Holiday Fun


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I don’t do resolutions, but I guess I still have goals for the coming year.  Call them what you will.

  1. Read an average of a book a week ending the year at 52 books read.
  2. Read the entire Bible in full
  3. Write two blog posts a week ending the year at 104 posts written
  4. Keep my 4.0 GPA
  5. Have my financial situation  settled whether disability or having to find a job
  6. Make this year better than the one before it
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Thomas,

I tried to write this for weeks. It was in fact “due” two days ago.  But trying to track down the words for my thoughts and feelings for you is not unlike trying to track down the Loch Ness Monster.  You know it’s there but good luck getting your hands on it.

What do you say about the person who made you a momma?  What do you say about the person who changed your life forever?  I love no one like I love you.  I don’t love you any more or less than I do Lucas and Samantha, but of you three, you were my first real, true love.  My heart grew to give you all equal room.  But equal does not mean the same.  No better.  No more nor less.  But not the same.

As I sit here trying to decide how to put this in words, I reflect on how much of your life I have missed due to my illness.  How many of your early years I was too sick to truly enjoy and properly file away into my momma memory.  I don’t have as many as I would like, but I have some important ones.

In no particular order:

1.  You were born 3 and half weeks early.  The doctors called you premature, I called you ready to get the party started.  You always have been one to prefer your own time frame for things.  Luckily, as far as being a touch early is concerned, you were healthy as can be.

2. You were so close to walking, that when your Grandma and I saw a baby push toy at a garage sale, we figured it might help you along and bought it for you.  You basically, took one look at it, took great insult, stood up, and walked from that moment on.  I’m only exaggerating a very, little bit.

3.  You will forever be my favorite person to sing Bohemian a cappella with.  I don’t care how  many times I get the teller line at work to break out into song with me, you being able to belt out the song I taught you to love when you were only 8-years-old, will forever remain one of my favorite things about you.

4. Dude.  You power read through the first Harry Potter in slightly over 24 hours.  That would be impressive even if I had let you read through the night like you wanted.  The fact you had to keep putting it down and still power read through it is amazing.  Also?  You are old enough that we can discuss books we both love together.

5. Speaking of reading: At the age of 9, your 3rd grade teacher could no longer test your reading level.  You weren’t just off her chart, you were off the elementary school chart.  And at the rate you are going, you’ll be off any middle school chart before you even reach 6th grade.  The government doesn’t even try to track you anymore.  You’re off all their charts as well.  My first and truest love in life has been and always will be books.  Raising a reader means that with all I’ve done wrong, I’ve done something very right.

6.  I remember sitting in Eddie’s living room, way back when you were little and dad and I rented a room in that house, and singing to you how you were just too good to be true.  Still true.  I may get so very angry at you sometimes but you are still too good to be true.

7. I remember the day you realized you were smarter than the rest of us.  You wanted something on the kitchen counter that at 18-months-old, you simply couldn’t reach.  So you looked down, saw the dog’s food dish, turned it over, stepped up, and suddenly could reach.  That was the day I gave up on ever being smarter than you.

8. The love you hold for your sister is fierce.  You do right by her, seeing as how you begged for her long before even Lucas was born.  You adore her and she adores you.  It is beautiful to behold.

9. This entry from the blog I made for you when you were super little, well before your current.  You were 4 in this story.

We went to this Chinese buffet for dinner tonight.  And momma said if I ate a good dinner I could have ice cream.

Me: I want rainbow ice cream.
Momma: They don’t have rainbow ice cream.
Me: Yes they do, I smell it.
Momma: You smell rainbow ice cream?
Me: Yes…. I do!

Daddy gets back to the table and momma leaves to get me my “soft serve”.  Whatever that is.  After a second she comes right back, hands empty with a confused look on her face.

Momma: Pat when did they get rid of the soft serve machines and get an ice cream bar?  And since when do they have rainbow sherbet?
Daddy: I don’t know but you should get him some.
Momma: I am…

She leaves again and then comes back this time with some rainbow ice cream.

Momma: How did you know they had rainbow ice cream?
Me: I smelled it!
Daddy: He told you!

No, I never had a chance to see it.  I’m not tall enough to see the ice cream in the bar.  And no one else was eating any.  No one told me.  Momma is really confused as to how I knew.  Apparently she doesn’t believe me when I say I could smell it.

10. If all your girlfriends can be as sweet as your first girlfriend at the age of 3, Katie, we’ll be set!

 

Love you, kiddo!  You drive me crazy, but I love you!

 

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© KMarrs Photography (Me) – Rock Island National Cemetery, Rock Island Arsenal

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My best friend Lisa is moving to Chicago.  This week.  I’ve known about this as a confirmed thing for 2 weeks now.  I’ve known about it as an eventual for longer.  Her boyfriend works out there and flies back-and-forward every single week.  The thing is, he makes good money and can only do that job from either there or New Jersey.  But if he sticks with if for a while, 5 years or so, he will be marketable for anywhere, world-wide even, and it will pay even better.  It’s something computer related.  And Lisa?  Is amazing, but she can be amazing equally in and city of any state or country.  So when they were sick of the commute and never seeing each other, and had to make a decision, it was just logical for them to settle out there, at least for a while.

But sometimes the rational decisions adults make really suck.

I’m also bemused by the fact that my other really good (can you call someone you’ve never technically met in person a best? ) friend already lives in Chicago.  So clearly:

1. I have to introduce them

2. I need to start making yearly trips to Chicago

I’m hoping that the first will happen later this year.  Actually, it has to.  Dawnie and I swore 2013 would not end without us meeting finally in person.  I would hate to see this hellacious year held in limbo because I couldn’t fly out there for 3 days.  My husband, known for his anxiety and paranoia, doesn’t even have a hint of a problem with me flying out there and meeting her on my own. “I think I’m actually OK with Dawnie,” he says.  Granted, we’ve live video chatted, exchanged cell phone numbers and texts, countless emails, snail mails, etc etc etc.  Just all from different states.  (Yet the twitter friend 2 miles away, he is nervous about.  Which I understand and am patient with.  This man does have anxiety bad enough it’s disabling.)  Dawnie is just different.

So, back to the point, I’m hoping that over a 3 day week later this year, like veteran’s day, I can fly out that Friday night and back the Monday night.  Time with Lisa Saturday, both Sunday, Dawnie Monday.  Or whatever.

All I know is, I need to haul ass to Chicago!

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I could have handled the sinuses.

It moving to my chest was to be expected.  For me.  Everything moves to my chest.  I have a great chest, after all.

But what I woke up to last Tuesday, the day before my 10-year-anniversary, was a bit much.

I woke up for my shower at about 6.  When I got out and went to lie back down to snooze and meditate, and just procrastinate on being awake (A vital part of my wake-up routine, I schedule it in.  This is why I have 4 different alarms spread between nearly 2 hours every work morning.) I realized I couldn’t shut my eyes, either one, without an intense burning sensation.  It was like the sand paper was covered in acid, as it sanded my eyeballs smooth.  I got a wet washcloth and pressed it hard over my shut eyes and that allowed me to keep them closed.  45 minutes later, I was fantastic and good-to-go.  Aside from the sinus crud.

As the morning progressed, I noticed my eyes were burning, and I kept losing vision.  In both eyes.  I could blink it back, but my vision kept blurring and getting foggy.

Granted, the foggy made sense when I looked in the mirror over my lunch break and observed the layer of snot covering both eyeballs.  Also, the pink and swollen.

Now, I don’t exactly have a ton of experience with pink eye.  I never got it as a child that I know of.  Only my middle little has had it of my 3, and his was so bad his eye was swollen shut.

But while I’m no genius and only play a doctor on the internet, if the eye oozes, you get thee to an eye doctor!  Thank nacho cheese god (a minor god… or major depending on your love of the cheese) for them being able to get me in same day, no notice.

Sure enough.  Thank sweet baby Buddha that it was bacterial pink eye and not viral.  I was only contagious if my eyeball made out with other eyeballs.  Totally killed its plans for the night but I kept it in isolation.  In my head. (That joke was officially taken too far.  I’m sorry.  Not sorry enough to take it down, mind you.  But sorry enough to apologize.)

I’m a baby when it comes to my eyes and putting stuff in them.  Contacts?  No thanks.  The puff of air during the eye exam?  First time in my life I consented, and only because I had a double eye infection.  Eye drops?  Only if I’m dying at it will be my only savior.

Well, guess what.  Pink eye?  I was counting the minutes until my next eye drop dose.  Oh, the sweet and instant relief.  Oh glory to the good stuff!

Granted, I did confirm I could close my eyes, drop it in the corner, and then blink it into place.  The good doctor suggested an extra drop each dose, then ordered me a slightly larger bottle.

Still.  Progress.

So yes, for my anniversary date, I was one hell of a hot mess.  We went to dinner and then played pool, with maximum strength sinus meds and eye meds in tow.

I was bringing sexy back!

Apparently the theme for this anniversary.

Because later that night, I brought sexy back.

And I ain’t referring to eyeball snot. *wink*

*wink*

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I have been married for 10 years as of today.  That is more than 1/3rd of my life.  No joke.  I’m 30-years-old at the end of this year, but not yet.  So my math holds tight.

Way back, before Luke was born, when Pat and I were separated and he had just moved out with our son, my mom told me she didn’t think we’d last.  Pat was a nice guy but…

Thank you, mother, for driving me back to my husband with a determination to make things work, better than anything else could have.

Even now, 6-7 years later, when we go through rocky periods, I reflect back on that moment with my mom, and really all the odds out there, which are not in our favor, and my sheer bullheadedness kicks in and I’ll be damned if I’m going to fall to a statistic.  I enjoy beating odds.

And yes, we have rocky periods.  Sometimes they last days or hours, other times they last months.  I think that’s normal.

Marriage is work whether it’s in year one or year fifty.  Marriage is a lot of work.  It takes effort, patience and in my case, bullheadedness.  And sometimes things aren’t perfect.

But other times things are exactly how Nicholas Sparks would lead you to believe.

Then the rest of the time things aren’t over the moon, but they aren’t in a swamp either, and we can go through the day-to-day married to our best friend, raising our kids, and just enjoying a state of low to no drama, and general contentment.

That, my friends, is a healthy marriage.  The highs, the lows, and the sweet, normal, between.

Happy anniversary, my love.  You are my best friend and my first real love that doesn’t involve the color white and a pedestal.  So with that in mind, I promise not to lose my bullheadedness anytime soon.

(Edit in response to Pat’s response (Really?!?!?) to me singing love songs while writing this: “I’m writing our anniversary post!  It goes live Wednesday at 1oAM  and if you don’t read it, I’ll take back everything I said in it!”)

(Second Edit: Wow, I linked to some crappy times up there.  So I think I should link to where I realized how much Pat loves me. And why our marriage works so wellWhy I love him.  And how he became my hero.  Oh, and he held true to his promise about The Bloggess, though my mom and sister took me, he stayed with the kids making it all possible.)

I’m damn lucky.

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“Tomorrow is impossible astronaut day!” Said I to my husband the evening prior, “So if you wake up with tally marks on your arm… It wasn’t me!”

Now, be good and pass this on!

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