These are some of my favorite posts. Not all are happy, not all are sad, but they will give you a glimpse at my life, without you feeling like you need to read my archives.
December 2009:
Because sometimes love and heartache go hand in hand: Nine months ago, I met my best friend on Twitter. Her name is Liz. Maybe you’ve heard me mention her? Once, twice, twenty-two times possibly?
I have wanted this year to end for a long time. Next year may not be any easier. I know the first part of the year won’t be. I know that because last night, my husband and I decided that he needs to move out.
November 2009:
You over use the words, I love you: I end emails with it. I text it to my friends. I say it in comments and on Twitter. Sometimes multiple times a day. I never want there to be a question. I always want people to know that I love them.
There are no guarantees in life. We are not promised tomorrow, just today. On this holiday week, I plan on over using the words, I love you. They never get old. I never tire of saying it, nor hearing it.
My most overused words…well that’s okay with me.
October 2009:
Taking back blogging: I’m tired of the drama. Twitter is now taking a backseat in my online life. I am not deleting it, but I’m taking back blogging. I’m leaving the drama behind.
This just in: the Internet is just like real life: Some people are awesome, some aren’t, some you have the probability of becoming life long friends with and others not. Some people you just dislike right away, some you know to be leery of. You get disappointed just as easy as you would if you saw someone ever day. You can be made to feel like a fool for trusting too much just as easily.
This is the real world though. You can get hurt just as easy, maybe even more, because sometimes without being able to see someone, we share more than we normally would. The written word can be easier than the spoken word.
Not so little anymore: I watch her. More often than not, I find myself studying her. Two months shy of eight years old and I very rarely get glimpses of that baby she once was. I look but I just don’t see it anymore. I have to look at the baby girl on my walls, for even a vague resemblance.
September 2009:
Nearly a year, but it hurts just the same: Only in the past few weeks have I started looking at his picture in the hallway. It’s right outside of the hallway/girls bathroom and hard to miss. His big smile looking back at me, hasn’t been something I’ve been willing to look at until just recently. Before then, when it happened to catch my eye, he never failed to make me cry. There was just something about that picture. It was too real.
July 2009:
My BlogHer09 experience: A lot of you know I freaked out about going to this conference. I’ve been blogging off and on since 2005. I didn’t go to the 2005, nor 2006 conference because I didn’t think I had it in me to be confident in front of people. I read later about how all of my friends had a blast. Honestly, I wasn’t even jealous. I was almost relieved. I wasn’t online for 2007 and started this blog the week before the 2008 conference.
To bug on her fifth birthday: Five years ago today, I sat in a room filled with boy clothes, all of which had cars, dinosaurs and said boy on them in some way. There were classic airplanes painted on the wall and your bedding had them as well. I was sitting on the floor (not smart, just as an FYI, is hard to get back up) folding little tiny blue clothes when I had this funny thought. I’d bet this baby is a girl. It was Saturday the 17th of July and you were due on Monday the 26th. I laughed at the thought of this, because two ultrasounds had said boy. You were going to be our Ian. Ian Nathaniel most likely, although the middle name was still a bit up in the air. The doctor had said, I am so sure, that if I were a betting man, I’d go to Vegas right now. I am 100% sure. Okay, good to know doc. Boy it is.
You were born at 11:47pm, July 18th, 2004. You were, as you know, a girl.
June 2009:
The good enough mother: What makes a mom a perfect mom? Whose opinion matters about that, except your children’s? We all think we are being judged and sometimes we are. I know I’ve been judged, many a time. However, I’m sure I think I am being judged way more than I probably am. Maybe a B- mom isn’t such a horrible thing.
The story of the door slammer: A certain little girl, known here as Morgan used to throw the most magnificent tantrums. If there was an Academy Award for tantrums, this child would have a house full of them. At some point, she, upon being put on her bed, stared slamming the door over and over again. This bugged her mother and father endlessly. One day, the mother made the mistake of asking her teeny tiny crazy ball of joy why she slammed the door so much. You do it, was the childs answer.
Oh. Yeah. Sheet.
The scent of a memory: Even over the smell of the food, I smelled him as he walked in the door. You don’t think you will ever forget the smell of a man once they are gone forever, but sadly one day you do. Until it walks into a restaurant and gets in line behind you. I breathed deeply twice. I bit my lip to stop the tears, as I turned around to see who it was that smelled like that.
May 2009:
Why it bothers me: As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.
But it does hurt and it does sting.
The elephant in the room: Late Wednesday night, I lost it. The baby, my baby. Gone as quickly as I told people. Just gone. One day after confirmation that it was true, it was all over.
March 2009:
Six months: Son, you light up my life. I can’t imagine how you could be any more awesome than you are.
Uncle Marky: My uncle was a bum until I was 15 years old. He wasn’t one with a sign, but that’s because he got a check each month. He didn’t drink, nor do drugs; he never smoked or caused any trouble. He was mentally ill.
Not the mother I thought I’d be: Then I was handed this teeny baby. And she was teeny, having been born a month early. She was also nothing like what we’d imagined. Not at all. Don’t get me wrong, she was ours and she was perfect in our eyes. Our beautiful baby girl. God we adored her from the second she came into the world.
She was also great birth control, for tons of other people.
February 2009:
Dear Andrew: This morning when my phone rang, I knew who it was without looking at it. It was Chris, saying, can you believe it’s been ten years? I knew it was him, before he even considered calling me. Ten years ago, he used to call me every day and ask if it was real.
January 2009:
Inheritance: Inheritance is an interesting word. To some it means the money or items you receive when someone passes away. I guess this might even be the technical definition of the word. For me it’s more than that. Inheritance to me, is the things I have in me, because of them, the ones who are gone. The people who touched my life, helped shape me into the woman I am today. The people I loved, who are no longer here.
December 2008:
Not a wrinkle in sight: She had this deal, where you don’t mess up a bed that has been made. You don’t put anything on it, you don’t mess with it and you definitely don’t sit or lounge on it. That is what couches were made for, she told me once. I think I was about seven years old the first time I remember being told this.
I’ll let you process that for a second. She told a seven year old child that beds were not for lounging or touching. They must not be messed up all day long.
Breadcrumbs: Breadcrumbs? Like Hansel and Gretal she said. Then, she laughed and we laughed. It was possibly the funniest thing in the world. At that moment, laughing at breadcrumbs made us not sad. At that moment, my brother was the funniest man in the entire world. We laughed as we made our way through the entire hospital. We continued laughing until we found Grandpas room. Breadcrumbs.
Reality: When you look at her what do you see? Do you see her inner beauty? Her outer beauty? Do you see the little girl who gave away her gloves, scarf and hat to a friend who needed them? Do you see the independent spirit that believes she can rule the world? Change the world? Make the world a better place? Do you see the creativity that pores out of her all the time? Do you see the little mother in her who loves to sing her baby brother to sleep? The girl who spends hours trying to get her little sister to ride without training wheels? The girl who walks her dog around the backyard on a leash, because she can’t handle the brute on the street? Do you see the athletic side of her, the side who can pick-up and play any sport? Did you notice the way she reads aloud? Like a twelve year old, instead of a just turned seven year old child? The way she does math in her head? The logical way she figures things out?
If you don’t know her, you probably don’t.
November 2008:
Long Lost Parenting tips: Crap, That’s crap, she muttered under her breath, while glaring at me.
I did the only thing I could think of, I pulled her into the bathroom and made her open her mouth and I shoved a small stick of soap in there.
Bittersweet Victory: I am beyond thrilled that Obama won, you really have no idea. I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath for weeks. I slept so well last night. Because honestly, I thought California would win this battle. I slept like a baby, as well as my baby.
But my lovely sis didn’t. She spent the night pacing and screaming at her computer and at the injustices of the world. She and her partner spent the night crying in each others arms, wondering what they would do now. About 3am, Lexi said, we’ll get married anyway. I love you and you love me and we’re doing this. When it becomes legal again, because you know, one day it will, we’ll get married again. Until then, we’ll be married anyway. To us, the people who matter. Our family and friends will come and celebrate us on our day. The world…well fuck em if they don’t believe.
October 2008:
September 2008:
My Grandpa: When we’d visit, he’d take me and my brothers to work with him. He’d pay us to work for him, from like five years old on. Sometimes it was shredding files or filing things to help his secretary. Once he had us move a hole huge stack of bricks forty feet. Brick by brick. Other times we’d wash his and grandma’s cars and he’d pay us in watermelon. He taught us to be hard workers, to do our work right the first time and to appreciate the money we were making. He also taught us to do things for others, because it was the right thing to do, not because we’d get anything back for it.
August 2008:
Medicate or not medicate, this is the question: Morgan walked at nine months old. She never crawled, just went straight to walking. At ten months I heard these letters thrown at my tiny somersaulting baby: ADHD. Can you imagine? Ten fucking months old and someone was already labeling my child. I’d have never spoken to the woman again, except it was my own mother and she was crying as she said it to me. She knew, way before I would have admitted it to myself.
The Cracked Ceiling: Last night I realized something as I watched Hillary give her speech. I realized that I was literally watching history in the making. A line of her speech was that she wasn’t able to break through the glass ceiling, but she’s made 18 million cracks in it. Yes, she was talking about the amount of votes she received, but she was also talking about paving the way for the future. Making it easier for the next women who wants to be president, making it possible for millions of little girls to know that they could be the next president. Believe in her or not, what she said is powerful; what she changed for our girls is huge.
July 2008:
14 weeks: In the grand scheme of life, fourteen weeks isn’t really that long. Half a season of a TV show, a season of kiddy soccer, the time it took me to write thank you cards after my wedding. At the end of my life, most of those things won’t matter. Most likely, I won’t remember them. But last year a certain fourteen weeks changed my life forever.