Tag Archives: Whatever Wednesday

Whatever Wednesday: Love Thyself

Leave a reply

Today? Better spent stuck in an episode of Fawlty Towers. Specifically the one about the construction workers and the ever changing door. Because wow. It’s nearly 5pm and I thought staying in bed was a better option at 9am. Turns out I was right.

But enough about focusing on what went WRONG today. Time to focus on some positive.

That’s where John from Daddy Runs A lot comes in handy. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I digress.

Two days ago, John posted a Link-up in which he challenges you to list things you love about yourself.

I knew I wanted to write for it as soon as I read it.

Today is a good day to finally write. I could use the ego-boosting. Even if it’s self-inflicted. Yes. I know that makes me narcissistic but hell. Aren’t we all to a certain degree? Besides. It’s really more of an exercise in getting my brain out of the negative rut in which it’s so flawlessly stuck itself today.

Here goes.

(Note: These are in no particular order)

1. My sarcasm. I adore my fluency in sarcasm. I do. It’s allowed me to view the world in a lighter manner, to find the humor in the dark, and then inappropriately remark upon it to others. It’s my second language. It’s allowed me to make some really hilarious friends on Twitter too. Snark, anyone?

2. My eyes. Hazel and flecked with gold as they slide from green to blue to grey, my eyes are quite possibly one of my most favorite things about myself. I’ve been told they’re deep, gorgeous, beautiful, full of soul and heart, seductive, and trance-inducing. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention them in this list.

3. My hair. I have had a love/hate relationship with my hair since the birth of my second daughter when brushing it became part of my Postpartum OCD. I chopped it off then but have finally grown it back. It’s halfway down my back, chestnut brown with lots of natural auburn and gold highlights. It’s also annoyingly straight and silky. Seriously. My hair? Belongs in a Pantene commercial. It’s that gorgeous. I like how it feels on my back when I’m wearing a tank top and how it slides over my shoulders too. It’s comforting now instead of anxiety inducing. Plus it frames my eyes nicely. 😉

4. My writing. I’ve been writing since I was 6. My first short story was 11 pages long. One of my other first pieces was a two page piece about Organisms (you totally read that wrong, didn’t you? Shame.) I attended Duke Young Writer’s Camp in HS instead of going to Disney World with my brothers and grandfather. Okay, so they decided to go after I was accepted to Duke for the second summer in a row. Still. That’s dedication. I have a degree in English. Without writing, I would perish. Writing is my outlet, my peace, my soul. It’s what I do. Yanno, when I’m not doing the postpartum thing. I’ve been told I’m a natural by several people. Asked how I do it so well. Um. I’m horribly unorganized in this department and just write when the mood strikes, pouring everything out in five-ten minutes or less. SO there you go. No trick.

5. My big heart. Again, this one is a love/hate relationship but my heart has taken me some really amazing places, especially this summer. Sure it’s hurt like hell sometimes but there are no regrets. I refuse to look back and be sad because things are over but will instead smile because they happened (thank u, Dr. Seuss!) I believe my big heart has allowed me to see the world differently than most, to be open to embracing everything with love and compassion. I can’t imagine living any other way, despite the pain to which this opens me to as I glide through life.

6. My free spirit. I’m happiest when surrounded by nature. Kind of like a wood nymph. I adore that I can sit in the middle of a forest and be filled with peace immediately. Or stare at the ocean. Or sit by a lake. Or.. you get the drift. I adore that I am able to just “be” when necessary. Float off into the middle of peace and stay there for a bit. I know this is a gift and I am beyond blessed. For this, I am grateful. I totally love this about me.

 

So there you have it. Six things I love about myself right now.

You should go over to John’s place and link up too, by the way.

Whatever Wednesday: Finding Happy

Leave a reply

When I was 5, my Aunt died. Then several other relatives passed away at an alarming rate. Much of my childhood filled to the brim with memorial services or talk of how yet another relative succumbed to the ravages of cancer. Some relatives I was very close to yet other relatives, like a distant cousin named Keith, I barely knew. But still. Death. Always peering over my shoulder. Always there.

School wasn’t any easier. I grew up in a small mostly white town at the Jersey Shore. On the walk home, it wasn’t unusual to see a Lotus, Ferrari, Porsche, Maserati, Benz, or BMW. And yes, I mean on the same day, not throughout the week. We had a Dodge Ramcharger and a Datsun. The Ramcharger was rusted out. It’s special feature was that we could watch the pavement slide by as our parents sped up and down the Turnpike and other badly paved roads. This was awesome unless.. roadkill. Then EWWW. The other kids weren’t nice to me. They teased me. Called me “Corroded” whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Yeah, I was even bullied with intellectualism. Awesome, right?

In the 6th grade, we moved to VA. Given the opportunity to reinvent myself, you better believe I did. I had friends the first day. Things were awesome until High School when I bloomed. Yes, I mean BLOOMED. The ensuing sexual harassment sucked. I endured it until I graduated because, well, I was a kid, and my memories of bullying as an elementary kid came flooding back.

Then? College.

Wow, college. No more sexual harassment but there was that time in my dorm room when an acquaintance tried to force something on me. Thankful for strong legs and a good aim, I survived. He did too, but believe me, he never spoke to me again.

During college, I drove a lot. I sat at a local state park and made friends with ducks. I stood in the middle of a lake during a thunderstorm and let the rain beat down on me, praying for a lightning strike just a month or so after my grandfathers died within 19 days of each other. Clearly I survived.

I found myself then, deep under all my pain, all the crap which had been buried on top of me. Strong. Beautiful. Amazing. I promised never to lose myself again.

Only I did.

I fell back into a hole, dug by myself. I sacrificed myself for what I though I wanted. For the life society trained me to believe was mine. Only it wasn’t and I was drowning just like I wanted to do that day when I waded into the lake.

I needed to breathe.

I’m breathing now. It’s taken me 9 years and a few months to get here, but I’m breathing. I’m smiling. At the beginning of the summer, I couldn’t smile. Once I started smiling, my face hurt. For two weeks. Yes, my FACE hurt from smiling. That pain, though, the pain in my cheeks, my jaw, my head, was a pleasant and welcome pain. Yeah, this summer has hurt. It’s hurt like hell. But I’m welcoming the pain. Because the pain means I’m feeling again. It means I’m no longer numb. It means I’m living. Loving. Embracing.

If living my life requires that I go through periods when walking on shredded glass would be preferable, I’ll take it… and I’ll smile despite the blood and tears. I’ll take the pain. I’ll take the happy. I’ll take the joy of finally exhaling surrounding it all.

In this moment, no matter what, my life is beautiful.

It’s beautiful because I am living it.
No more apologies. Just me. Living. Outloud.

Whatever Wednesday: Blank

Leave a reply

There are words in my head. Lots of words. Thousands.

They dance about on tables crafted from the finest membranes in the world, flashing through the dark lit only by firing neurons. Clothed in slinky new dresses they sway the night away as they swallow copious amounts of tequila, wine, and vodka.

Then they stumble home, dark circles beneath their eyes, smeared mascara, broken heels, and the facade of happiness floats away as they climb wearily to their lofts in lower Manhattan, desperate to collapse onto feather laden beds. Covered with silky comforters, they sleep until the following evening when they arise, slip into even slinkier dresses and creep out to even swankier clubs in order to dance the night away.

I try to catch them, these words.

They disguise themselves each night in a different mask. Scatter to the wind and hide inside clubs with bouncers larger than the Titanic itself.

So I wait.

Impatiently.

As my words dance the night away, laughing, joking, drinking, as I huddle outside in the hot humid air, parched to the core, unable to reach in and grab an expletive to express my frustration. It’s as if they’re inside some giant claw game and I am forced to spend quarter after quarter yet still come up empty.

I want my words back dammit.

Whatever Wednesday: My kids got sick and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

Leave a reply

 

t-shirt photo sourced from http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1185427 Text added by Lauren Hale

 

Our family does not believe in visiting the pediatrician once in awhile.

No, we like to clump all our visits together. When I say together, I mean one right after another. We have visited the pediatrician’s office three times in one week, one appointment per kid.

Why can’t they get sick together??

Since the beginning of February we have all had some sort of ickiness. Our youngest was diagnosed with the flu. Our daughters both had the ickiness plus an ear infection a piece.

Oh, and then there’s the broken middle finger.

Our daughters were sick together. I took them to the pediatrician. As we got out of the car, my middle daughter wrapped her hand around the middle column of the car doors. I slammed my door shut. On her fingers. She immediately began to scream. Tears flooded her face. I asked what was wrong. She couldn’t tell me. Finally she pointed to her hand. Barely sticking out were her fingertips. My heart caught in my throat as I reached in to unlock the door. I fumbled and finally pulled the button upward. Grabbing the handle, I flung the door open and freed my poor daughter’s hand.

We got inside and I asked for ice.

Keep in mind that this poor girl is ALREADY SICK. Fever, sore throat, absolutely miserable thing.

We were sent for x-ray after her appointment.

I got a call the following day telling me that her middle finger was broken. The nearest orthopedist? 30 minutes away. Our appointment was in the morning. I had to get x-rays to take with me and make it to the appointment by 10am.

The orthopedist said the finger was barely broken, just a hairline fracture. We could buddy tape it for comfort if we wanted. Taping lasted a day and a half as our four year old kept pulling it off.

This past Monday I took her back to check healing progress. She’s just fine, I’m happy to report. I know my heart will soon heal but for days I felt horrible guilt for having broken a bone in my precious daughter’s body. It’s our responsibility to keep our children safe. I failed. I beat myself up royally for a few days. My husband assured me he had even warned our daughter to keep her hands out of that space in the car prior to my accident. I’m making peace with the fact that accidents happen. Certainly doesn’t make it hurt less but it helps. She’s been a trooper through all of this – bragging that her finger doesn’t even hurt.

And no, I didn’t really get a t-shirt. But I totally should have.

Whatever Wednesday: Happy Birthday, Dad!

Leave a reply

Dearest Dad,

Today’s your birthday. You’re officially well, another year older.

We discussed several things to get you.

Finally settled on a dancing and singing Gorilla.

But guess what?

They are greedy bastards.

The one we found required several thousand tons of bananas.

And wanted a massage every day.

Don’t even get me started on the Mai Tai requirements of this banana munching, massage needing big baby.

SO.

Given that we clearly were not able to meet said Gorilla’s requirements, we did the next best thing.

We borrowed Roger’s.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

We love you and wish you many more years.

Including at least one with your very own Singing Gorilla Birthday Telegram.

Love,

Us

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrriowrtVY0]