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I love my husband. Where he is, that is my home and there I am happy.

Sometimes I just miss living in the South.

 

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Bloom where you’re planted,
they tell her.

She looks around.
She doesn’t feel planted.
not enough sun
winters too cold
roots left behind

Dx My Dog

Once upon a time, I had the greatest dog ever. Then she died.

After that, despite much prayer and deliberation, we had a string of not-so-great dogs. For the purposes of this writing, I shall call them The One Who Tried to Eat Our Kid, The One Who Tried to Eat Our Niece, and The One Who Tried to Eat Our Kid II.

Then we got Tucker. He has many good qualities, not the least of which is that he’s never tried to eat anyone. He’s cute, lovable, affectionate, and unquestionably the dog for us … but bless his heart he’s just not right.

I have a Psychology minor that’s gathering dust in my brain, so I decided to put it to use and figure out what might be wrong with my dog. (Note: I took some leeway with the DSM V criteria, because the authors didn’t have the foresight to include adaptations for diagnosing pets. If you’re a purist who can’t stomach that, look away now.)

72 Things No One Needs (or Cares) to Know About Me

A couple comments by facebook friends, probably made in jest.  A stubborn girl who can’t shy away from a challenge. A lot of stupid decisions. A lack of pretense and shame. What does that give you?  This list.

So without further ado… 

(Okay, the first two were stolen from my “About Me,” but I couldn’t resist.  After that, no cheating!)

1. I once ate eight bowls of Cheerios so I could get the nutrition of one bowl of Total.

2.  I considered selling my wedding dress for 75 boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

3. After six weeks of kindergarten, I was moved to first grade. They wanted to move me to second grade, but my parents thought it would be problematic down the road if I was in the same grade as my older sister. Probably a good call.

4. In third grade I memorized a poem about a duck and told everyone I’d written it. I still remember my teacher saying, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

An Ineffable Friendship

I’ve had close friends. I’ve had false friends. I’ve had dear-to-my-heart, love-you-forever friends. I’ve had don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out friends.

And I’ve had one friendship that defies description. One friend who can’t be contained by mere words on a page.

Benny was the first person I met when I went to college. I had just moved in for Early Week (aka Band Camp), and I was the only person on my hallway. My dorm room was at the far end of the hall; everything was still and silent. First chance I got, I went in search of the basement, the one room with a TV and – more importantly – air conditioning.

Turns out I wasn’t the only person with that idea. Two guys were already down there – shooting pool? watching TV? playing Magic? Had I known what I was walking into, I’d have held onto the details better.

Bleeding My Wounds

I have a love/hate relationship with my evening walks. I love the calories burned, the peace and quiet, and – I’ll be honest – the break from the kids. I hate the hills, the shin splints, and – I’ll be honest – the exercise.

I always envision using these walks to have some quiet time with God. Piety doesn’t come natural to me, apparently, because these walks never go the way I imagine.

They always begin with prayer. Or more accurately, with fretting in the guise of prayer. The problem is, I’m too easily distracted. All it takes is a dog barking from behind a fence, a passing car, a new song on the ipod, the occasional threat to my life….

From My Defeatist Heart

Today started off on the wrong foot.

I woke up unnecessarily early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Got up with #5, who was only willing to watch one Team Umizoomi episode and it wasn’t one of the 20 we have recorded. I still couldn’t get past level 409 on Candy Crush. All the time I spent not beating that level gave me a late start for my shower, and then there was no time for an omelet so I had to settle for Froot Loops. My next-door neighbor has hanging on his deck several pairs of what appear to be white boxer shorts. (More than I needed to know, thanks.) Had a “passionate exchange” with one of my kids who shall remain nameless – or numberless, as the case may be.

Then I saw an article on Facebook and my day really went downhill.

Days of the People

Monday is all business and optimism. She wakes up early and walks out the door with her smartphone in one hand and black coffee in the other. She wears a pencil skirt and Nikes; there’s a pair of modest heels in her bag that she’ll change into when she gets there. She’s a multi-tasker, talking on the phone while checking her inbox. For lunch, she retrieves her thermal tote and takes out the chef salad she had time to make this morning. She doesn’t need a napkin because she doesn’t spill even a drop of her low-fat vinaigrette. She leaves her desk tidy and calls people by name as she leaves. At home, she’ll water her thriving plants, cook for her adoring family, and even find time to exercise.

A Walk with the Kids

It was the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week in the second week of summer vacation.  The kids were already bored with anything that wasn’t electronic; even #5 had started asking for my iPhone by name, and he’s only two years old.  Our oldest two are the ringleaders, party planners, game organizers, sibling entertainers — and they weren’t home.  I’d spent the last few days playing a game with #5 that was really just an infinite loop of his Littlest Pet Shop toy going into a boat and my Littlest Pet Shop toy saying, “Oh no! Where’d the pig go?” and his toy jumping out and yelling, “In the hoooooole!”  No matter whether we did it ten times or a hundred, he would cry when I stopped.  Meanwhile I felt like crying as soon as we started.

On this particular afternoon, I decided that taking the littlest two for a walk would be a good idea.  Someone should have stopped me at that point.  But no one did, and we set off happily on our adventure.

The Doctor Is In (Get Me Out)

Today is my bloodwork appointment at my doctor’s office. They say it’s been two years since my last office visit, though I don’t see how that can be right.

I wake up at 4:30, unsure whether I should be fasting for eight hours or twelve. We stayed up late last night, eating pizza and watching Silver Linings Playbook. I calculate the time from the meal to my appointment: 11 hours.

At 7:15, I call the office. Eleven hours is fine, they say. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I glance fondly at my pillow, then drag myself to the shower.

Really Put My Foot in It

Yesterday, the daycare where I work celebrated the end of the year with “Park Day,” a much-anticipated event where we take the kids to the local playground and run them into exhaustion. Then we have a picnic lunch and bring them back to school for popcorn and a movie. That’s code for “sitting quietly while the teachers wind down.”

We popped bag after bag of popcorn, filled cup after cup to hand out, cleaned up spill after spill from the carpet. Once all the kids were munching quietly, the other teachers brought in a giant bowl with the extra popcorn so we could refill the kids’ cups. Or grab handfuls for ourselves.

When I saw that giant green Tupperware bowl, I was transported back. Back to my childhood. Back to an incident of which I am understandably ashamed … and secretly delighted with myself.