The Least Funny Blog Post I Will Ever Write...

I have been debating about whether to write about this. I have such wonderful support from so many people...people I didn't even know followed me. And so many women have written me, thanking me for my honesty when it came to issues dealing with divorce and raising children as a single parent, with some even calling me inspiring. But there is nothing inspiring about what I have to say today...

Last September, I was swept off my feet by an incredibly charming man. A man who showered me with attention and gifts. A man who was intelligent and witty. A man I could talk to all night, who listened with interest to what I had to say. A man who was kind to me, and treated me like I hung the moon. He brought me flowers, just because. He left cards and notes on my windshield for me to find in the morning, just so I would know he was thinking of me. He seemed genuine and honest, and willing to be up front about his flaws...or so it seemed. A man who gave me more positive attention in the first three months than I had ever received in my entire life. He called me his soulmate. After everything I'd been through, I thought my prayers had been answered.

I was wrong.

So, so wrong...

After a few months, the cracks in his foundation began to show. There was a mountain of debt I had no idea he had...and we're not talking a little. We're talking nothing he'll ever pay off in his lifetime. He had depleted his savings and retirement accounts. His truck was repossessed. He had to constantly borrow money to pay bills or get the water or electricity back turned back on, even as he went out every night and dressed in expensive clothes. And then there was how little he saw of his children...as of this time, it's been four months since he laid eyes on ANY of his four kids...the youngest has seen him three times in the past 9 months, once only for an hour. He is tens of thousands in arrears on his child support. I began to realize things weren't as they seemed. Then there was the jealousy...he had mostly female friends, but I wasn't allowed to stay in contact with my guy friends. "Because I know not to trust guys. They all want to have sex with you," he said. Any argument I made was wholly unreasonable--a betrayal of him, even. Guess what, ladies and gentlemen? I had the original con artist. Me...a fairly intelligent girl who makes a decent living and has her life more or less together. A Nice Girl at heart--far from perfect, but generally kind and reasonably responsible. And I missed it...and I put myself and my kids in grave danger because I wasn't bright enough to see it in time.

The controlling behavior slowly escalated. In the final month, if I was upset or bothered by something, it didn't matter how calmly or rationally I brought it up. He turned it into a shouting match almost immediately. The fights were horrific, and always 100% MY FAULT. If only I did this...if only I was more respectful...he would tell our friends I was unstable, when he was the one who threw his phone so hard, he left a hole in my wall. Once, near the end, he screamed in my face, calling me a fucking cunt. When I started to cry, he looked at me with disgust. "There you go again, playing the fucking victim. You're pathetic," he spat.

Never in my life have I been called the names he called me. Cunt. Slut. Bitch. Pathetic. Loser. Liar. I have never experienced so much hatred and vitriol...all from the person who claimed I was "the love of his life" and talked often of marrying me. I have never been so torn down and humiliated, nor treated with so much disdain in my life. It went from being the most loving, affectionate relationship I've ever experienced to exactly the opposite. That isn't to say I did nothing wrong in the relationship...I am human, and I made mistakes, too. But I was honest and loyal throughout. For him, it turned into a game, where he liked to point out my every flaw. He seemed to get joy out of being critical of my appearance and mannerisms. My nose was too big. My singing was abysmal. My laugh was annoying. I needed to do some squats. My hands and feet were ugly. My jaw and lips were all wrong. I really wasn't all that pretty...and I was supposedly the girl of his dreams? And still, I didn't leave.

By then, I loved him...not who he was, but the version he had presented in the beginning...and I thought, maybe if I give it time and walk the line, that guy will come back. What I didn't realize is, that guy never really existed. This one did. This was who he is. The one who had built our relationship on a house of cards...some half-truths, some out-and-out lies. The things I have learned about him since the breakup are simply mind-blowing. Even that term is a grave understatement. Humiliating. Embarrassing. Disgusting. None of that even touches it. This was a man (and I use that term loosely, because he is really not a man at all), quite simply, with NO moral compass or sense of decency, honor, or responsibility to anyone. This was a "man" who feels he is above everyone...above the law...that there are no rules that apply to him. And that is what makes him so terrifying.

As for the breakup itself...I was badly beaten. Not with his fists...just with his ability to throw me around like a rag doll, on account of the 100 pounds he had on me. I sustained a concussion, over 30 bruises, and urinated blood for days. My back was black and blue. I stayed with my parents. My mother cried every time she looked at me. And still I cried and refused to give the name of the attacker to the police...even as the officer told me the level of injuries I sustained warranted a felony assault investigation. I was wrong not to. I know that now. If nothing else, I should've done it to protect his current girlfriend....and all of his future ones. They will end up just like me, just as I'm pretty sure now that I ended up like the last one...it hasn't been hard to fill in the blanks that he left unsaid about his last relationship, the one which he claimed he had been  so honest and up-front about. I'm sure he's saying the same things about me now, as he pulls the wool over this victim's eyes. Because she is a victim, too, every bit as much as I am. She will be abused, whether it's physically, verbally, emotionally, or all of the above. It may take a little time, but it will absolutely happen. She will be hurt by him, and I can't help her. I don't want to feel guilty about that, but I do. I regret that. I wish I could warn every woman in the metropolitan area.

I can't do that. All I can do is tell my story, and hope people read it. All I can do is make people understand that no one is immune to abuse. My YWCA counselor likened his actions to emotional terrorism. It can happen to anyone. Even smart, pretty, together girls...who may be in a slightly vulnerable place. It's the vulnerability he feeds upon. I have lost friends. I have been judged harshly. I have hurt those that I loved. I have lived in fear every day. I have had my life threatened. I have made mistakes. And I have survived. One day, maybe I'll even be okay. One day, maybe I'll trust someone again. I don't know. But it isn't today....

Head Over Heels

I am not, nor have I ever been, what anyone would describe as a Dog Person. I liked some dogs, but always in an I-just-wanna-visit-and-not-live-with-you capacity. To be honest, however, I have long been semi-indifferent to most dogs. I even tend to actively dislike some of the ankle-biter breeds. When I got divorced, I happily settled into a neat, pretty, comfortable-but-small 3-bedroom house with the girls, which I take a great deal of pride in owning. It is by no means fancy, but I maintain it reasonably well and I love that it is MINE. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would share it with anyone but the girls and our two cats, one of whom I have had roughly since the Dawn of Creation.

Then last year, I met a guy. And the guy had a dog. But it wasn't just ANY dog. It was a 160-pound Great Dane, and one of the coolest, most intelligent dog-ponies I have ever encountered. He would bring him to my house when he visited, and we would keep him when he left town. After not quite 6 months, the guy and I were done--a sad end, and a story for another day, because I'm not ready to tell it. But after a couple of months on my own, I realized I missed the dog. I missed having him around, because he is an awesome companion, especially when the girls weren't home. I missed seeing the girls with him, and the joy they took in having a dog in the house.

Soon, I found myself browsing rescue dogs on petfinder...casually, at first. The idea was incredibly abstract. Then, I saw him. And I was smitten.

I found out he was being fostered, and I followed his progress for a week or so before I called and made arrangements to meet him. I didn't tell anyone, because if it didn't work out, I didn't want to disappoint the girls...and besides, who would believe it? Me and a DOG? Me, training a PUPPY? And not just any puppy...over 40 pounds of mystery Dane/Lab/Hound mix. The destructive potential this 3-month-old ball of energy could have on my serene little house was mind-boggling. In spite of all of that, I HAD to meet him.

So I did...and I brought him home with me. And it didn't take long. I was a goner...I was crazy, over-the-moon in love with Roger, the Pony Puppy. Me, the confirmed non-dog person...who managed to housebreak a puppy in a week, and taught him "sit," "stay," and "lie down" within 10 days. (Clearly, he's brilliant. Or I am...but I think it's him. Or the bacon.)

I'm still not sure I'm really a dog person, generally speaking. But I like MY dog an awful lot...it doesn't mean I go up to stranger dogs in the park. (This is kind of how I feel about children, too...love mine. Love the minions of those that I love...but strangers' children I am happy to admire from a distance.) I'm pretty sure this dog was mine from the start. He was sent to me, for us to rescue each other. I think we're both doing a damn good job.

Rescue Dog

Tomorrow--correction--later TODAY, I am rescuing a shelter dog and bringing him home with me. Well, sort of. I'm just bringing him home. As I see it, the animal sanctuary already did the rescuing...not that adopting a new family member isn't cool as hell. I'm excited! This may turn out to be the best relationship I've ever had! But what's funny is he doesn't even know I'm coming. I wasn't sure why I've felt so compelled to do this in recent weeks. I've been following his progress with his foster family for a couple of weeks...today, I understand why. In some ways, I am not unlike a shelter dog. While I know--intellectually speaking--that I am loved, I'm not always wanted. That point was driven home to me in the past 24 hours, more than once. It's the same point that has been driven home repeatedly over the past few years by various people.

I've had sort of a shitty time of things. And no one else has been through it but me. Being flung from a marriage and the family and home I had known for all of my adult life into an unknown situation with only a truncated version of my family still intact is awful. Only a couple of my friends have been through something similar. The rest simply don't understand. They couldn't. While I realize that the relationships I've had were ultimately mistakes, they were mine to make and learn from, just like all romantic relationships...one hopes with their closest friends standing behind you, because it's hard. I mean, only one of those relationships lasts, right? There's a lot of trial and error involved. But that isn't always the case. Sometimes you turn around, like a shelter dog, and discover several of your people aren't there. Sometimes that isn't intentional. Sometimes it is. But either way, it's hard...hard to be The Girl that No Longer Belongs when all of your friends are married...it's hard to be the one that everyone is watching when a relationship ends in the worst possible way, when it was the last thing you expected. (It's actually a hundred times harder to be hurt in such an awful way by the person who claims to love you more than anything, who you thought you would spend your life with...just in case anyone was wondering.) It's hard to be told "I Told You So" by the very few that did suspect something was amiss. It's hard to be told how much stress you've caused everyone, when their stress was only a drop in the bucket compared to yours. It's hard to get conflicting advice from every different direction, and know you hurt or pissed off someone by making a different decision. It's hard to be told your decisions are being judged and your friendship is on the line...especially when it's clearly already been cut off, and you find yourself downgraded to acquaintance by someone who used to have your back. It's hard to have people not reach out to you and not respond to you, whether it's because they're angry or they don't know what to say...or maybe they want to punish you, or maybe they've simply stopped caring...some things I'll never know, and some things I don't want to know. It's hard to be written off. Conditional love and friendship is something I hope I NEVER understand, no matter how many times I experience it from those I love unconditionally. Shelter dogs have only known conditional love...or maybe they're loved, but thrown back anyway, because they behaved in a way that their Person didn't like and it threatened their happiness...their comfort zone...their world. It caused them stress, even though the dog probably hasn't known comfort or happiness or stability in years.

I am blessed to have some stability in my life...but I have a lot less than I used to. And just like I gave everybody warm fuzzy props a week ago, let me now say--to everyone--I am sorry for the stress or disappointment I've caused. It was not intentional. It's the last thing I wanted. And this most recent installment, I certainly didn't ask for. It was NOT my fault, or so the counselor keeps saying. I'm sorry if you see me as a screw-up. I'm really not. This is really f*cking hard, and you've never had to try to do anything like it. I take good care of my girls. I get the privilege of putting them and their happiness first. And they're amazing! They make every day brighter. I am proud of myself for getting through it, even if you're not. I am proud of those battle scars and those lessons learned, because they're harder than what most people have to learn. While everyone else talks about how blessed they are to be living the dream...I feel blessed to have been tested and still be living my own version, even if it doesn't look like everyone else's...even if I don't belong to the club anymore, even if I am persona non grata. I am SO proud of my truncated, patchwork family, but it did seem as though there was someone missing...

With God's Grace, that someone is coming home tomorrow, and he will be my everyday inspiration. Because as hard as my recent existence might have been, you know what? His has been harder. He was abandoned shortly after his birth and didn't even get to know the love of his mother for very long. (I mean, hell, he doesn't even know who his father IS!) He probably hasn't known unconditional love at all, and I am determined to show it to him, no matter how ridiculous his behavior may be at times. I have been blessed to have that in some places in my life. There are a few people that will always hold me up. One of them gets the privilege of taking me to adopt my rescue dog tomorrow...I think I'm sort of her rescue dog sometimes, but it's okay. She lets me call the shots while I figure things out for myself...I won't do that with mine, but he is an actual canine. Isn't everyone a rescue dog at some point? If you haven't had your turn yet, I am so thankful for you...but I promise, I will do whatever it takes to show you love when your time comes. I won't let you feel excluded or left behind or forgotten or judged. Until then, I will keep you close to my heart.

You Never Know...

Sometimes, when you least expect it, she comes back better, stronger, and happier than she was before. Alone and happy might just be the brightest spot in the universe...and it might be the hardest place to reach.

My Cup Runneth Over...

No, I'm not talking about my bra, although let's face it; sometimes that's a problem. I'm talking about my friends. With Easter on the horizon, I've been thinking about how so many incredible people have had an impact on my life...whether it's someone I talk to every day, or someone far away who is a source of unwavering support, or simply someone who continually inspires me. This much I know: I wouldn't have gotten through the past couple of years without you guys. Here is my ode to everyone:

Sword-Buster: You have seen me at my best and my worst over the past several years, and on oh-so-many occasions, you have been a rock. You have my back, no questions asked, no bullshit, no judgment ever, all the time. Not only that, but you will personally hunt down and kick the shit out of anyone who hurts me. I didn't want you to think any of it had gone unnoticed...and I will always return the favor--at least, the being there and the listening and the non-judgey parts. Not the ass-kicking. I'll leave that to you...

E: You've been a part of my life for so long, I don't remember what it is NOT to have you in it.  Thanks for serving as my punching bag from time to time, for putting up with all of my crap, for shaking your head and laughing it off at the end of the day--because, well, that's what we do. Thank you for noticing the shy, awkward tall girl with the huge rack and the bad hair all those years ago, because she never would have had the courage to talk to you herself.

Kiki: My life would in no way be complete without your opinions and sarcasm and (occasional) disapproval, all of which are doled out--somehow--with love. I don't know where I'd be without your unconditional support and friendship...and with you, I have also been blessed with the extension of your own family, whom I love dearly. (Angel and John, that's you, too!) I am SO grateful for all those damn Girl Scout lock-ins we had to chaperone together...and how it never failed that we were still up and giggling long after all of the girls had drifted off. Love you!

Lisa: No matter where I am in the book, you're pretty much always on the same page. It has occurred to me that in four years of working together, we've never ONCE argued...I'm not even sure we've disagreed on anything of note. You always have good ideas, you make me laugh, and you can talk me down from the ledge when necessary. And while we make it all seem like it's no big deal...it is. :)

D: Let's face it, you're the one who makes me beautiful...you obviously get a spot on this list. ;) I'm kidding, of course, although your dedication to my wild locks is certainly admirable in and of itself. Not only are you totally supportive of everything I do, but watching you come into your own in the past few years has been truly inspirational. I have learned so much from you...I am in awe. <3<3

Nan: You're the Mother Hen, who keeps all the chicks in line, but loves them even though they misbehave sometimes. No one--and I mean NO ONE--works harder than you, and you deserve all you have to show for it. (But seriously...take a nap.) Thanks for checking up on me even when I fall off the radar, and for believing in me when I give you no reason to.

Krystal: I'm pretty sure you're the single funniest person I know...and that's high praise, because I know a lot of crazy smart, funny people. (See above and below.) It doesn't matter whether we're making fun of our own ridiculous lives or those of strangers, every obscure reference and deadpan remark hits home, and occasionally even makes me spew tea from my nose. You're like my Obi-Wan.

Sarah: You, too, need to take a nap...but then again, you've always worked too hard. I miss seeing you all the time like we did before I moved to the 'hood. You are one of the coolest, funniest chicks I know, and you always have a smile on your face! Your constant state of positivity is a joy and an inspiration!

Adrienne: At various points, we've worked together, played together, and even (briefly) lived together. You have more good stories about me than anyone, and when we get together, it's like we haven't missed a beat. Thanks for always being there. We'll write that book yet...

Beth: Duh...you're my sister. Absentee sister right now, but I'll take it. I'm so proud of you! I miss you...but am proud nonetheless.

Shananay, Beckie and Cari Jo: Damn, I miss you guys. Like, every day. Talking to you always just makes me feel better about my world. I hate that I don't get to see you and your families as much as I do the others, but rest assured in the knowledge that the door is always wide open, and we pick up easily where we left off. Although you're very different from each other, you've each brought something unique and wonderful to my life.

The Newbies: Yeah, I'm talking to you...April, Derek, Amanda, Nikki, Katie...all of you guys! Although I haven't known you that long, and some of you I met under strange circumstances, you bring a smile to my face, a laugh to my belly, and are always looking out for me and I am grateful. You guys are a blast!

The Rest: There are some of you I seldom see, who have still had a strong influence on my life. Like Mari, who helps keep my writer's block at bay, and is a witty, clever girl...and Kelly, who's in Alaska now, but is still as sweet as she can be...or my other Kelly in PA, a seriously funny girl who follows my writing and always has something positive to say. Like Linz, who is always good for a laugh, two decades after bonding over Strange Brew. To everyone who has taken the time to email me and tell me that something I've written has resonated with them...all of you have helped keep me going at times. I am thankful for each of you. No one in the world could ask for a better support system. Thank you all!!!

WANTED:

One man, aged 30-45 years, preferably above 5'10 in height. Must be gainfully employed--with a regular paycheck--and able to string together an intelligent sentence and hold up roughly one-half of a conversation. Should own a car, have a wicked sense of humor, and be in decent shape. (A six-pack isn't necessary, but you should make some effort, for God's sake. I do.) Must occasionally pick up a book and watch/read the news. Must like children, or at least understand that children exist in actual physical form, and are living, breathing small humans with feelings and ideas. Must be open-minded, honest, and NICE. Nice is imperative. Educated is a plus, but some people are intelligent enough to glean sufficient knowledge from The School of Life. (See gainfully employed, above, for details.) Must be willing to listen when I talk and be able to make a decision. Must have decent manners and tip a minimum of 20%.

Must NOT live with a parent, be chronically underemployed, or think Jackass or Wipeout is quality TV. Must not own an Affliction shirt. Must not constantly quote Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler, or Jim Carrey movies. Must not be so desperate for a relationship that you ask me to stay over and go to church with you the day after meeting me, when you haven't even made it to second base yet. (Because that's pathetic. Really.) Likewise, must not be riddled with committment issues or bitter toward women or relationships. (Just show up. Talk. Have fun. See what happens. We can figure out the details a little later. Is that really so hard?) MUST NOT EVER, under any circumstances, have hit, kicked, or shoved a woman (unless a fast-moving vehicle was bearing down on her), nor screamed obscenities in her face, for I'm not Rihanna and I will not put up with that bullshit. Must not have control issues, because we all know that just boils down to insecurity and poor self esteem and you need to grow up and grow a pair, not find a girlfriend to push around. Must be respectful to your parents, but NOT overly attached to your mother. (You'd better be doing your own cleaning and laundry by this age, unless you're paying someone to do it for you.) Must not lie. (See honesty, above.) Must not think country is the only musical genre. Must not have a Confederate flag depicted in any form anywhere on your vehicle or in your home. Must not live like a f***ing pig. (I don't need to be able to perform brain surgery on your floors, but I should be able to see them.) Must not be intimidated by a smart girl who speaks her mind and is somewhat fond of her independence. (Meaning I have no interest in sharing my bathroom with someone anytime soon. I want that second sink to STAY spotless for awhile.) Must not pout. Ever. Because you just look ridiculous.

In return, you get a sweet, cute thirtysomething girl with dark hair and blue eyes and (obviously) a wicked sense of humor, in reasonably good shape (see above), complete with all original parts. (Wait. I guess that's not entirely true...but I'll explain later.) I'm an excellent mother--okay, I'm a pretty good mother who loves her kids--and I love to cook, even though occasionally my experiments are a disaster. I like loud indie rock bands, books, wine, college football, NBA, and good movies. I like to be treated like a lady, not a possession. I don't care if you want to go hang out with the guys, as long as you let me know what's up. I have a few other skills, but not many people know about them, and you have to be willing to take some time to get to know me--really well--if you ever want to find out what they are. I'll dress up when you take me out, but I'm just as happy hanging out on the couch and watching a movie. I'm far from perfect--I probably swear a little too often, I have a few trust issues, and I get pissy sometimes, but I'm loyal and I have a good heart. Oh, and I'm way too tall and awkward to dance, unless it's a slow song. So if you're looking to spend every other weekend at some club in Bricktown, you'd best just move along. You can find me at a dive bar with good live music.

Interested parties meeting the aforementioned criteria (and Nick Collison) may inquire within. Please note a probationary period will be required for all serious applicants. (Except for Nick Collison.)

She's Not Here.

You're looking for the girl who writes this blog? The funny brunette, right? The sarcastic girl with all the opinions?

She's not here.

I don't know when she'll be back. I don't know when she'll be funny again. I don't know when--or how--she'll pick herself up this time. I don't know how many times one person can be broken and still manage to put herself back together. Maybe she can do it again. Maybe she can't. Maybe she's busy watching an entire television series on netflix in between crying jags. Or maybe she'll become agoraphobic and start collecting cats. Maybe she'll take up knitting and crossword puzzles or start collecting tiny figurines. Maybe she'll disappear into a bottle of wine. Maybe she'll eat her way back, and eventually require a mobility scooter just to get around the grocery store, because her stomach hangs down to her knees.

I know you have faith in her...after all, she's the resourceful type. But this time, she's as broken as she's ever been...her heart, her spirit, and her trust all shattered in one fell swoop. There is no cure for having virtually everything taken, including your pride...

Each time she puts herself back together, she's a little different. The pieces don't quite fit the same way. Maybe you'll recognize her. Maybe you won't.

All I know is, she's not here.

The Luckiest....

I am, you know...I may be the luckiest person who ever lived. Today, I woke up with a fever and a sore throat, and I couldn't be happier about it. After reading 101.2 on the thermometer this morning, I informed Emily that she would need to get her sister up and help her get ready. Em did all of this, without a hint of complaint, before she left for her own bus. Sara told me good morning, and stayed quiet, I presumed reading Little House on the Prairie. Just before she left to walk to the bus stop with our next-door neighbor, she came and gave me a hug and told me to feel better. I promptly fell asleep for another 2 hours. When I got up to get a drink of water, I found this note in a wonderfully familiar third grade scrawl:

Dear Mom:

If your reading this I'm definetly already gone. You know how I like it when you write notes on my napkin and put them in my lunch? Well I didn't get a napkin note today so I thought I'd write to YOU insted.

I hope you have a great day. I hope you feel better soon because I don't want you to be sick on Valentine's Day. I missed you SO much over the weekend while I was at Dad's. I would love to hear what you did over the weekend while I was gone. I got to go out to eat at a restaurant called Sumo on Friday, and I had never been there before. I got this soup called seafood soup and it had everything I love when it comes to seafood. On Saturday we didn't do much. Emily went to the party and we went for fried chicken but that's it. On Sunday we had to go to Dad's work for a few hours and didn't get to do anything else.

Please write back because I would love to hear about your weekend, too. I just love to hear from you.

Love,
Super Chicken

P.S. I love you more than anything.
P.P.S. The cookies you made are very yummy!


Who cares if I'm sick, right? THIS, my friends, is what life is all about...it means I am doing well at my number one job. :)

An Open Letter to Thirteen-Year-Old Girls Around the World

On behalf of Disgruntled Mothers everywhere...

Look, we know things in your world are a little weird right now. We know that you are dealing with some issues you've never had. We know that you're hormonal, and that you're bitchy, and your body is changing every day. We know that you are going to test boundaries no matter what we do. We know that in your mind, the universe revolves around you and you alone. We know that while you're spending hours locked away in your room, you're living out a whole different existence that may well include boys, bad language, stupid decisions, and slamming the very people who raised you and continue to love you and put up with your crap day after day in hopes that one day, they get through, and you figure out that it's not all a big conspiracy against you. We know you can justify anything to yourself, and we know that most of the time, you think we are a ridiculous waste of space, and that we don't have a clue.

WE KNOW.

Here is what else we want you to know...YOU REALLY SHOULDN'T UNDERESTIMATE US.

If you go missing in action for an hour after school, at least do us the courtesy of having something better to offer than "I needed fresh air, so I went for a walk" when it's 34 degrees outside with a bitter wind. (Really?! That's insulting. We know you think no one in the world is smarter than you, but please don't forget who installed that hardware.)

In the event that you really DON'T have anything better to offer, do not even THINK about acting offended when we call you out on your ridiculous bullshit. We may not know where you were--YET--but we know when you're spoonfeeding us total crap, and you can rest assured that we will figure out the answer by virtually any means necessary.

If you bring home a report card with NINE homework zeroes and an 88 in Spanish, then proceed to roll your eyes and say, "no one else's parents get bent out of shape when they get a B on their report card," guess what? Your life--at least as you knew it, complete with sleepovers, Friday nights out with friends, and a cell phone, ipod, and tablet at your fingertips--is effectively over. Getting a B when you've actually worked for it is one thing. Getting a default B because you know you don't have to DO the work to ace the test is a whole different animal. (Guess how we know this?)

Guess how we know everything we know? Because we did it, or else we watched our friends do it and helped them cover their tracks. The world may look a little different in a lot of ways...you may be dealing with a few issues we never even dreamed of having, courtesy of a screwed-up society where Bat-Shit Crazy is the new Normal. Trust me, we're dealing with those same issues ourselves, on a different level. But when it comes to boys, lying, slacking off, and generally feeling superior to everyone around you, we've all been there, and we know your game. Give us a little credit, will you?

What we want you to realize is that the choice is really YOURS. We can be your greatest ally or your worst nightmare, but it's up to you to decide which way we're going to go. We have a job to do, and we're going to get it done, simple as that. You cannot deter us in our mission. Love us or hate us (and we would all prefer the former, but can handle the latter), we will do whatever it takes to turn you into a happy, productive, independent adult. We will do anything we can to help you live up to your potential.

WE WANT YOU TO BE BETTER THAN WE WERE.

That's because we love you more than anything...remember that the next time you've slammed your bedroom door in a fit of tears, because we took your phone away...remember that when you are standing in the hallway at school, telling your friends what a bitch your mom can be...remember that when you think you hate us. I can guarantee none of us knew exactly how hard this job would actually end up BEING...but we still wouldn't trade it--or you--for anything.

Lincoln, Les Mis, and Lisa

I am blessed with the privilege of hanging out with one of my best friends four days a week at the office. I met Lisa about five years ago, when she came through as a fourth-year pharmacy student on rotation, and she and I quickly realized we practically shared the same brain.

Our tastes in all things are so uncannily similar...food, music, books, movies, parenting styles, and politics...you name it...we probably agree on it. We are both bookworms and history nerds. We both have a dry, sarcastic sense of humor and a left-leaning take-everything-with-a-grain-of-salt outlook on the world. It goes without saying that I value her opinions, and vice versa.

Movies are no exception.

A few weeks ago, Michael and I went to see Lincoln. I have long been fascinated with Number 16, both for the tremendous role he played in our country's history as a leader, as well as for the behind-the-scenes stories of his life and his family. How inspiring to be able to overcome so much personal tragedy and see such misery and still have such a great impact on an entire nation...it takes me months to recover from a bad breakup, for God's sake...what the hell made THIS guy tick? I'm still not sure...but Daniel Day-Lewis clearly knows. I have seldom seen any actor so perfectly embody his character in a film the way he did. The performance was so good that I forgot--at times--that I was watching an actor's portrayal of a man who has been dead for nearly 150 years. Daniel Day-Lewis managed to resurrect him on the big screen.

As I left the theater, I sent Lisa a text. She saw the movie the following week and gave a nearly identical review.

The following week, she came in insisting that I proceed to the nearest theater to see Les Miserables...and although I'm usually not a HUGE fan of musicals in general, and Les Mis historically isn't one of my favorite shows, I went, mostly because she told me to.

Wow.

It's a good thing Daniel Day-Lewis and Anne Hathaway won't have to compete for the same award. I mean, seriously, who knew the girl had THAT in her? The movie is a great adaptation and is visually stunning, and Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean is impressive as all-get-out...but every other performance in that film--and most of them are strong performances--pales in comparison to hers. The desperation and misery of Fantine are felt in every word and every note she sings. I have little doubt this will be the role she is always remembered for best.

I think next up should be Silver Linings Playbook...we'll let you know what we think. :)

12.12.12

Thirteen years ago today, I woke up on a Saturday morning, feeling just a little off. Brian was still working at the jewelry store, and had opted not to wake me before he left for work early that morning, as he was deep in the throes of the Christmas rush that once consumed our lives from Black Friday to Christmas Eve. When I finally heaved my heavily pregnant and virtually unrecognizable form out of bed, I was already running behind...my dear friend Jamy was getting married in Okarche that afternoon, and I was excited for her. I shrugged off the strangeness that I couldn't quite place. After all, two weeks before your due date, everything is a little strange, right?

I lumbered into the shower of our one tiny bathroom, and opted to forgo shaving my legs to make up the lost time. My dress was a long blue column shape, so I instead touched up my ankles and calves and figured I would get to the rest later. I had bowed out of bridesmaid duty, though I had been honored to be asked...my due date was just a little too iffy, and I had been afraid of leaving Jamy in the lurch. I had promised to help with the reception and whatever else I was needed for the day of the big event.

Brian arrived home around noon, and stopped short."Honey, are you okay? You don't look quite right..." he tells me uncertainly. I shrugged off his concerns, told him I felt a little strange, but I was fine. I wasn't missing this wedding for anything! Just before we left, I got a somewhat unexpected call from my parents, who were still living in Iowa at the time. They were en route to Oklahoma, 3 days ahead of schedule. My father was clearly perplexed by this, but being early makes him tremendously happy, so he hadn't argued with my mother's fierce insistance.

"She will be born on the 12th," Mom told me matter-of-factly. I laughed and shook my head, dismissing the idea. I still had nearly two weeks to go, and first babies aren't early! Everyone knows that! So I told them to drive safely...they were planning to spend the night in Ponca City at my grandmother's house and would head to the city in the morning. With everything squared away, we set out for Okarche, a 45 minute drive consisting primarily of bumpy country roads.

We arrived shortly before the ceremony, and I went in to give the bride a hug, determined to hold the smile on my face in spite of not feeling well. Our good friend Becky was a bridesmaid, and threw her arms around me in greeting, but stepped back quickly, giving me an odd look. "You okay?" she asked. (Becky was a nurse in an obstetrician's office at the time.) "Fine!" I said, smiling. I filed into the church and took my seat with Brian.

Soon, the big show began, and I was caught up in the ceremony. I've always loved Catholic weddings, and today was no exception. With an Episcopal background, it was easy to follow along, and during the first prayer, I pulled out the kneeling bench beneath the pew. Brian looked at me in alarm as I lowered myself to pray. When it ended, I stood...and as I did, I felt something trickle down my leg.


Nooooooooooooooooo.....!


For the remainder of the ceremony, every time I raised myself from a kneeling position, it happened again. Finally, the priest joyfully intorduced Mr. and Mrs. John Purdue, and as the newlyweds walked out, I was hot on their heels, making my way to the bathroom. I stopped and grabbed Becky's hand, pulling her in with me. I made sure the door was closed securely behind us, and hissed, "I'm leaking something!"

Although I'm sure she was amused by my 23-year-old naivete, she patiently explained the possibilities to me. (i.e., either you're leaking amniotic fluid or peeing on yourself.) She felt my belly, and when it tightened slightly, she frowned. "You might want to go to the hospital...I think your water has probably broken." She explained that the baby's head was probably blocking the way, preventing a big rush of fluid.

I processed this information slowly, weighing my options. I was in no pain, and had promised Jamy I would help with her reception. Plus, there were so many people there we both knew, and the last thing I wanted to do was steal the thunder of this beautiful bride. Quickly, I decided. I was staying. "Don't say anything," I warned Becky, as we walked to the reception. "Even to Brian."

In the reception hall, I joined the table that seemed to be unofficially designated for Pharmacy Co-Workers of the Bride. We chatted for awhile, and at one point, my boss's wife, Kristin, asked me if I was feeling okay. "Fine!" I assured her. When it was time to cut the cake, I made my way to the cake table and was greeted by the caterer. "You're Shannon?" I nodded numbly, and accepted the knife and server she handed, and began slicing and handing out groom's cake as guests went through the line. I was starting to cramp a little, but was able to ignore it as I watched the bride and groom cutting up on the dance floor. Everyone was having a blast.

When the last of the guests had been served, Brian came up and took my hand for a slow song. I shuffled clumsily on the floor, unable to gain my bearings. I finally whispered that I thought I was in labor. For those who know him well, Brian isn't exactly one to have a big reaction...to anything. "Should we go?" he asked, barely raising an eyebrow.

It was announced that the bride and groom would be heading to the getaway car soon, so I agreed to duck out a few minutes early. I went and gave Jamy and John a hug and congratulated them, apologizing for leaving a few minutes early, and claiming total exhaustion. We made our way to the car. It had just gotten dark. "So, are we headed to Mercy?" Brian asked.

I looked at him incredulously. "No way! I'm going home to get my bag first...plus, I still have to shave my legs!" You know, of course, that's exactly what we did.

It was nearly 8 pm when we checked in to Mercy, where the nurses confirmed I was dilated, contracting, and that my water HAD, in fact, broken. Once I got settled in, I called my grandmother's house, and by now it was almost 9 pm. "So, it turns out I'm in labor," I told my mother.

"I KNEW IT!" she shouted triumphantly, while simultaneously telling my dad to put the suitcases back in the car, because they were driving to Oklahoma City. They made record time.

Emily Kathryn did NOT. She joined us at 8:18 Sunday morning, December 12. Just like Nana said. (I DID call Jamy that morning to congratulate her on a beautiful wedding and wish her well on her honeymoon. "Oh, and by the way, I had a baby.") I have never forgotten her anniversary.

That morning, I began the greatest adventure of my life...and now our little wild card is becoming a teenager on 12.12.12. Happy Birthday, Emily! You've come a long way, baby!

Sick Chicken

Sara has been at home sick for two days...actually, today marks her third day of captivity. No fever to speak of, but she has a wicked, wheezy cough, runny nose, and transient ear pain...which means that although she isn't functioning at 100% and nees her inhaler to get through a long sentence, she basically feels okay, and is simply bored and impatient with all of this rest. (However, there is a bright side for her: "Oh, well...if I can't go to school, at least I don't have to wear pants!") It also means that I have been treated to a host of her wonderfully quirky musings and questions, and I have to say...damn, my kid is COOL. Obviously, I don't wish for her to be sick, but it seems as though while I have mandated rest for her little body, her imagination has been on a fabulous sort of overdrive.

First of all, I don't know that it's exactly healthy or normal to have an 8-year-old girl who is hooked on Hitchcock, but it certainly makes things interesting. She has been watching The Twilight Zone on netflix for the past few months, and has really been getting into it during her convalescence. Sara has always been the more wildly imaginative of my girls...I strongly suspect there is a writer or an actress trapped in there. Thankfully, she is also soft-hearted and thoughtful...like me, the thought of intentionally hurting someone is appalling to her, and it's equally hard to see anyone get hurt. (I just hope that she learns to be a little more selfish...maybe then she'll be better prepared when someone hurts HER than I ever was) But it has occurred to me that her flair for the dramatic and her keen, sincere interest in the people and events going on around her could be a dangerous combination without her kind spirit and generous heart.

Sara is a classically trained Little Sister. Emily is by far the most fascinating person in the world to her, and she goes to great lengths to--ahem--be well-informed of her sister's actions. Emily's first boyfriend is a source of profound curiosity. This morning, I was asking Em a few questions--for example, whether she and Fargo had any plans to try to get together in the coming weeks, and how often they talked. (Hey, Due Diligence is my JOB).

"Mostly we text, we don't talk on the phone much...but we text several times every day," she tells me...and they're going to try to meet up and do something next weekend. (Hmmmm...I have to say, in the first boyfriend department, having your daughter find one that does NOT go to her school and is unable to drive is kind of a parent's dream.) My inquiries led to the following exchange:

Sara: So, Mommy?
Me: Yes, honey?
S: Did your boyfriend go to your school when you were Emily's age?
Me: Actually, no...he didn't.
S: When did you see him?
Me: At Cotillion, and at the movies on weekends.
S: Did you text every day?
Me, chuckling: There wasn't any texting.
S, perplexed: Oh......so did you PictoChat on your DS?
Me, laughing: No, love. We didn't have that, either. He called me on the phone every day after school.
S: Your cell phone?
Me: No, my bedroom phone...I had my own number.
S: (Pauses) I don't even know what you're talking about.

A long conversation ensued about adolescent dating in "the old days," with landlines, handwritten notes, film cameras, and no facebook...she was clearly intrigued by this simpler time, and wanted to know more.

Sara is a little sponge, one who is both hilarious and wise beyond her years...last night, Michael and I took the girls out to look at Christmas lights after dinner, and as we drove through the Chesapeake "campus," Sara pipes up from her booster: "This is where we saw Santa!"

Indeed we had, two years earlier...we had been driving through looking at the beautifully decorated trees when we saw Santa Claus ride past us in a horse-drawn carriage. (Apparently, the City of Chesapeake offers all sorts of services...?) Sara promptly rolled down her window, shouting at the passing Kris Kringle, "Santa...it's me! I want a pony! 821 Richmond Road!"

The truth is, I have two bright, funny, sweet girls...and I am thankful for them every day. I'm also thankful that my life is at such a place where I can just sit back and enjoy them. Yes, I'm busy as ever, but I'm also happy and contented in a way I never have been. Everything this Christmas looks a little shinier, tastes a little sweeter, and sounds even more lyrical...even endless silly questions from a bored, sick little Chicken. I think maybe I just need to join her for a pajama day and throw all of my errands out the window. :)