Eating mudpies

January 30, 2013 By 8 Comments

God made dirt. It won’t hurt.

I’m not sure there has ever been anything written about parenting multiple children more true than this ecard. Yes, it’s effing hilarious. But the truth often is, right? It also reminds me of the perceived ‘Curse of the Middle Child’, and the over-abundance of photographs I have of Sugar Bean and Butter Bean as infants and toddlers, but the lack of pictures of Sweet Pea during those stages. For awhile, I was worried she might think we stole her, and couldn’t take pictures because of it…lol. Anyway, I believe the photo ratio has finally evened out because THEY ALL LOVE THE CAMERA. And the feeling is mutual :-)

But, I digress.  Back to eating dirt.

Personally, I was scared shitless when Sugar Bean came along, and I was a new mommy in Los Angeles. Because, y’all….I was raised in the South, by a mama who was 40 when I was born. Which, in itself was not cool for the 70′s. I mean, from what I understand, she was told there was a 50/50 chance I would either be of genius level intelligence or suffer from some sort of mental deficiency, simply based on her age, and the risks associated with having a baby during ‘THE CHANGE’. And I guess the jury might still be out on which one I grew up to be depending on whom you ask. My point is, because most of my childhood friends’ parents were the ages of my older siblings–I’m the youngest by 12 years in my family–which meant my mom’s friends had teenagers, not toddlers….I was a solitary child. Didn’t really have friends over to play, for this reason, and hardly remember going to others’ homes until I was well into elementary school.  Playing with other kids wasn’t referred to as a ‘play date’ when I was young and  ’Mommy & Me’ groups/classes didn’t exist. In other words, the raising I got in the South, and the parenting I witnessed my siblings exercise upon my nieces and nephews, didn’t really jive with the world of motherhood in Los Angeles I was thrust into in 1999. To say I was clueless, is, well….an understatement. So I did the only thing I knew to do…try and fit in. Especially since the alternative, stereotypical (and often mocked) familiar traits of a Southern mama involved standing around barefoot in my front yard, with my baby girl propped on my hip wearing nothing but a diaper while  gossiping  with my neighbor about what ingredients she used to make her version of a 7-layer Surprise (it’s a dessert). No, I’ve never made one, and we lived off Melrose, so I never ventured over to meet the neighbors either.

OH. THE. HORROR.

At first, I attempted to do everything the other ‘hip moms’ did. I had a fancy diaper bag, and bought Sugar Bean’s clothes from trendy little boutiques I heard about, to wear on play-dates, or to our Mommy n’ Me classes. Hell, I even jumped on the bandwagon of ‘organic’ baby food, which was rumored to be an absolute must for my angel, despite the fact that all it’s really made of is vegetables grown in the dirt with only sunlight and water to help them along. In other words….just like the ones I helped my Papa tend to in his garden…my whole life. Once harvested, pureed, jarred, labeled and sold at inflated prices in stores like Whole Paycheck, Whole Foods, it’s then referred to as gourmet organic baby food.  Who knew? We went so far as to hire a nanny for a little while, to be an ‘extra pair of hands’, because I convinced myself I needed help…with ONE CHILD…even though I was a SAHM, without so much as a shred of a job beyond housewife/mother. My siblings were laughing, my girlfriends were laughing, my in-laws were laughing, and in hindsight, it’s rather embarrassing, I have to admit. Why, you ask? Because it was obvious to everyone but us, that The Man and I were clearly , trying to Keep Up with The Whoevers. It ended up biting us on the ass some years later, after Butter Bean was born, when said nanny went rogue on us and almost turned our fairytale into a “life imitates art” exhibit straight out of  “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle”. THANK GOD my sisters had some sense, and managed to stage an intervention.  But that, is a post for another day….and several bottles of good Pinot  :-)

Things moved merrily along, and we added Butter Bean to the mix, just when Sugar Bean started Kindergarten.  Given my over-achieving, type A nature, and obvious need to ‘win’ I even took part in the evil world of competitive birthday party throwing. If you know what I’m talking about, you’ve probably done it…at least once. If you don’t, it’s best not to even ask for details. Trust me on this one, and laugh at the notion…if it were in fact an Olympic sport, this village idiot would be decorated like Michael-freaking-Phelps.

I was doing everything right, or so I thought, until it came to discipline. That is the one area of “Parenting LA Style” that always baffled my mind, as it seemed to be entirely absent from the motherhood spectrum as exhibited by the moms I encountered, once Sugar Bean started school. You see, I was taught to obey when my mama or daddy said “No”. Not to ask why, and then be given an explanation, followed by a ‘choice’. If I didn’t behave as I was told, I faced consequences, sometimes involving wooden spoons, belts or switches I had to fetch from the yard myself. There was no talking back, or ‘using my words’, no timeouts and certainly no dedicated ‘cool down corner’, complete with burning candles and calming music, for me to go and chill out in, if I disobeyed. I can just imagine the place my Daddy would have put me in had I ‘used my words’…lol. Nonetheless, I did my best to conform, only reverting to REDNECK MAMA every now and then when I just didn’t have another feasible choice. At the end of the day, I’ve done what works for our family, and used a combination of methods that appear to be most effective. Punishment fits the crime so to speak, and it’s different for each Bean. I guess that’s all we can do, right? Sure, my way is different from the vast majority of moms in my circle, but nobody judges. Anymore…lol. But I have tried REALLY REALLY hard to make The Beans say ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am/yes sir, no sir’, in an effort to hold on to some shard of dignity when we visit the South. Not only is it ingrained in my personality, it’s just plain respectful. I’m 41, and I still say it when responding to those older than I by a span of years. It’s about 50-50 at this point with The Beans, and it does set them apart from the pack when they utter those words in mixed company. Also, I must give them props for their table manners and social graces, and for remembering never to call their friends’ parents by their first names. Not even when THEY give permission. Simply unacceptable.  Basically, I’m trying to raise open-minded, socially aware and tolerant, respectful, independent, strong women who have impeccable manners and behave like Southern Belles. Oh, and to know when to utter ”Well, Bless your heart”  as opposed to “WELL. BLESS YOUR HEART!” :-)

Right about now, you may be wondering how on Earth this is all going to come together at the end of the post, and why I chose to write about it today. It’s because Sugar Bean is 13 now. THIRTEEN. She thinks I’m over-protective, and admittedly, I am. All of her friends have a Facebook page and I am making her wait, under the ‘terms of service agreement’ that you must be at least 14. I flipped out when she signed up for Instragram, and gave this long spiel about NEVER posting pics of herself, or sisters, because I worry about cyber-geo-tagging of pictures. Again, I warned her of the threat of the people behind the profiles not being whom they say they are, and assured her it has nothing to do with my trust in her, but my distrust of others. So she made her account private, and posted pictures of her toenail polish, our dog, and our bearded dragons. That got old, so she deleted her account. All of her friends stay connected via some form of social media, and I am depriving her of that. I also feel like she doesn’t try and forge friendships as often because she is afraid of not being able to participate in activities that appear to be normal for the tween set. And I don’t want that.  Am I crazy for being so protective?  I mean, I did relax and relent on the issue of allowing her to walk down to a pick up spot with her friends after school each day. Of course, I’m there waiting when she arrives and there is no ‘hanging out’. Go ahead, call me a Helicopter Mom. No, wait…don’t. I’ve never been one to fight her battles, or forbid climbing on a jungle gym out of fear she might fall. So maybe I’m more of a Tent Mom. You know, attempting to shelter her from the possible storm that may be awaiting her in the world of social networking. Hmm.

I realize I am a big hypocrite, as I am baring my soul here, being public and posting pictures from time to time….of The Beans. And maybe I am being too paranoid. It’s been on my mind a lot lately, so I talked about it in a therapy session this morning. Turns out, my doc has a 13 year old daughter, and he talked me off the ledge. Reassuring me I am doing all the right things…staying involved, monitoring things, and explaining my concerns and hesitation due to my skepticism of others, not because I distrust her. Then he admitted his 13 year old daughter has a Facebook page. It’s the way EVERYONE connects, arranges outings, and communicates in general. He also said the chances of any of my valid, yet paranoid concerns, coming to light for Sugar Bean under my watchful eye, would be basically less than being struck by lightning. Twice.

So, after much deliberation, both through internal dialogue with myself, and discussion with The Man and The Doc…..Sugar Bean will be connecting to the social networking world this evening.

But she has no idea….yet :-) I imagine her reaction will be better than when she got her iPhone for Xmas.

Breathe in, breathe out….breathe in, breathe out…repeat.  Oh, screw it. Who am I kidding?

I’m gonna need a Xanax washed down with some Jack Daniels before sitting down to sign her up on Facebook.

The teenage years are going to put me in the dirt….eating mudpies.

 

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The dreams dashed. The dog died. The heart broke.

May 2, 2012 By 17 Comments
So tiny he almost got lost among the pillows!

So tiny he almost got lost among the pillows!

Monday was bad in epic proportion. The dashing of dreams, refers to that. But I will get to that later in a different post. Because, as bad as it was…it was a trip to Disneyland in comparison to yesterday. Today? Well…see for yourself.

The house is quiet, and I’m a mess. Still in my pajamas, even after taking The Girls to school. Sobbing. Probably only a matter of time before it turns into weeping, because I am exhausted, and will not have the energy left required to sob.

I miss Lester. A lot.

I got Lester in November 1998, when I traveled back home to attend my Granny’s funeral. He was the last of a litter of puppies my brother John’s dog, Aubie, had birthed. My brother had already named him Lester, after our Papa, and it really seemed to fit. The picture above was taken about a month after I got him. My reason for wanting him was simple: I had a tiny Miniature Dachshund named Edie who had been an only dog for a year, and she needed a friend. So I paid fifty bucks I didn’t have to put him on the plane with me. She was overjoyed to have a playmate and they have been buddies ever since. At one point, they tried to be more than friends, but we “nipped that in the bud”…literally. Lol. Shortly after Lester came to live with me and Edie, we all went to live with The Man at the beach. It was the beginning of our family. Two lovebirds and their K-9 babies :-)

Over the years, we added to our family. Three precious daughters and a revolving door of dogs, cats, guinea pigs, lizards, bunnies….you name it! We are animal lovers, what else can I say? Each time a new critter came to hang out at our house, Edie and Lester just shrugged it off. They reigned supreme, and they knew it. We had them first. The Girls have been raised to love living creatures, so it’s no surprise that I have a treasure trove of priceless memories involving them and our pets. If y’all have pets, I’m sure you understand. The obvious drawback, is they don’t live forever. A reality our little family is faced with yet  again, in less than a year.

Almost a year ago, and just 3 weeks after we lost Leroi, our King Charles Cavalier to diabetes, Lester had a seizure while hanging out on the front lawn. The Man immediately rushed him to the vet. The diagnosis we received sucked. He had a Stage 3 heart murmur and was in congestive heart failure. Due to his robust size…almost 14 pounds…his heart was working in over-drive to circulate his blood. As a result, fluid was collecting around his heart and in his belly, putting pressure on everything. What I thought was a seizure, what in actuality, a heart attack. Essentially, his heart was being squeezed and his breathing compromised. All because he liked to catch scraps more than he liked to exercise, bless his bones! The vet said he would be lucky to make it another year. Medication was prescribed, and he was sent home. We vowed to let him enjoy the time he had left. No holds barred :-)

All of us, but especially The Girls, took a renewed interest in him. Loved on him more, took him on extra walks, tried to no avail to teach him to play around, rather than just lay around. At first, his medication seemed to keep fluid retention and mini-heart attacks at bay, and put the spring back in his step. Of course all the attention certainly did! The Oldest even began having him sleep with her at night. Lester LOVED that, and sort of became her personal protector. He would seek her out at bedtime, and make her follow him to her room. HE was tired, and it didn’t matter if she was or not. LOL. But we all knew the inevitable was going to happen. We just didn’t know when. An agonizing purgatory to be caught in.

About 3 months ago, his ‘episodes’ increased. They became more frequent. Instead of having them once in a while, when he got excited, they often happened a couple of times a day, unprovoked, and he would lose control of his bladder/bowels.  Then he would stand back up, and appear normal. However, we noticed a change in his personality. The spark was fading from his eye, he no longer stood at our feet begging for food. You want to know the most notable change though?

He stopped his sympathetic crying. 

Throughout the course of The Girls lives, anytime Lester heard the sound of them crying, he howled like a banshee. Having 3 daughters in the house, you can imagine the amount of crying we witnessed…daily. Lester’s “sympathy” was a running joke among friends and family members. Inevitably, I would be on the phone talking to someone, a sibling rivalry would break out, causing an injury, and one or more of The Girls would cry. Lester would instantaneously begin making a sound that can only be described as shrill and eardrum splitting. “EYE, EYE, EYE, EYE..,” he would howl! In the midst of it all, the doorbell might ring, just because God thought it would add to the chaos and be damn funny. I swore I was going to get it all on video someday, but I couldn’t ever manage to diffuse all the problems and get everyone calmed down while handling a recording device. Go figure.

Anyway, about 2 weeks ago the CHF really started digging in and it was clear his time was approaching. His fluid medication was no longer controlling the retention very well. Despite continuing to eat, he was losing weight everywhere except his belly, and his mobility became compromised as a result. He didn’t want to walk anymore. Nothing to do but wait until he indicated he was ready to let go, or that he was in pain. So far, he hadn’t given us any indication of that.  Until Sunday morning, when he refused food for the first time in his life. Then Monday night, he started whining. I stayed up with him all night, cradling him in my arms and making him as comfortable as possible. When he lost control of his bladder, I bathed him in warm water, and gently dried him with the blow dryer. I hugged him as tight as I possibly could, without adding to his discomfort, while rocking and whispering to him how much we loved him and how we were going to miss him. I also told him about whom he could expect to see and play with in Heaven: Mama and Daddy; Leroi; Aubie (his mama); Hannah (my sister’s dog); Zoe & Ginger (my in-laws doggies); Mazzy & Keely (Vicky’s kitties); Sasha (Grace’s dog); Lucca (Shea’s dog) and Ben (our neighbor’s dog). I wanted to make sure he knew he would be in good company :-)

Yesterday morning, The Man said his farewell to Lester before leaving for work. The Girls gave their before heading out to school. They were very brave, and no tears were shed. After the trauma of our loss a year ago, they were, obviously more prepared than I for the void about to be created in our lives. Once everyone had been delivered to their obligatory places, it was up to me. So, with a heart as heavy as stone, yet as fragile as glass, I pulled up my bootstraps, gathered him in his favorite blanket, and drove the half mile to the vet, with him in my lap. For his last visit. It was time to say goodbye to our precious doggie after 13.5 years. He was suffering, and we all knew it. It was the right thing to do, because he needed to rest peacefully.

The weather was shitty. Cold, gray and rainy. It’s the same today. Having called ahead, they were expecting me, and the entire staff was very sad. They knew Lester. They loved him too. It was awful, but their compassion made it bearable. He slipped peacefully into eternal rest, with his human mama holding his paw and kissing his nose. Once it was over, I sat in the room with him, alone, for what seemed like an eternity, yet not nearly enough time….crying.

And I haven’t stopped since.

We sure are going to miss this guy.

We sure are going to miss this guy.

Filed Under: family, random thoughts, tributes Tagged With: , , , , ,

“You got 10 Minutes?”

April 20, 2012 By 17 Comments
There should be a picture of a MAN.

There should be a picture of a MAN.

Okay, I learned a valuable lesson yesterday:

Don’t read posts from other blogs to The Man, as he will inevitably ask a question related to the post, leading to a discussion I really don’t want to be a part of. How did I not anticipate that? Dammit.  

That being said, his question inspired this post, so I suppose I should mumble ‘thank you’ under my breath at some point later this evening. Of course, that will depend on how many views it gets…lol. Yeah, I’m a bitch like that :-)  

Anyway, after reading this to him, from Chopping Potatoes, The Man asked:

“Why do women always put the desire of sex on their mates, by saying ‘he might get lucky’? How come I’ve never heard a woman say, ‘It would make my day if I GET LUCKY later’? Do women view sex as an obligatory chore?” 

wow. Wow. WOW.

I sat speechless, which almost never happens. Searching for, not just words, but the right words. Blurting out what I was thinking was simply unacceptable, but I had to say something, right? So I stammered and managed to evade a direct answer by saying I needed to consult other women before opening Pandora‘s Box. He suggested I blog about it, and here I am. Something tells me after reading this, he will not make that mistake again :-)

My theory is that, sex drives and desires are unique to each individual woman. You’re probably thinking, “Damn. This woman is a genius!”  Yeah, right.  This being said, I believe once you become a mother, a completely different light is cast upon sex, and it occupies a less emergent spot on the “to do list”. When a woman is single and dating, or committed–yet not tethered to small humans demanding her undivided attention–sex is a little more, dare I say?…exciting. Something you WANT TO DO. It can be spontaneous, and happen almost anywhere, anytime. If the mood hits, BAM…you can be in the moment. However, when you are constantly aware of the bazillion things you must do to maintain order among your tribe, it somehow morphs into…well…a chore. One more thing you have to schedule into your already-bursting-at-the-seams calendar. Something reserved for date nights, the occasional kids are sleeping at a friends’ or  their grandparents’ house….OR the miraculous, by the grace of God, once every few years, “grown up weekend away together”. Oh what I would give for one of those! And even then, I suspect, I might just want to sleep. LOL.

There is another aspect to all of this though. Scientific evidence exists to support the fact that men think about sex more often than women, they seek it out more frequently, and are more straightforward in the approach and expectations. An excellent article highlighting these statements can be found here at WebMD.  Honestly, my own husband could be the poster child for the article. There is a running joke in our house associated with the normally benign statement “Hey, you got 10 minutes?” as it is code for “I want to bang you like a drum–right now“. The problem is,  The Man asks whenever I am busy with things like getting ready for a meeting, catching up on laundry, doing dishes, taking care of the family pets, paying bills, gathering internet research or performing just about any other responsibility that must be completed in the precious hours of the day when all three of  The Girls are at school, and before they need to be shuttled here and there for after school activities.

Oooohhhhh…..Did I forget to mention The Man has been on hiatus from his job, intermittently, for the better portion of the last 7 months? And he doesn’t have any hobbies. NONE. Are you understanding why this is a problem for me? Yes. I thought so.

On the flip side, I AM thankful that, after 13 years of marriage and 3 delightful children…he still honestly believes I am the hottest thing on two legs, and is genuinely attracted to me. How do I know this? Because he tells me. Every. Single. Day. So, it’s not just an attempt to satisfy his biological need to “release” in order to avoid the apparent pain of blue balls. My apologies for the ‘frat boy’ reference. I just couldn’t think of a better way to say it.

I do realize I suck for not “hoping to get lucky” more often and for never being vocal about it when I desire to. Dear Husband, I owe you an apology for that. From now on, I will be diligent in my effort to let you know how very much I want to screw your brains out love and desire you, and show you how blessed I feel that you are my smoking hot hubby. Oh, and I vow to ask “You got 10 minutes?” every single time I witness you doing dishes, vacuuming floors, making dinner, or watching a big game on ESPN.

Promise.

Actually, I think I got a fandamntastic start on this with the “Trophy Husband” tee-shirt I bought you today, huh?

Night, y’all :-)

N

Filed Under: blogger shout outs, just me, motherhood, random thoughts Tagged With: , , , ,

M. This one’s for you.

February 16, 2012 By 4 Comments
Pretty much sums up my personality.

Pretty much sums up my personality.

Seriously.

It’s also precisely why I try not to engage in conversations about religion, politics or parenting, with family, friends, friends of friends, potential friends….oh hell…even perfect strangers for that matter. It just doesn’t pay off. For me.

I will, however, argue over just about anything else. For example, this. For as long as it takes to win. Or beat my opponent down.

Or I turn blue in the face while correcting their grammar to save face.

Or both.

I realize this is not a redeeming quality, and often leads to the silent treatment for hours at a time from The Man, and The Oldest Girl. Who, btw, is just like me. A formidable opponent, if only she had the years of life experience I have up on her.  Wait, did I just put THAT out into the universe? Crap.

Anyway, this talk of arguing brings me to my second post about blessings. My first was about one of my besties, Grace. Who, btw, gave birth to a perfect baby boy named  Ayden, 19 days ago. Mama and baby are doing marvelously. I am thanking God for that, and for the fact that he is a HE, because do we ever need some blue up in here to balance out all this pink :-)

So.

This blessing post is dedicated to my sweet friend Marilynn. You can visit her blog here. She’s amazing. And just became even (to quote my Youngest Girl) “amazing-er”, recently. I’d tell you why, but it’s not my story to tell. So you’ll just need to follow her blog and see what happens, I guess. So there.

Right about now you are probably wondering how on earth I’m going to tie this into my love for arguing, aren’t you?  The thing is, I met Marilynn 5 years ago, via a cyber argument on a now defunct parenting site called CityMommy. Oh how I miss CM!  The topic? Spanking. The mother of all, “do not comment on” topics you might see on an open discussion forum on a parenting site. Yep. I swallowed the bait….hook, line and sinker. No. That’s wrong. I actually ate the pole, come to think of it.

Maybe even the boat, too.

Of course, this was before I decided never to engage in conversations about parenting. In fact, it was the very first time I ever had, on the first parenting site I had ever joined. Call it a rookie mistake. Yes, that’s it.  And, although I, metaphorically speaking, got my ass chewed out while doing so, I made quite a few friends in the process. Still have most of them to this day. Shocking isn’t it?  By now, you’ve figured out where I stood on the topic, haven’t you? I should add that being the opinionated Capricorn I am, I argue with organization, efficiency, and grace. Especially from behind a computer screen. No, I don’t hide behind it. What you read is what you get, and I have no problem saying it to your face. Period.

Anyway, the debate on CM lasted several days and resulted in me inviting a relative stranger to travel halfway around the world to stay with me and my family in our house, so I could gather up all the participating CM’s in Los Angeles and throw a party in her honor. My sister who lives in Alabama was also involved in this shindig, but that’s another blessing story altogether, and I have to work up to it. Might be a novel all by itself.

So, now we are back to Marilynn, and why she is a blessing in my life.

Quite honestly, she is one of the reasons you are reading this blog at all. She’s a physically stunning, wise woman, phenomenal mother, gifted educator, published author and experienced mommy blogger. In other words, she wears many hats and knows the ropes. The ones I’m up against daily. Except for the whole physically stunning/published author part, because I look like a tiny, gray-rooted troll in worn out yoga pants on a good day. And the only thing I’ve published is this blog.

At any rate, I asked for her help, and she started spewing advice left and right. She explained why I didn’t have any followers, despite the fact that I started the blog over a year ago on a different site. “That’s more of a visual blog site. Not one for content heavy bloggers like us,” she said, matter of factly.  Then, she sent me a link on how to move the blog to WordPress. And here I am. Honestly, if word gets around, and I become known in the blogging world as a force to be reckoned with….WordPress owes her, big time. What I will owe her, goes without saying, of course.

Marilynn and I are two women from completely opposite sides of the world, with radically different ideas about parenting and motherhood, who bonded over the common ground of an argument and developed a glorious friendship in the years following. How about that? She even taught me how to Skype! Once that got going, we chatted at least once a week for very long periods of time. That is how we truly became friends, and discovered we had quite a bit in common, despite our divides. Obviously what everyone says is true. The more you talk to someone, the better you know them. Lines of communication really are essential. Keep them open, even if they are lines of disagreement.

And if you lose the connection? Call back. It’s usually worth the time.

Over the past year or so, Marilynn and I stopped making time to chat. Or maybe just I did. My life got really mucky and all up in the way, and I decided to hide. Recently, I’ve come out of hiding and she was right there, waiting on me, and our conversation picked up just where it left off. Easy and comfortable, between two old friends.  Want to know the best part? She’s really attentive, and listens when she knows I need her to, and then says all the right things after I’m done rambling.

That’s the real blessing.

And M….You just have no idea the can of worms you have opened.  Thanks for that :-)

xo,

N

Filed Under: blogger shout outs, random thoughts, tributes Tagged With:

Grace

January 13, 2012 By Leave a Comment
"let us eat cake...affectionately."

“let us eat cake…affectionately.”

Alright.

I have been thinking a lot the last few days about blessings in my life. I’m guessing it’s because of all the reading I have been doing on this blog. Or maybe it’s due to the fact that I started 2012, sobbing, literally with my head in my hands since I hit a wall and felt like all the glue holding my life together had suddenly dissolved. Somehow, I managed to pull myself together, and do something that has never come easy for me: I asked for help. And it was given. Done. A story for another day.

Anyway, this post is the first in a series where I will talk about my blessings. The things I treasure about my life. People, places, things, thoughts, etc…….in no particular order. All of them are important, but my crazy, scattered, mommy brain can only organize the thoughts on each blessing when they naturally take over my mind. So bear with me.

Recently, my brain has been consumed with Grace. My beautiful friend of 12+ years, and namesake for my middle daughter. She is the epitome of the actual word, grace. The definition can be found here. If you also happen to be blessed with knowing her personally, then you get it. If not, I’m truly sorry. Everyone should know Grace, both literally and figuratively.  

My introduction to this wonderful soul came through another treasured friend, Charlene, whom I met a year after my move to Los Angeles, at a dinner party thrown by this guy. Right now, I want to say thanks to Char for the introduction, and leave it at that. There will be a post about her too, but later.

Back to Grace.

It’s hard to think you can feel as close to a girlfriend as you do one of your siblings. But I do. All of my bio-sisters live far away (in Alabama), so I don’t get to see them whenever I want. In my eyes and my heart, Grace is “my sister from another mister.” Over the years, she has listened to me laugh, cry, rant and rave. She has talked me off ledges, and kicked my ass (metaphorically speaking, that is) when I needed it most. Thinking about it….being friends with me must be exhausting. But she keeps showing up. Amazing….no, shocking…really. I also know that I am not special. She is that way to ALL of her friends: nuturing, loving, thoughtful and available. Always. When I call, she answers. A lot of people don’t. I’m even guilty of not answering all the time when my friends call. But it’s usually because I’m feeling funky, and have decided to hide from the world. It’s nothing personal. When I’m melting down, I don’t discriminate. Everyone gets shut out. Sorry folks.

One of the many reasons Grace is on my mind lately, is because she is about to be a mommy for the first time. She and her soulmate, John (who also happens to be pretty great), are expecting a teeny one very soon. The pregnancy has been anything but easy for her, yet, she has continued to show up for me over and over the past few months, as I’ve experienced…let’s just say…mind-numbing chaos. So I want to publicly say thank you, Grace.

Another reason she is on my mind, is because tomorrow is her baby shower. It’s been planned for months, and I have been looking soooooo forward to it. Not only because seeing her and John makes me happy, but because we share lots of common friends whom I haven’t seen in awhile because of my…um…hiding. However, while I was making grand plans to attend the shower, God was laughing. He decided it would be much more fun to watch me cough, sneeze, moan and groan with THE FLU. To make it even more enjoyable to witness, he decided to deliver it through my husband, who also has it, and believes he is dying at this very moment, while simultaneously resting on the couch at home. I, of course, am at the gym with the daughters. Thanks for the “gift”, God. No, really. I mean it.

So I can’t go, and that makes me super sad. And I really want to apologize for not being able to show up for her on such an important occasion. Of course, she understands, because she is GRACE. Doesn’t make me feel any less crappy though :-(

Fortunately, I’m told this crud only lingers for a week or so, which means I will recover, and get to enjoy watching her be the most amazing mother I can ever imagine anyone being. How lucky this baby is gonna be to have Grace as a mama. All in all, life is good. Blessings are beautiful things.

I love you Grace. Have a glorious time tomorrow. Breathe it all in and allow eveyone to bask in the glow you have always had, knowing it will soon be so bright we’ll all need to squint when gazing upon you and your little one. Oh, and take lots of pictures!!!!

Grace and me. In that order.

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