Woah. This feeling I have right now. It’s crazy. My hearts throbbing with joy and happiness. It makes me happy much a lot. The thoughts that were clouding my head poured out like rain, and now it’s clear and sunny. I don’t think I can wipe this small smile off of my face. I seriously have never felt this way about a person. I wish you had a phone so we could text each other all the time.

I’m thinking of giving myself a goal: to not date till I’m 18, just like you; for I feel you were right. I feel like dating is overrated. For right now I need to focus on school, my health, family/friends, and God (in no particular order). I feel that I’ve been wanting a girlfriend for so long, that I haven’t been focusing on my main importance in life, my Father in heaven. Truly in the end, that’s all that matters. Wow! I’m pretty sure I contradicted myself at least once in this post.

我知道，我總是默默地吃著你做的晚餐，讓你覺得好像我沒有很滿意。 但是，我想要說， 那些你做的晚餐 ，全部的晚餐 ，都是我從來沒有嘗過的美味 。我吃到我深愛的和深愛我的女孩親手做的美味餐點時， 心中的幸福， 感動 ，是那種無法形容 的感覺 ，那種感覺我想 ，用任何金錢也換不來，我知道， 會做家事的你常常會故意不讓我做。 我知道 ，妳都是怕我累， 謝謝你這麼體貼我 我真的好幸運有你陪我。 從煮飯到洗碗， 你樣樣精通 ，我常常會想 ，我到底是有甚麼樣的資格 讓我有這麼的福氣擁有你。 我也知道 ，你常常因為我萬事健忘 而心裡難受。 對不起 ，我有時候真的覺得自己完全沒有負起男朋友的責任。 你的熱情 你的辛勤， 你的一切一切， 都讓我深深的感受到， 我真的真的好幸福 我們家的小真， 不只是會做家事煮飯， 連女生不懂得電腦常識也都精通 。你真的讓我大大的開了眼界， 我真的很佩服你 ，你對於體育界也聊若指掌， 我則是一問三不知 。你常常說我聰明， 我更覺得你聰明 ，你也很體貼， 很懂得照顧我。 謝謝你， 請把我養胖 。我想要變的肉肉的， 給你抱， 這樣抱起來比較舒服不是嗎？ 還有， 不要再說妳胖， 你不胖 一點也不， 全天下女生都是大胖胖 如果你再說妳胖。我可以拜託你一件事嗎， 不要再想要丟下我好嗎， 我想要你照顧， 我也只要你照顧。 我只要吃妳煮的， 我也只要跟你一起做一些瘋狂普通情侶不會做的事。 你一定不知道 我每次心裡都好高興， 雖然我都裝得很鎮定。

有人說，人生中如果能遇到一位或兩位知己 那是上輩子修來的福氣。 那如果能遇到一位知己同時也是深愛的人， 我相信， 我上輩子， 上上輩子， 還有上上上上上好多輩子， 一定都有乖乖地當好人修來超多超多的福氣。從一開始，我們驚訝地懷疑對方是故意說同樣的話來討好對方到後來我們很自然地，很有默契地每次都知道對方的心意。 我想說，我真的覺得 多了你， 人生多了好多樂趣， 我在想我的生命可能是遇見你之後才變得完整。 只有你能接受我無理幼稚的心態， 也只有你能夠讓我完完全全地當我自己， 讓我夠大聲的吼叫 亂發脾氣 跟 無理取鬧。 也只有你 會在我不正常的時候， 包容我的不正常， 並用擁抱還有關懷讓我回到正常。

我知道以後的日子我也都要你照顧， 請繼續對我好， 請繼續跟我一起走下去。 像你說的， 讓我們走到我們兩個都老摳摳 臉上滿是皺紋， 腰都挺不直， 手上都要拿著拐杖 。我們還是要快快樂樂地在一起，一起手牽手去散步，一起去買早午晚餐的材料，一起去逛街，一起照顧小孩，一起騎老人車奔馳在路上，可以比賽誰先到家，可以優閒的開，一邊欣賞風景一邊騎。你知道的，就像老人家的悠閒生活。然後我就可以一邊看著你的臉一邊兜風，到時候你可別害羞不讓我看阿。我喜歡看你，高興的樣子，失望的樣子，傷心的樣子，驚喜的樣子，不管我有多生氣，只要看到你甜美的微笑，心中不悅就會很自然地退去一半。

親愛的譽真小妹妹，這輩子請你跟我一起走過喔，下輩子也一起，下下輩子也一起，哎唷，乾脆永遠不要分離好啦！讓我們一起飛過不愉快烏雲暴雨，互相扶持走過生命低潮谷，手牽手一起踏過不順利泥窪，你腳痠了我揹你走，一直走下去，柳暗花明又一村，不管生命有多少困難在我們前頭等著我們，我陪你走到最後，我們會有一天一起老老地安詳地坐在湖邊的小板凳上，靜靜地看黃昏，細細地述說我們一起走過的一切種種，然後我們會花好久時間，講到安詳地睡著。

My daughter sent me an email the other day, telling me about her boyfriend’s Phi Beta Kappa initiation ceremony:

…the guest speaker was Nobel Prize winner Oliver Smithies, so that was pretty cool. His two main messages were: no matter what you’re doing or how unimportant it may seem, it’s important to learn how to do it well; and try to find something you love doing so that when you’re old and retired you still do it because you love it so much you can’t stop. Another fun thing he said was “think outside the box…but know what’s inside it too.”

I read that and thought, This Smithies guy may be a science geek, but he understands what it means to be a writer. And that’s when it hit me, when I realized just what exactly has been irritating the hell out of me about this whole debacle with Harlequin and its new vanity press.

Everyone is missing the point.

People have claimed to be stunned and perplexed by the swift decisive condemnation of Harlequin’s vanity press and its stated intent to steer rejected writers to its coffers. They’re confused by the vehemence of writers who are angry and indignant. A few writers have even said they’re angry but can’t quite put their finger on why. Yet everyone has been busy speculating.

I’ve read a variety of reaction from people on the publishing side of the business, very smart people whose experience and opinions I’ve come to respect. I’ve read blogs and comments from writers, including those who are published, not yet published and self-published. Readers have weighed in as well.

Some people have concluded the furor is due to an inability or unwillingness to accept change. Others think it’s because Harlequin betrayed their brand or presented the change ineffectively. Others fear readers will become disillusioned by a glut of newly inferior books. Some writers worry their work will be diminished in the eyes of those who might see no difference between it and that of those who choose the vanity press route.

Disturbingly, much of this rhetoric also has a subtle yet pervasive overtone that presumes most unpublished writers are rather dim-witted uneducated fools in need of protection from blind ambition and who will be easily duped by the lure of a vanity press.

I’m tempted to say, “Bullshit on all counts.” But that sounds so rude. Besides, it’s not that these people are wrong, necessarily, so much as that none of the commentary really addresses the heart of the problem.

The truth is, most writers I know are cautiously open to the idea of change in publishing, especially if it means getting their work into the hands of more readers. Most writers I know don’t give a rat’s ass about Harlequin’s “brand” and whether they change it, however inelegantly done. Most realize full well that books (we’re talking fiction here) produced by a vanity press and lacking marketing and distribution won’t ever make it into the mainstream of readers and will be read only by a handful of the writer’s friends and family members. And the vast majority of writers I know are already quite aware that vanity presses exist and are not about to be deceived into subjecting their work to that process. Really.

So, why the anger and condemnation?

Writers give all sorts of advice to other writers. It varies widely and usually comes with the disclaimer to pick and choose what works for you, disregard the rest. But there is one consistent message you will hear from every single writer who has achieved publication. Every single one of them will tell you about their multiple rejections, about the quantity of books they wrote and the number of years it took before they got published. Every single one of them will tell you the same exact thing: Don’t give up and don’t stop writing. Your work will improve with practice.

This is not mere hopeful wistful dreaming or a platitude to soothe desperate yearning (yes, that’s how writers have been characterized, of late). It’s a simple fact. Look at the backlist of any writer who has been around for more than a few years. Pick up any early book and compare it to something recent. There will be a difference, a distinctive improvement in quality but also in tone and confidence. Writing improves over time.

Writers know this. We accept it for the truth it is. In spite of what you may have heard, most writers are levelheaded, clear-eyed professionals who know hard work and time spent learning and practicing craft are the bricks paving the path to publication. Unfortunately, in our impatience and inexperience, we tend to misjudge the length of our individual paths.

This is why what Harlequin proposes to do is so offensive and just plain wrong, regardless of what they call it. Have you read the verbiage on the website of their newly renamed Dellarte Press? It claims to be all about you, the writer. It talks about the next chapter on your journey and achieving your dreams and indulging your passion. About taking control of your dreams and not wasting your precious time. About reaching your goals with the book of your dreams.

Oh please. Harlequin and their new business partner have missed it by a mile if this is what they assume to know about our “dreams.”

Sure, there are writers who are exceptions, and good for them for making their own informed decisions and realizing a different dream. But for most of us, the “dream” is not just to hold a book in our hands. The “dream” is not merely to see our name on a glossy cover.

The dream is to be good enough. Good enough to be published, to gain recognition for all our hard work, good enough for our stories to be purchased and enjoyed by readers. Good enough to receive monetary compensation, as professionals.

Here’s an analogy, though perhaps not the best one: Imagine you’ve signed up with a matchmaker, or a dating service if you prefer, with the goal of finding the perfect mate. After a few attempts that didn’t quite work out they suddenly declare you to be unlovable. For your send off, as a consolation, they show you a selection of truly fine wedding rings, since they know that’s what you really want more than anything in the entire world. Aren’t they lovely and sparkly? The more you’re willing to pay, the bigger and shinier a ring you can have. You say, but what about a partner? What about love? They say, oh no, trust us, no one will ever love you. But look, you can even have the wedding you’ve always dreamed about, just pay a bit more. And you say, that’s nice but I was looking for love and a life with someone. They say, sorry, never gonna happen, but look, here are the designs for invitations– it only costs a bit more for those, how many people do you know?

And here’s where the analogy breaks down, because you can’t really make yourself more lovable by working at it. Or maybe that’s just me. But you can and will become a better writer with hard work and practice.

Will you ever become good enough that people will pay to read your stories? Tough question. One for which there is no single correct and true answer. The odds say some of us may never be good enough, yet can’t predict which ones. It’s one of the risks we live with as writers. But there are answers to that question that are wrong and harmful and completely unacceptable and one of them is to tell a writer who is not yet quite good enough, “Here, buy something shiny instead.”

It is wholly inappropriate for anyone, let alone a major publisher, to blithely offer a vanity press as an alternative to — or worse, present it as a step to achieving — publication. It is the antithesis of our efforts and our “brand” as writers, a slap in the face of our professionalism. It’s a message that says, “Not only are you not good enough now, you never will be good enough, no matter how hard you try. The only way you will ever see your work in print is to pay for it.”

Damn it, Harlequin, you don’t know that.

If there is a message that should be sent with every rejection it should be one based on truth and integrity and respect, offered with a genuine tone of encouragement. Perhaps it should be the same message we writers give each other, time after time, without hesitation, without deviation:

“You’re not there yet. Go work on your craft. Practice. Write five more books. Read extensively. Learn all you can from your peers. You will get better. Just keep writing. And please, keep trying.”

We say it because it’s true. Because we understand what it means and what it takes to be a writer.

In the wake of another successful Thanksgiving—and by successful, I mean I ate until I was ready to keel over—Grace and I have spent much of Black Friday lounging around the house.

We were in our pajamas until roughly one in the afternoon, we’ve plowed through leftovers—sorry folks, the cherry pie is long gone—and we’ve essentially been as worthless as the folks who make cranberry sauce will be for the rest of the year.

Then, in a random burst of post-gorging food-high, Grace decided today would be a great day to clean and finish up some other chores around the house.

She went about sweeping and mopping like a mad woman.

I changed the disgusting old shower curtain liner for a new one, and destroyed three of the plastic hanger-thingy-majiggys in the process and I prepared to hang up the curtain rod and curtains we purchased during our IKEA trip a few weeks back.

I promptly discovered we were without drywall screws.

In fact, I only had four screws total. Two meant for keeping parts of a metal reading desk together and two completely unmatched gigantic screws meant for keeping parts of a ship’s hull together.

Needless to say these would not suffice.

So I chugged a Full Throttle and threw on my coat, knowing full-well that an onslaught of psychosis awaited me at the hardware store, but I braved on.

Once inside the hardware store, I kept mumbling to myself “Drywall Screws. Drywall Screws. All You Need is Drywall Screws!!”

The drywall screws are, of course, located in the very back of the hardware store. As such, I wandered past dozens of items that practically leaped of the shelves and into my awaiting, consumeristic arms.

First it was a new set of plastic hanger-thingy-majiggys for the shower curtain.

“You just broke a bunch of these. This is totally necessary. Just these hangers and drywall screws, that’s it.”

So I picked up the plastic hanger-thingy-majiggys and carried on in my quest to find drywall screws. Although I then noticed out of the corner of my eye that they had a drill on sale for an astounding bargain price of $9.99.

“Well, if I’m going to be hanging curtain rods, a drill would be a lot more useful than trying to use a screwdriver. Plus I’ve wanted a drill for a while now and come on, it’s ten freakin’ dollars!! They’re practically giving it away.”

As one would expect, I picked up the drill and began on my way before a quick realization struck me and I was forced to do a little bit of inner argument action.

Rational Graves: “Wait…wait…wait…”
Consumerism Graves: “Oh know, here comes Bill Buzzkill. What the f*ck do you want?!”
Rational Graves: “Dude, you don’t need a drill.”
Consumerism Graves: “Are you kidding me?! A drill is like the perfect invention. It’s a screwdriver that does all the work for you. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want in on that action?!”
Rational Graves: “Yeah, that’s all great and fine, but the drill cost $10. Ten freakin’ dollars.”
Consumerism Graves: “I KNOW!! They’re practically giving it away!!”
Rational Graves: “Exactly!! What kind of shitty-ass drill are you going to be buying for $10?!”
Consumerism Graves: “Oh, well you pose a really good point. In fact I think that I’ll go ahe—BAM”

That was the point where Consumerism Graves cracked Rational Graves in the face with the drill, knocking him out cold.

By the time I’d fully come to and realized what had happened, I was back home showing off all of the random crap I’d purchased at the overpriced hardware store.

My trek to acquire six—count ‘em six—drywall screws ended with bringing home shower curtain hanger-thingy-majiggys, a new drill, a tarp, some zip-ties, and a box of two-dozen drywall screws.

The only reason it wasn’t more was because I’d wisely left my credit cards at home and just brought what little cash I had on hand.

I vaguely recall staring intently at a four foot Christmas tree “the perfect-size for our apartment!”, a sticky bathmat “this way Grace won’t over slip and crack her head open in the shower!”, a peg-board coat hanger “I’d TOTALLY start hanging my coat up if we had this!”, and a big string of Christmas lights “teehee lights teehee shiny teehee!!”.

Luckily it seems my pre-ordained game plan to travel with limited monetary funds was a lifesaver!!

Yet, as I sit here staring out the window, I can’t help but think that our place would look awesome with a four foot Christmas tree, a new sticky bathmat, pegboard coat hanger, and some new super shiny lights!!

*sigh*

Black Friday sucks.

延續之前的老爹篇

這次來寫寫我的阿母

她

像一台沒有記憶體的電腦

很多事一下子就忘記了

(我家常發生的事)

爹or我or姊: 媽~!上次我交給你保管的xxx你收到哪裡去了

媽:ㄟ………………….^^”  “可能”要找一下喔!

(以前聽到這句都信以為真…現在知道我家阿母所謂的”可能” = 她忘了…..”一下”=很多下)

也許翻箱倒櫃了一陣子

媽: 底家底家 (台:在這在這 的意思)

然後她可能是怕又忘記收在這裡,所以很聰明的決定說要把這東西改放在一個比較容易記得的空間.

~幾天過後~

爹or姊or我:上次拿出來用的那個東西咧?怎麼不在原來的地方?

媽:ㄟ……………………..^^”   “可能”要找”一下”喔!

(我拿刀狂刺自己…..因為不能刺媽媽XD)

她

可能以前是輔導老師的關係

She’s really good at listening to people

當我們家人甚至親戚朋友有issues或煩惱的時候

都會來找我阿母

因為她總是耐心的聽

理性的分析

但又帶有柔性的安慰

也許是因為有這樣的阿母

我跟我姊也變得很會聽別人說話

不過我自己本身不太會講就是了

她

像是一個沒有底的大沙袋

總是包容著我們家人的一切 情緒 等等

我們像她傾倒的沙就從無底的袋子裡流掉

也許有時沙子飛到她眼睛裡

會讓她流淚

可是她一直在那邊

守候著我們一家

也守候著我可愛卻欠兒孫照顧的外婆

我最擔心的

是她的身體

吃素的她

一年比一年瘦

每每回台灣又被曬黑

我爸都笑說好像家裡有個外籍傭人

我家阿母

還有好多好多

可愛跟令人無言的地方

能當您的查某ㄍㄧㄚˋ (女兒)

我真的心存感激

阿母

愛老虎油

^^

I am thankful for the journey so far.

It is the culmination of many events, both good and bad, that have brought to where I am today. I thank all of the people, both present and long gone of all intentions, who have shaped me into the person I am today. It has not always been great, it has not always been fun, but it has been an evolving experience.

I am thankful that my life is surrounded by such vibrance.

To be in the included in the lives of such a wide range of exceptional people is a true gift. They are my angels, muses, saints, and heroes. While we may originate from dust and return to it in the end, never forget that it is stardust. We are a greater sum than our mortal parts. Some may call it the soul, others the divine spark, still others the human spirit, but never let such a fantastic essence be secreted away.

I am thankful for all that I have and all that is to come.

My fondest memory of my late Granddad was when my Mother’s dog bit me. To start off, Granddad wasn’t usually called Granddad. The name Grandy was almost always his name. He died after I had turned eight years old. No, no. Stop. Don’t feel pitiful. I was eight, and I hadn’t yet become very close with my Grandy. And this isn’t a pitiful, sad memory. Really, I’m serious about that. Also, not that you can’t be close to your Granddad at eight. It was just the simple explanation that my brother was a Granddad’s boy, and I had no problem with that. It’s just the way things fall into place sometimes.

He’s been gone for over ten years now, and I thought he needed some dedication. Grandy was an incredibly quiet man. Very reserved, and sweet. My Nanny still says that to this day, he was hopeless amongst strangers. She was the opposite of him. Lively, and could easily talk to your ear off for hours at a time. I received that social gene of hers, but was a clone of my Grandy looks wise. Life’s ironic.

I can never forget to mention my Grandparents love story. Why? Because it doesn’t seem particularly real every time I remember the only 50% chance that couples have currently of staying together.

They met in England, my Nanny’s original home. It was a blind date. My Grandy was stationed there with the Air Force. My Nanny told me she thought he was incredibly handsome, but utterly boring. It turns out my Grandy was completely smitten with her from day one. She told me he had proposed on their first, or second date. She thought he was insane, and still very boring. But they fell in love anyway, and she left England to travel the world with him until he decided to settle back home in the South Carolina Upstate. Until the day he died, he would ask if my Mother if she would like to see the most beautiful girl in the world. My Mother knew it would be a baby picture of her. Of course it wasn’t, it was a picture of my Nanny.

Don’t get me wrong, Nanny wore the pants in the marriage. It didn’t seem as if he minded too much. He was an easy going man, and always described as laid back. But the tempers you want to avoid are the ones you provoke of the most quietest of souls.

This all brings me back to my fondest memory of Grandy. I was around seven, I think. I was visiting with my Mother, and siblings at their house. My Mother owned a dog, named Teddy, who was bigger than I was at the time. He was sleeping at my Mother’s feet, while she played Solitaire on the computer. And why not pet the dog? I’ve petted many a dog before while they were sleeping. I adored this dog. Why not? Give me good reason.

It turns out Teddy had a mental problem we all soon became aware about. Sadly, this realization had to start with the mauling of little children. Teddy jumped on top of me, and I remember his jaw engulfing my head. The attack probably lasted only a few seconds, but the message Teddy wanted to get across was understood. My head had a few shallow scratches and bite marks. That wasn’t the problem though. Immediately after he attacked me, I remember turning around and holding my face. I could hear my Grandparents and Mother rush to restrain the dog. The memory I’ll always remember is that it felt as if skin was falling from my eye. It was just heavy bleeding, but it was enough to scare a seven year old into hysteria.

I know what you’re thinking. How in the world can this be a fond memory? I promise it is. While holding my eye, my Mother came up to look. The dog had sliced open my eyelid, and I would need stitches. But with my other eye, I had to stop my screaming to figure out what was going on behind me.

PETA: Leave my Grandy’s memory alone.

Don’t forget that Grandy was a very quiet, and reserved man. He really, and truly was, until a dog attacked his grandchild. He had Teddy in the corner, and had him very well restrained.

“Newt! Stop it! Stop! You’ll kill him!” My Nanny screamed. (And yes, his name was Newton. And yes Nanny called him Newt, like the frog, lizard thing. Go ahead and get your giggles out now.) I remember her having to pull at his arm.

“That’s the point!—-” He yelled. There were many other words with this statement, prior and after the fact. But they are a string of profanities that I didn’t realize my Granddad was capable of until this moment. My crying ceased as I heard Teddy have a few good yelps at the hands of my Grandfather. Holding my bloody eye, I was probably more shocked at Grandy’s behavior.  Go Granddad.

I’m thankful for that memory. I regret not being closer to him before he passed. But I’ll always have that memory to smile about. That was when I saw him prove his love to me in a fight. Not that I ever doubted it, but that reassurance is what keeps us going sometimes.

PETA: No. That dog lived.

Happy Thanksgiving.

I hope everyone out there is enjoying Thanksgiving in some way even if your loved one is deployed.  It’s never the same when they are gone, that is for sure.

Obi-Wan and I had a great day stuffing ourselves and spending time with family.  I never take that for granted as a milspouse.  You never know how much time you have with people so you make the most of that time.  I spent the last two days trying to soak up every bit of preciousness that my nieces possess.  Since I don’t get to visit as often as I would like, I immerse myself in niece everything b/c I want them to know who I am as they grow to be young women some day.  I want them to see and remember me as the Cool Aunt.  Of course, one is only 8 months old now so she is just content to smile at me when the mood strikes and that is okay with me.  The 3 year old knows my name and that just rocks.

I have a lot to be thankful for this holiday.  My family was together, my family is in good health, and I am employed once again.  Considering earlier this year, Obi-Wan left to go spend the next 8 months away in school, my father had triple bypass heart surgery, I lost my job and other family health problems came up, many things have turned around for the better.  Things could be much worse and I try to say to myself each day that I have air in my lungs and my arms and legs work and that’s good enough for me.  Each day is a gift and I have to remember to make the most of it.  Not saying I do that every day b/c some days I wake up just plain cranky and don’t feel like being all positive and blah blah blah.  But I’m trying to adopt a better attitude.

Well I must go sleep off this food that I’ve consumed now.

I finally felt you, God What an amazing feeling it was. I felt You breathe Your love into my heart. I thought I was lost and alone, but I knew you had not lost me. That sunday night as we prayed over all those people, I silently prayed for myself as well as called out four different names. At that moment, my eyes became wide with love and passion. I had only felt that way once before, at lift camp. I could finally hear You. Hear Your voice. I had been suffering for quite some time, feeling like I wore a mask all the time. God. You tore that mask up, and made me New. Clean. Refreshed. You made me happy again. I can now say that I love myself (in the most non-conceited way possible).

I’m thankful for the things You’ve done, My loving Savior, my precious Jesus.

arms of love-kutless

Somehow, during last 12 months, which have been the most changed filled of my life, I found myself.

I have also found my way home, this life. My heart is full, my cup runneth over. I am content.

For all of it, I am thankful.

Wishing all a very Happy Thanksgiving!!

I feel like I’ve had a lot of “wow!” moments lately. Moments when I’m in the company of my kids, doing random things, and it suddenly dawns on me that, “Wow! We did it… Nick and I… we got them this far!” And we all survived, miraculously. Because, trust me, there were many days/weeks/years when I wondered whether I would survive and how I would possibly make it to the next stage with my kid(s).

Which is not to say that I think we’re out of the woods, by any stretch of the imagination. I know better than that! We have years and years of challenges ahead of us, and those thoughts keep me awake some nights and cause me to break out in a cold sweat. But, that’s not what this post is about… (let me just have this moment, k??)

Tonight, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my kids, eating a gourmet dinner that consisted of Ramen noodles, Ramen noodles, and more Ramen noodles. And the three of us were talking and laughing the whole time. And I had another “wow!” moment. It just amazes me, every day, that Damon and Avery are so grown up all of a sudden. I know I’ve been with them every single step of the way, so this shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to me… like it might to a long-lost relative who hasn’t seen them in years. I’ve definitely seen them. Every day. Yet, somehow they’ve grown and changed right before my eyes.

Suddenly, my babies aren’t babies. They aren’t toddlers… or tweens, even. They’re walking, talking, breathing, laughing PEOPLE… little people that think their own thoughts, make their own jokes, feel their own feelings, have their own senses of humor. It’s just… wow! That’s the only way I can describe it!

And after years and years and YEARS of caring for babies and toddlers, suddenly I don’t do that much “caring for” anymore. My kids feed themselves, use the toilet themselves, pour their own drinks, sometimes make their own food, clean their own rooms (at least they’re CAPABLE of that particular chore!), dress themselves, fasten their own seatbelts, go to sleep at night with no fussing, etc. The list goes on and on. All of those things that they used to rely on me to do for them… that was my job for a long time. A job that I resented sometimes and left me absolutely, utterly exhausted for years of my life.

Yet, now, it’s all behind me.

And with that realization comes a huge wave of relief, lots of self-congratulating, and then… sadness. It really is bittersweet. My kids are growing and changing right before my eyes… and, although they’ll still need me for a loooong time and I know that, they need me in totally different ways now. And that is wonderful and horrible, all at the same time.

But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, tonight I’m so incredibly thankful that we’ve survived these last 9 years. Nick and I are the parents of two happy, healthy, intelligent, fully operational, and absolutely adorable people. And they both make me laugh, every day. I could ask for more, but I wouldn’t dream of it. (High five, Witschey! We did it!!)

Here is what I’m thankful for this year:

1. I have older children to help me with Sean when I just can’t handle it. No matter how bad of a job they do, they do it with love and it still helps.
2. I don’t have cancer or some other horrible disease.
3. None of my children have cancer or some other horrible disease.
4. I have a roof over my head.
5. We have more than enough to eat.
6. I can afford a little retail therapy, even if it’s via credit card.

I’m so lonely. I’m so ldkajfldkj;fl. Is this really possible? I want to go out and drink and have dinner by myself at my usual place but I’ll end up trapped there because I’ll be too drunk to drive home. I just want to curl up in a booth by myself and drink and eat, or sit at the bar and be a nasty drunk. And eat. Alone.

I like the idea of eating something, but the act of going upstairs and making something is just more effort than I can handle. Waaaayy to much work. Don’t want to be in the house. Just want to get out and go eat and drink myself into oblivion. Forget that this is  my life. Escape. Just for a little while. Running away is sounding better and better and better and better. I’m a failure anyway. Everyone would be better off without me. I can’t even give love to the tiny little boy who loves me so much, gives me kisses and hugs…I just tell him to go play with his brothers or his sister. I wonder when you know that you’ve gotten to the point that life is just too much. I wonder when you know that you’re just THAT weak and cowardly and that you just fucking give up. I wonder.

I want to text him and tell him that I’m struggling with some serious fucking depression right now and that he’d better get home and take care of this child because I’m at a breaking point and the only thing between me and panic fuck-this shit I-give-up I-can’t-do-this-anymore is my fingers on this keyboard. But I won’t.

Shopping. Shopping is the answer. Friday. Just hang on till Friday. Shop like a fucking crazy person. Take that goddam AmEx and heal myself with shoes. Ice cream. Potato chips. When Jack died I gained heinous weight out of sadness and depression, I get so scared that I’m going to go down that path again. Fuck me.

want potato chips…keep thinking I hear someone walking around upstairs but it’s just the cats…every single solitary time my brain tricks me into thinking it’s Ryan…just for a split second…as if the last nine months were just a terrible nightmare…

I think I am the saddest I’ve ever been. I’ve failed my children by not being strong enough or selfless enough to let him go, I’ve failed myself by those same actions, and I’ve failed the progress made by the generations of women in my family by taking steps backward in the face of all their forward stepping that they did for me. I am just so tired from all this – I’m really not sure I’m cut out for this. I really don’t know if I can do it. Years yawning out in front of me. No end in sight. I really don’t know if I can do this. Be who they all need me to be. Poor Caleb: I wasn’t there for him when he was a baby because his father had cancer; I tried to give him another father but that one turned out to be a child himself and in the discovery of that betrayed us all. Caleb also lost Sam when he left us, which was another “father” loss. The child’s had nothing but loss, including leaving his old school very much against his will. He in particular is completely lost to me. I have completely failed him. I don’t even know if he believes, in his hearts of hearts, that I love him.

At work today, I encountered a very sad patient.  I do most days, but I put myself in her shoes today and really felt empathy for her.  She had just left her appointment with us and was going for another appointment, just on a different floor.  She was with her daughter (I’m assuming). 

The daughter came back to me and began yelling about how long the other appointment is taking, why didn’t I tell her that it would be this long and why did I schedule it this way?  Then she began screaming about there not being a cafeteria in the building, asking me why there is no food available for patients waiting hours on end. 

I explained that that would be a good suggestion and I will certainly bring it to my administrators attention but because this is an outpatient facility,
we are probably not authorized to facilitate a cafeteria.  I then pointed her to the 10,000 restaurants around us in NYC. 
She then began to cry.  She said she needed a letter because she had just booked an airline ticket for her and her mom in December and now because she was just diagnosed with cancer they cannot go.  (This, to me, would be the perfect time to go.)  I said I would be happy to write up the letter, which I did and as she cried I felt sorry for her.  She apologized for taking it out on me, and I thanked her.  You never want to tell someone going through something awful that you “understand what they are going through.”  For most people, this is a trigger word for GET ANGRY BECAUSE HOW COULD THEY POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND?!!?  I made that mistake once…never again (obviously).  But empathy is different. 

I am so grateful for the people in my life and am blessed to still have them in it.

Or however those lyrics go.

I have a few other blog posts that I’ve been letting marinate for a while.  Kinda deep stuff.  Still debating on whether they’re worth posting or not.  I just find myself getting all mad and fired up.  And I think that I should get it out, because Lord knows I can’t afford therapy or medication anymore.  Keeping everything bottled in isn’t healthy.  I’m angry, hurt, conflicted…and I have no release, no way to make it GO. 

But since it’s almost the Thanksgiving holiday (woooooo!), I feel like I should keep this kinda lighthearted.  Since I got a new laptop, I was finally able to upload the video of my performance in the Karaoke Contest of Awesomeness.  So I am posting it for your viewing pleasure.  It’s very blurry – that’s not your eyes going bad.  It never gets any clearer, so I’m just this giant multi-colored swirly blob running around on a stage, basically. 

My favorite part is the guy in the crowd yelling “You go girl!”

I’ve been reading a lot about happiness lately, and one theme that emerges is that stopping to take stock of what you are thankful for makes you happier. It makes sense — when you take the good things in your life for granted, you stop noticing them and their impact on your life. My own life is rich with blessing, and I try to stop regularly and notice it, appreciate it, and rejoice in my good fortune. So, without further ado, here are some of the things I’m grateful for in this season of reflection:

*My husband Adam, who is just getting better (and even better-looking — so unfair!) with age. He thinks of me with generosity and love. He’s funny and patient. He is active and engaged, and is always glad to be home with us. He is the love of my life, my solid partner in life’s serious challenges, and my goofy partner is life’s less-serious moments.
*My sons, who bring me not only joy and delight but a new vision into the world. I think perhaps the greatest reason to have children is to see the world anew and delightful through unjaded eyes. Grey is full of fun, affection, and terrible knock-knock jokes. He catches my breath with his perception of the life we share. Thane is my happy little curly-haired bopper. He wanders through life at knee-height talking to himself and shaking a toy. When he sees me, he comes running and lays his head against my shoulder in a gesture of trust and joy.
*The older I get, the more I realize that one family that doesn’t drive you nuts and whose company you enjoy is a blessing. TWO families (my own family and the one I married into) that do that is lightening in a bottle. I try never to take either one for granted.
*Some days it is hard to see and remember the grace of God. Happily, it remains present whether we engage with the almighty or not.
*I am profoundly aware that the things I take for granted are not givens — a home to live in, food to eat, a car to drive, my health. Even things like clean water and medical care are unavailable to far too many. I’m also so grateful for all those who are working to bring these most basic things to all God’s children, such as Path International.

Thus for the big serious underpinnings of my life. Now for the smaller things I’m grateful for.
*Coffee. Without coffee, my life would be a sadder, sleepier place. Mmmmm coffeee…..
*This blog. I really enjoy writing, but I would never do it so regularly if it weren’t for the feedback loop of having readers. On a weekday, I average between 50 – 100 readers. I suspect I personally know many of you, but I’m grateful you give me the opportunity to engage with you. (And hey, lurkers, feel free to comment! I don’t bite!)
*The view out the back windows of our house. It fills me with joy Every. Single. Time.
*A church where I feel needed and loved, whose halls I have come to walk as familiarly as my own home.
*Incredibly generous friends who invite us and our two small, destructive children to Thanksgiving dinner. (And who it’s just been so much fun to get to know better this year!)
*NPR “vacation” weeks, when there’s 50% less doom, gloom, destruction and health-care overhauls, and significantly more stories about ants wearing stilts.
*Audiobooks.
*Christmas. I love Christmas. I love it more every year.
*Those Carl Sagan remixes: http://symphonyofscience.com/. They make me tear up.

There are, I’m sure, a bajillion more blessings in my life. But those are some.

What about you? What are you grateful for this Thanksgiving eve?