sale from some store, a letter from the church and an invitation for my husband to receive Playboy, delivered directly to our home, for one year for only ONE DOLLAR. I put that aside for his review. I decided then to open the letter from the church. Our address was hand written on the envelope. How often do you see that anymore? It deserved my attention.

Inside the envelope were two letters. Both began with, "Dear Volunteer." That's right. I volunteered for things. Things I would eventually have to do. It's really great to feel like you've done something already when you sign up to volunteer. It feels good to sign up. Then the letter comes.

I have obligated myself to bring donuts to the casual church service once every few weeks. I have to bring 3 dozen when it's my turn. I have volunteered to EAT donuts. That's what I've done. Those girls in Playboy, they eat donuts, don't they?

The Secret To A Happy Marriage

I think I've figured this one out and I'm gonna spill the beans. Get this:

Each person has to genuinely think that they got the better deal.

That's it. I think that attitude propels you toward being better for your husband or wife every day.

By the way, I TOTALLY got the better deal. I win. It is all about winning.

Some Things Should Come With A Warning Label

WARNING: Do not watch all available DVD seasons of "24" in a 5 week span. It's an emotional hazard.

I have recently finished the 5th season of "24." Now, I DID watch as many episodes as I could each evening and every chance I got until I HAD to sleep or eat or go to work. I watched them back to back to back, season after season until I hit the end of season 5. The entire season 6 isn't out yet or I'd have devoured that one too. Truth be told, I'm a little relieved that it isn't available for a while. I could stand to get off of the emotional roller coaster for a bit.

I have another confession. I left Eddie in the dust about 3 seasons ago. At first, the decision to begin the "24" adventure was made by the both of us. That first season was something we would look forward to enjoying together - until Eddie started with the dreams that someone was trying to kill him and that he was constantly in danger, which happened about mid-way through the second season.

He knew I was "involved" with the show and put up with my new addiction because he knew it would run its course. Eventually. I probably should have stopped watching with him because I got really involved. Too involved. It's all I wanted to do.

What's she doing?
She's watching "24."

Now that I'm at the end of a harsh season, having seen the little prequel clip on You Tube for the next seemingly harsher season, I've been down lately. Not just the kind of down you'd expect to experience from a t.v. show, but I think I've been just a little depressed. My empathy for this character is crippling. Can't this guy be allowed a little happiness? Just a little? AND they killed Edgar. That was exceedingly harsh. I didn't just get the television viewer's dose of harsh, weekly surprises, I got a concentrated pill that hit my stomach like a rock.

Now I'm in some sort of withdrawal to boot. Do they make a drug for that?

Maybe I can borrow some one's "Dawson's Creek" series or something. I hear there are fewer torture scenes.