"Mama, was Charlie a planned baby or a surprise baby?" Cosette asked between bites of Cheerios, one day this past week.
"Um, she is a bit of both," I answered honestly, "Daddy and I were surprised that we were having her,"
(WHY that came as a shock to Tom or me, while using the Natural Family Planning Method, and after sharing a bottle of wine on DAY 13 -the most fertile day for most women - in my cycle, is beyond any logical comprehension), "But God definitely had a plan for her to join our family," I finished up my explanation nice and neat, like.
One must be careful with the info that is given to the siblings... I'm already flashing forward to the near future, as Cosette is screaming at her baby sister for some sort of injustice that has taken place. Perhaps after Charlotte has ruined a Lego house, stolen a Barbie from her grips, or chucked a rock at her head for some unknown reason, with Cozy yelling frantically, "You weren't even PLANNED!!! You were just a SURPRISE."
This in turn, I'm convinced, will lead Charlotte to counseling in her early 20's.
As Abigail was holding Charlie on her lap, I just couldn't get over the resemblance between the two. Not that I even remember what the hell Abby looked like at that age. Shit, I don't remember much of the twins early existence. But there are some pictures floating around, that do indeed prove, they're mine. And yes, with this picture proof, Abby at six months old, looks a lot like Charlotte. It's like creepy, eerie, and strange just how much those two in particular, resemble each other.
After sharing this revelation with Abby, she said, "Well Mom, you know how Bella and I grew inside of you? This is how I think it goes...we left a little piece for the next baby. So Emma got it. And then Em left a little piece for Cosette. And well," she sighed, looking down empathetically at Charlotte, "Sorry Charlie, I don't think your little piece is gonna work out for another baby."
It was almost enough to make me want to bring life into the world once again. NOT.
What I've found is this: when the thought of having another child repulses you/scares the shit out of you, as a woman, you are officially done reproducing. And that, my fellow readers, is where I'm at. I can just hear you all applauding right now from the privacy of your own home computers. Yes, the game is over. The store is closed. Nicely put, our family is complete.
And that's a good thing, considering I almost killed Isabella on Monday. For the second time in the past 6 months, Bella left her glasses in a spot, where the spectacles were smashed into a tangled mess by another person's feet.
The first time, she got a time out, and a talken to. The second time, I SAW RED.
"Bella, you need to come up with PLAN of how you will take care of your GLASSES. And you are not to come out until dinner. I'm too angry to even discuss it with you rationally right now."
And I wasn't kidding. I find it somewhat comical though, when after hearing Mama's angry wrath, everyone else who IS NOT in trouble, makes sure to stay the hell out of my way.
Abby, Emma and Cosette played Calico Critters with each other in hushed whispers, like good girls who are scared of what their mom will do, if hypothetically speaking, they ask for a snack, or something of the sort. Their eyes, darting up every now and again, to make sure it was safe, for example, to use the bathroom.
After getting the other girls situated with dinner, I decided I was in my right mind to speak with Bella without completely losing it.
"Bella, do you know how much glasses cost? Do you know how hard Daddy works to pay for them so that you can do your best at school? What is your plan to take care of them?" I asked in a somewhat Zen tone.
"Well, I can put them into my case when I'm done wearing them," she answered.
"That's a FABULOUS idea. But this time, you are going to pay for the damage to the glasses. You will be responsible for it, because by the looks of them, I'm not sure if they are repairable," I was really trying to drive the point home.
Her lip started to quiver, eyes welling up with tears. "But HOW am I supposed to do that Mom? I'm just a KID! I don't have a JOB! I don't have that kind of money."
Oh please. She was actually trying the "I'm just a kid" line.
"Your job, Bella, is to be a good student, sister, and daughter, while being responsible for your things. You better get resourceful. Look in your piggy bank and figure it out."
By this time, she was bawling, not knowing how she would move forward with the severity of the spectacle situation.
"Come to the table when you've pulled yourself together. Dinner is ready," and with that, I made my exit out of her room, and onto the couch to nurse Charlie.
Shortly thereafter, Bella joined her sisters at the table, and explained, "Mom said I have to pay to have my glasses fixed," sniffly snot.
Almost immediately, Emma chimed in, "We'll help you Bella. We can have a Lemonade stand."
"And how about a car wash?" Abby added.
"Don't worry Bella, we'll help you," Cosette added.
And for a moment, Isabella, stopped crying. She looked up at her sisters, and understood, that she may have been lost, but now had been found.
And it is my hope and prayer, that when Tom and I meet our maker, and we are now longer here, our girls will love, care, and look out for each other. I believe deeply, that this is the most valuable gift that can be gained from being in this thing called, "family".
I also believe that if Bella's glasses get smashed ONE more time, you will most likely see me on the 5 o'clock news for homicide.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Renewal
So I'm struggling right now.
Not with alcoholic consumption before noon. I'm stronger than that...most of the time.
Not with finding an effective birth control method. Snip. Snip. Finally, I'm safe.
No, I'm struggling with a biggie here: religion.
Most of you already know, I grew up Catholic. But as I have gotten older, I don't necessarily feel connected to God at church. Rather, I feel the most connected with the Big Man, when I'm out amongst the green carpet of fresh grass and blooming wildflowers outside in nature.
I kid you not, some Sundays come and Tom loads up the girlie's and takes them to church, and I go off on a hike with Charlotte.
It's just where I'm at right now, that's all. Simply put, I am a spiritual person, not necessarily, a hell and brimstone, religious one. However, I totally dig Mother Mary, and Jesus, while definitely trying to be open to other religions.
One day, as Emma intently examined The Last Supper portrait hanging on our wall (once a Catholic, always a Catholic), she looked to me and asked, "Mama, what's Jesus doing here?"
"Well honey, this is the last time he had dinner with his friends, the Disciples," I answered.
"Why Mama? Why was it the last time he ate with his friends?" she asked.
Oh shit, here it comes, I thought. How do you word "he was crucified and died on a cross for your sins" in a kid-friendly sort of way?
"The next day, he died on the cross," I said simply.
Emma looked at me. She looked at The Last Supper. She looked back at me, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Oh but WAIT!!!" I said, excitedly, "Listen to THIS! It was like the best magic trick EVER! Do you know what happened 3 days later?" I was trying to give her the facts, but keep it light.
"Jesus ROSE up from the dead!!! (this was the non-Da Vinci Code version, alright?) Can you believe that? Isn't that GREAT?! And that, baby girl, is why we celebrate Easter."
I was invited to have lunch with some ladies recently, where we would be discussing Easter traditions. The table was set simply, but with beautiful fresh cut flowers. Fruit and yummy burritos were served. And I walked in carrying Charlotte and a six pack of beer. Hey, it was 1 o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, but it's all good, right?
I'm not sure you could call the "Doom and Gloom" of Lent a tradition. I've never been good with someone telling me I have to give something up, so instead, I try to just be more mindful during Lent. I try to just more aware. I try to be more in the moment.
Like helping Cosette tie her shoes, instead of sighing in frustration at her inability to do so. Breathing calmly, when after changing a dirty tablecloth for a clean one (one that perhaps doesn't have syrup stuck to the place mats), only to have one of the girls spill a glass of milk all over it. And so it goes, right?
Tom and I try to also instill this value in the girls, because after all, isn't that what we should be going for on this journey? But I am open to anything that will make biblical stories (yaaaawn), more engaging and fun!
Anyways, these ladies brought up the coolest idea, and I'm sure some of you already know about these: Resurrection Eggs. The concept is very simple and tangible for kids and adults alike: there are 12 plastic eggs, and inside of each one, is a symbol of Jesus's journey until Easter day. I got mine at a Christian book store, since I was a Resurrection Egg virgin, but you can just as easily make them.
For those of you that are interested, here is what is inside of each egg, numbered 1-12.
1. A small toy donkey (Jesus rode this into the city)
2. Silver coins (Judas betrayed Jesus with 30 silver coins)
3. Cup (used at The Last Supper)
4. Praying Hands (Jesus praying to God in the garden, knowing what was about to happen)
5. Leather Whip (Pilate had Jesus whipped)
6. Crown of Thorns (soldiers, mocking him, placed this on his head)
7. Nails of the cross (Jesus was made to carry his cross, before being nailed to it)
8. Die (the soldiers were playing a game and taking bets, to see who could "win" Jesus' tunic)
9. Spear (one soldier stabbed Jesus in the side with a spear)
10. Linen cloth (what Jesus was wrapped in after death)
11. Stone (used as a door for Jesus's tomb, which an angel later rolled away)
12. Empty (as the tomb was)
For the very first time in my life, I understand the story of Easter! Call me slow, but hey man, I'm fired up!
You can hide the eggs, or pull one out at dinner time, letting each kid take a turn. Or you could even have the kids make their own treasure box with all 12 symbols inside. That way, you don't have to hear, "I want to hold the DONKEY!!!!! You got to open the EGG!!! It's MY turn," as you share the story and joy of our risen Lord.
Happy Easter everyone!
Not with alcoholic consumption before noon. I'm stronger than that...most of the time.
Not with finding an effective birth control method. Snip. Snip. Finally, I'm safe.
No, I'm struggling with a biggie here: religion.
Most of you already know, I grew up Catholic. But as I have gotten older, I don't necessarily feel connected to God at church. Rather, I feel the most connected with the Big Man, when I'm out amongst the green carpet of fresh grass and blooming wildflowers outside in nature.
I kid you not, some Sundays come and Tom loads up the girlie's and takes them to church, and I go off on a hike with Charlotte.
It's just where I'm at right now, that's all. Simply put, I am a spiritual person, not necessarily, a hell and brimstone, religious one. However, I totally dig Mother Mary, and Jesus, while definitely trying to be open to other religions.
One day, as Emma intently examined The Last Supper portrait hanging on our wall (once a Catholic, always a Catholic), she looked to me and asked, "Mama, what's Jesus doing here?"
"Well honey, this is the last time he had dinner with his friends, the Disciples," I answered.
"Why Mama? Why was it the last time he ate with his friends?" she asked.
Oh shit, here it comes, I thought. How do you word "he was crucified and died on a cross for your sins" in a kid-friendly sort of way?
"The next day, he died on the cross," I said simply.
Emma looked at me. She looked at The Last Supper. She looked back at me, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Oh but WAIT!!!" I said, excitedly, "Listen to THIS! It was like the best magic trick EVER! Do you know what happened 3 days later?" I was trying to give her the facts, but keep it light.
"Jesus ROSE up from the dead!!! (this was the non-Da Vinci Code version, alright?) Can you believe that? Isn't that GREAT?! And that, baby girl, is why we celebrate Easter."
I was invited to have lunch with some ladies recently, where we would be discussing Easter traditions. The table was set simply, but with beautiful fresh cut flowers. Fruit and yummy burritos were served. And I walked in carrying Charlotte and a six pack of beer. Hey, it was 1 o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, but it's all good, right?
I'm not sure you could call the "Doom and Gloom" of Lent a tradition. I've never been good with someone telling me I have to give something up, so instead, I try to just be more mindful during Lent. I try to just more aware. I try to be more in the moment.
Like helping Cosette tie her shoes, instead of sighing in frustration at her inability to do so. Breathing calmly, when after changing a dirty tablecloth for a clean one (one that perhaps doesn't have syrup stuck to the place mats), only to have one of the girls spill a glass of milk all over it. And so it goes, right?
Tom and I try to also instill this value in the girls, because after all, isn't that what we should be going for on this journey? But I am open to anything that will make biblical stories (yaaaawn), more engaging and fun!
Anyways, these ladies brought up the coolest idea, and I'm sure some of you already know about these: Resurrection Eggs. The concept is very simple and tangible for kids and adults alike: there are 12 plastic eggs, and inside of each one, is a symbol of Jesus's journey until Easter day. I got mine at a Christian book store, since I was a Resurrection Egg virgin, but you can just as easily make them.
For those of you that are interested, here is what is inside of each egg, numbered 1-12.
1. A small toy donkey (Jesus rode this into the city)
2. Silver coins (Judas betrayed Jesus with 30 silver coins)
3. Cup (used at The Last Supper)
4. Praying Hands (Jesus praying to God in the garden, knowing what was about to happen)
5. Leather Whip (Pilate had Jesus whipped)
6. Crown of Thorns (soldiers, mocking him, placed this on his head)
7. Nails of the cross (Jesus was made to carry his cross, before being nailed to it)
8. Die (the soldiers were playing a game and taking bets, to see who could "win" Jesus' tunic)
9. Spear (one soldier stabbed Jesus in the side with a spear)
10. Linen cloth (what Jesus was wrapped in after death)
11. Stone (used as a door for Jesus's tomb, which an angel later rolled away)
12. Empty (as the tomb was)
For the very first time in my life, I understand the story of Easter! Call me slow, but hey man, I'm fired up!
You can hide the eggs, or pull one out at dinner time, letting each kid take a turn. Or you could even have the kids make their own treasure box with all 12 symbols inside. That way, you don't have to hear, "I want to hold the DONKEY!!!!! You got to open the EGG!!! It's MY turn," as you share the story and joy of our risen Lord.
Happy Easter everyone!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Little House Lives On
For Halloween, most kids want to dress up like Darth Vadar, a miniature Twilight Vampire, Batman, or a "Diva" who's wearing a glittered mid driff shirt, while clutching a sequined microphone.
Not the Walsh girls! Oh no! A very good friend introduced them to the Little House On the Prairie series about 4 years ago, and it's been all downhill since then. The Walsh sisters encompassed Ma, Mary, Laura (before blindness set in), and Carrie this past Halloween, when my Auntie was kind enough to make their costumes. Without a pattern. From scratch. Bonnets, aprons, and all.
On any given day, I am re-living my own childhood,, as I sit and watch THE show that I grew up with. Little House, with it's wholesome values, and God fearing men, was pretty much one of the only TV shows that passed with Foxy's approval, and I was allowed to watch with wild abandon. Fond memories, they are. In case you were wondering, The Waltons and The Brady Bunch came in a close second.
But let me tell you what's changed and gotten even better over the last 3 decades regarding Little House: watching Pa chop wood. Just saying. I go into each episode, holding my breath with the anticipation that maybe, I will be graced with Michael Landon's bronzed chest, glistening with perspiration, as he swings his big ax. Hey man, chopping wood isn't for wimps.
Anyhoo, getting back to my story. So, over Spring Break, I decide to take the girls to San Jose History Park. I've never been there, but I've heard that it's cool. And as I pull into the lot, I see a replica of old town San Jose, complete with a gas station, post office, homes with wrap around porches, and a train.
But what I didn't see, was something that left my girls speaking in COULD THIS REALLY BE HAPPENING TO US? tones.
"Mom, oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!"
"What?" I put the truck in park.
"There's a COVERED WAGON!!!!! Kids are wearing BONNETS!!!! There's a wooden SHACK!!!!"
The Walsh girls bolted from our vehicle before I even had my seat belt unbuckled. I mean, as far as they were concerned, we had just fucking entered Walnut Grove. Word to your Ma.
I finally caught up with Charlotte in the stroller a good 5 minutes later. As I approached, I saw a young male docent who could maybe drink legally, but it was difficult to tell. And he was speaking in a hushed tone too...but he was no match for my girls. And he certainly wasn't chopping any wood.
"Um girls, we have a class going on right now," he looked to me for back up, as all 4 blond heads pop out from the back of the covered wagon, "but you can come back in just a little while."
Seeing that this was going nowhere quick, because clearly my girls believed that Nellie Olson was somewhere on the premises...she just HAD to be, I looked at him and calmly explained, "You have to understand. They dressed up in Little House costumes for Halloween."
I mean, who does that? Do other kids, pull up in their moms SUV and literally FREAK out with enthusiasm over a covered wagon and a wooden shack? I think we may be a bit extreme in that department. I do believe that if there was some sort of award for enthusiasm, we would win it.
Case in point. We're at the library a day later. All 4 have found a good book and a nook to devour their latest read. I'm tucked into a back corner while nursing Charlotte, donning my Hooter Hider, and reading out loud to Cozy, yet another Disney Princess book of crap. When all of a sudden, a monochromatic voice comes over the loud speaker.
"Hello friends of the Willow Glen Library. In just five minutes, we'll be making Origami collages in the Community Room. Please join us for this marvelous opportunity."
My girls reaction, much like the covered wagon, was off the hook. It's like someone just announced that ice cream was now a staple food in our diet for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
"On my gosh Mom. Can I go? It's ORIGAMI HOUR!!!!"
Charlotte popped off my breast, as if saying, "Well hurry up woman, paper making creations are about to take place. MOOVE IT!"
So there I was, once again, trying to gather up our belongings in a hurried fashion, not even fully checking to make sure my breasts had made it back inside of my shirt, as I stumbled into the Community Room with my nursing cape on backwards. Charlotte had lost a sock in the upheaval, and who knew where all the books that we had the intention to check out had gone to. It's didn't matter, man. Origami magic was about to take flight.
So I guess my point is, well, I don't really have one. My girls are funny. They love the simple stuff. In fact, just today, I had to stop them cold turkey at Costco from taking no less than a dozen cardboard boxes.
"Mom, please? Pleeease? Can we take some boxes?"
You're wondering what's the big deal, right? Well, I'll tell you. We've had every sort of box from Pizza to tampon boxes made into SOME thing. But it's a something that requires 10 rolls of tape, 2 staplers, and my good scissors.
I try not to squash the enthusiasm too much, but I would like to have access to a roll of scotch tape that hasn't been fully utilized to make a cardboard city, you know?
Maybe I'm asking too much. But I'm pretty sure, that one day I'll look back on this fleeting time of pure innocence and long for it to come back...huh? Probably right around the time the twins turn 13, and are pulling the same pranks I did with Foxy.
Oh God help me.
Not the Walsh girls! Oh no! A very good friend introduced them to the Little House On the Prairie series about 4 years ago, and it's been all downhill since then. The Walsh sisters encompassed Ma, Mary, Laura (before blindness set in), and Carrie this past Halloween, when my Auntie was kind enough to make their costumes. Without a pattern. From scratch. Bonnets, aprons, and all.
On any given day, I am re-living my own childhood,, as I sit and watch THE show that I grew up with. Little House, with it's wholesome values, and God fearing men, was pretty much one of the only TV shows that passed with Foxy's approval, and I was allowed to watch with wild abandon. Fond memories, they are. In case you were wondering, The Waltons and The Brady Bunch came in a close second.
But let me tell you what's changed and gotten even better over the last 3 decades regarding Little House: watching Pa chop wood. Just saying. I go into each episode, holding my breath with the anticipation that maybe, I will be graced with Michael Landon's bronzed chest, glistening with perspiration, as he swings his big ax. Hey man, chopping wood isn't for wimps.
Anyhoo, getting back to my story. So, over Spring Break, I decide to take the girls to San Jose History Park. I've never been there, but I've heard that it's cool. And as I pull into the lot, I see a replica of old town San Jose, complete with a gas station, post office, homes with wrap around porches, and a train.
But what I didn't see, was something that left my girls speaking in COULD THIS REALLY BE HAPPENING TO US? tones.
"Mom, oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!"
"What?" I put the truck in park.
"There's a COVERED WAGON!!!!! Kids are wearing BONNETS!!!! There's a wooden SHACK!!!!"
The Walsh girls bolted from our vehicle before I even had my seat belt unbuckled. I mean, as far as they were concerned, we had just fucking entered Walnut Grove. Word to your Ma.
I finally caught up with Charlotte in the stroller a good 5 minutes later. As I approached, I saw a young male docent who could maybe drink legally, but it was difficult to tell. And he was speaking in a hushed tone too...but he was no match for my girls. And he certainly wasn't chopping any wood.
"Um girls, we have a class going on right now," he looked to me for back up, as all 4 blond heads pop out from the back of the covered wagon, "but you can come back in just a little while."
Seeing that this was going nowhere quick, because clearly my girls believed that Nellie Olson was somewhere on the premises...she just HAD to be, I looked at him and calmly explained, "You have to understand. They dressed up in Little House costumes for Halloween."
I mean, who does that? Do other kids, pull up in their moms SUV and literally FREAK out with enthusiasm over a covered wagon and a wooden shack? I think we may be a bit extreme in that department. I do believe that if there was some sort of award for enthusiasm, we would win it.
Case in point. We're at the library a day later. All 4 have found a good book and a nook to devour their latest read. I'm tucked into a back corner while nursing Charlotte, donning my Hooter Hider, and reading out loud to Cozy, yet another Disney Princess book of crap. When all of a sudden, a monochromatic voice comes over the loud speaker.
"Hello friends of the Willow Glen Library. In just five minutes, we'll be making Origami collages in the Community Room. Please join us for this marvelous opportunity."
My girls reaction, much like the covered wagon, was off the hook. It's like someone just announced that ice cream was now a staple food in our diet for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
"On my gosh Mom. Can I go? It's ORIGAMI HOUR!!!!"
Charlotte popped off my breast, as if saying, "Well hurry up woman, paper making creations are about to take place. MOOVE IT!"
So there I was, once again, trying to gather up our belongings in a hurried fashion, not even fully checking to make sure my breasts had made it back inside of my shirt, as I stumbled into the Community Room with my nursing cape on backwards. Charlotte had lost a sock in the upheaval, and who knew where all the books that we had the intention to check out had gone to. It's didn't matter, man. Origami magic was about to take flight.
So I guess my point is, well, I don't really have one. My girls are funny. They love the simple stuff. In fact, just today, I had to stop them cold turkey at Costco from taking no less than a dozen cardboard boxes.
"Mom, please? Pleeease? Can we take some boxes?"
You're wondering what's the big deal, right? Well, I'll tell you. We've had every sort of box from Pizza to tampon boxes made into SOME thing. But it's a something that requires 10 rolls of tape, 2 staplers, and my good scissors.
I try not to squash the enthusiasm too much, but I would like to have access to a roll of scotch tape that hasn't been fully utilized to make a cardboard city, you know?
Maybe I'm asking too much. But I'm pretty sure, that one day I'll look back on this fleeting time of pure innocence and long for it to come back...huh? Probably right around the time the twins turn 13, and are pulling the same pranks I did with Foxy.
Oh God help me.
Monday, April 11, 2011
To Have and To Hold
From this day forward. In sickness and in health. In good times and bad times. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES. Ah marriage... no pressure.
I had the amazing opportunity to attend a dear friend's wedding this past weekend. I can't even tell you the last time I went to such a blessed event. Thirteen years into my own marriage, it's like the sands of time have come and gone, and everyone that I know has already gotten hitched.
Give me an excuse to eat, drink, dance and basically have a kick-ass time, and I'm there. But this wedding was especially lovely. This couple is unique. This bride and groom are about my age, and they truly played the waiting game to hold out for that perfect person.
You see, I was one of the first friends to meet "The Guy". It just so happened that it was on the night of my birthday, after consuming lots of red wine.
"The Guy" met us out at Number One Broadway in Los Gatos, on a Friday night, after a loooong work week. By the time he arrived, we were all at least 6 drinks ahead of him. "Well, lookey what we have here," I thought to myself. Let's see if "The Guy" passes my test.
Now keep in mind, my girlfriend and "The Guy" were not even officially dating yet. I mean, this was very fresh. Very new. Let's break him in, I thought. He hadn't even been in the club for more than 5 minutes, when I confidently stumbled up to him, made my introductions, and then said something to the effect of, "It's MY birthday, and YOU are going to dance with me." I'm sure it was about that same time, my girlfriend was asking why did she even come out that night.
But see, there was a method to my madness. My thought was simply this: if "The Guy" gets up, and dances with me without an excuse of "Oh no thank you, it's been a long week...let me just get a drink first", he's a KEEPER. He's unselfish. He's not arrogant. He doesn't care what he looks like next to a 6 foot tall glittered up birthday girl who shoulda been cut off about 2 hours ago. And a KEEPER he was. He got right up as I man-handled him to the dance floor, and grooved with me.
About a month later, I reported these extremely significant findings to my girlfriend. By that time, they were dating. I just kept saying, "He's a keeper, Jenn. He's a keeper," like I was some sort of Dating Expert. But after being single for THREE years, and holding out for Tom Walsh Super Genius, I like to think I sort of have an idea of what a Keeper looks, smells, and acts like.
A few weeks prior to the wedding, my girlfriend asked if I would mind making a few announcements during the reception. "Wow, what an honor. Of course!" I told her.
"Well," Jenn replied, "you were one of the first friends to meet Mark. We're not going to have a DJ, so I was thinking you could announce the Father-Daughter dance, the Mother-Son Dance, the bouquet and garter toss, and the cake cutting."
My first thought was, "Oh shit, a short dress and stilettos just isn't going to cut it for this. I hope I have a somewhat conservative dress and heels in my closet. And my second thought was, I can't get loaded. I need to be well-behaved." I mean, think about it: Drinking and then handing me a mic? Why did she think I was the right person for this job? Those 2 criteria alone, should have left her thinking that anyone would be a better pick.
But as the time approached, I tried not to worry too much about my part, because truth be told, the wedding day is ALL about the COUPLE. And as she walked down the aisle, I started sobbing like a baby. She was stunning. And I don't say that lightly....stunning! And he was angelic, sweet, and handsome. And as they embraced after seeing each other for the first time all gussied up, about to be wed, they truly looked at each other, as if saying, "Finally. I'm so glad I waited. I'm so blessed I found you. You are a keeper."
As they exchanged their vows, tears streamed down their cheeks, I was reminded that a wedding is such a concrete symbol of hope, faith, and opportunity to create a new life with another person. And being an attendee? Well, I felt like I got invited to watch a miracle take place.
Here's to Jenn and Mark! To a lifetime of love, forgiveness, being open to becoming humbled, learning, growing, and holding hands together. Ah yes... much love to you both!!
I had the amazing opportunity to attend a dear friend's wedding this past weekend. I can't even tell you the last time I went to such a blessed event. Thirteen years into my own marriage, it's like the sands of time have come and gone, and everyone that I know has already gotten hitched.
Give me an excuse to eat, drink, dance and basically have a kick-ass time, and I'm there. But this wedding was especially lovely. This couple is unique. This bride and groom are about my age, and they truly played the waiting game to hold out for that perfect person.
You see, I was one of the first friends to meet "The Guy". It just so happened that it was on the night of my birthday, after consuming lots of red wine.
"The Guy" met us out at Number One Broadway in Los Gatos, on a Friday night, after a loooong work week. By the time he arrived, we were all at least 6 drinks ahead of him. "Well, lookey what we have here," I thought to myself. Let's see if "The Guy" passes my test.
Now keep in mind, my girlfriend and "The Guy" were not even officially dating yet. I mean, this was very fresh. Very new. Let's break him in, I thought. He hadn't even been in the club for more than 5 minutes, when I confidently stumbled up to him, made my introductions, and then said something to the effect of, "It's MY birthday, and YOU are going to dance with me." I'm sure it was about that same time, my girlfriend was asking why did she even come out that night.
But see, there was a method to my madness. My thought was simply this: if "The Guy" gets up, and dances with me without an excuse of "Oh no thank you, it's been a long week...let me just get a drink first", he's a KEEPER. He's unselfish. He's not arrogant. He doesn't care what he looks like next to a 6 foot tall glittered up birthday girl who shoulda been cut off about 2 hours ago. And a KEEPER he was. He got right up as I man-handled him to the dance floor, and grooved with me.
About a month later, I reported these extremely significant findings to my girlfriend. By that time, they were dating. I just kept saying, "He's a keeper, Jenn. He's a keeper," like I was some sort of Dating Expert. But after being single for THREE years, and holding out for Tom Walsh Super Genius, I like to think I sort of have an idea of what a Keeper looks, smells, and acts like.
A few weeks prior to the wedding, my girlfriend asked if I would mind making a few announcements during the reception. "Wow, what an honor. Of course!" I told her.
"Well," Jenn replied, "you were one of the first friends to meet Mark. We're not going to have a DJ, so I was thinking you could announce the Father-Daughter dance, the Mother-Son Dance, the bouquet and garter toss, and the cake cutting."
My first thought was, "Oh shit, a short dress and stilettos just isn't going to cut it for this. I hope I have a somewhat conservative dress and heels in my closet. And my second thought was, I can't get loaded. I need to be well-behaved." I mean, think about it: Drinking and then handing me a mic? Why did she think I was the right person for this job? Those 2 criteria alone, should have left her thinking that anyone would be a better pick.
But as the time approached, I tried not to worry too much about my part, because truth be told, the wedding day is ALL about the COUPLE. And as she walked down the aisle, I started sobbing like a baby. She was stunning. And I don't say that lightly....stunning! And he was angelic, sweet, and handsome. And as they embraced after seeing each other for the first time all gussied up, about to be wed, they truly looked at each other, as if saying, "Finally. I'm so glad I waited. I'm so blessed I found you. You are a keeper."
As they exchanged their vows, tears streamed down their cheeks, I was reminded that a wedding is such a concrete symbol of hope, faith, and opportunity to create a new life with another person. And being an attendee? Well, I felt like I got invited to watch a miracle take place.
Here's to Jenn and Mark! To a lifetime of love, forgiveness, being open to becoming humbled, learning, growing, and holding hands together. Ah yes... much love to you both!!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Lessons Learned
It seems as though on any given day, I learn a lesson of one sort or another. These are some of the little things that have actually "stuck" over the years.
Eating Jack in the Box after I've been drinking sounds like a good idea, but it REALLY isn't. The Ultimate Double Cheeseburger, with a large fry and a Diet Coke worked for me in my 20's, but not so much after 30. Now I just stumble to the fridge and eat, but try to make a sensible choice.
Understanding and accepting that my parenting skills will never work so miraculously that all 5 will be ZENNED out at the same time! I'm down with it. As long as all 5 don't go off and freak out simultaneously.
Picking up on how my anxiety over getting the laundry done, getting homework checked off, making dinner, or getting off to work on time, affects my kiddos. Just last week, I experienced an event TEN minutes before I was to be out the door for work. I was nowhere near being ready (didn't even have my make up on, and wasn't dressed yet), when Abby asked me for help with a Math word problem that had MULTIPLE steps. I was forced to take a deep breath, let shit go, and help my daughter, knowing that I would very well be late for work. BIG PICTURE, right?
3 drinks really IS just perfect for me. Consuming 4,5,or 6 alcoholic beverages is not going to make me feel more relaxed. Just hungover, tired, and crabby the next day. Oh, and drinking water between those drinks works for me too.
Giving myself permission to stop and walk during my run is an okay thing to do. Back in the day, I would have just powered through it, my internal monologue sounding like a Drill Sargent, "Stopping is for WIMPS! You're NOT tired. It's a figment of your imagination, WALSH!" Now I'm too tired and old to power through it. Taking a leisurely stroll followed by laying in the fetal position sounds much more appealing.
I'm convinced that I'm a better parent when I have ingested Vicodin. And I'm a stellar parent after I've taken a Vicodin AND a Vodka Cran. Okay, so I totally get how folks get hooked on prescription meds. And I'm pretty damn innocent when it comes to that kind of stuff. But if someone is gonna arm wrestle me for my Vicodin, I will cut you. I'm kidding. But not really.
Nothing could prepare me for teaching 6th grade in the East side. I can't believe that I thought that I had all the knowledge to dole out going into that profession. HARDEE HAR HAR. Those kids and their experiences humbled me daily.
Marriage is an interesting dance of recognizing and appreciating what Tom has to offer me, is what I lack, but what I need to grow.
Loving a grand baby has given me access to a piece of my heart I didn't even know existed . It's a deeper, different kind of love. I'm taking all that in right now.
When an elderly person corners me in the dairy section of Safeway, admiring Charlotte, and I may be rushed for time, I stop and recognize that it's a blessing. So what if I'm a running a bit late? It's the sweetest thing to watch.
Nothing life shattering. Just little lessons I've learned. Feel free to add your own!
Eating Jack in the Box after I've been drinking sounds like a good idea, but it REALLY isn't. The Ultimate Double Cheeseburger, with a large fry and a Diet Coke worked for me in my 20's, but not so much after 30. Now I just stumble to the fridge and eat, but try to make a sensible choice.
Understanding and accepting that my parenting skills will never work so miraculously that all 5 will be ZENNED out at the same time! I'm down with it. As long as all 5 don't go off and freak out simultaneously.
Picking up on how my anxiety over getting the laundry done, getting homework checked off, making dinner, or getting off to work on time, affects my kiddos. Just last week, I experienced an event TEN minutes before I was to be out the door for work. I was nowhere near being ready (didn't even have my make up on, and wasn't dressed yet), when Abby asked me for help with a Math word problem that had MULTIPLE steps. I was forced to take a deep breath, let shit go, and help my daughter, knowing that I would very well be late for work. BIG PICTURE, right?
3 drinks really IS just perfect for me. Consuming 4,5,or 6 alcoholic beverages is not going to make me feel more relaxed. Just hungover, tired, and crabby the next day. Oh, and drinking water between those drinks works for me too.
Giving myself permission to stop and walk during my run is an okay thing to do. Back in the day, I would have just powered through it, my internal monologue sounding like a Drill Sargent, "Stopping is for WIMPS! You're NOT tired. It's a figment of your imagination, WALSH!" Now I'm too tired and old to power through it. Taking a leisurely stroll followed by laying in the fetal position sounds much more appealing.
I'm convinced that I'm a better parent when I have ingested Vicodin. And I'm a stellar parent after I've taken a Vicodin AND a Vodka Cran. Okay, so I totally get how folks get hooked on prescription meds. And I'm pretty damn innocent when it comes to that kind of stuff. But if someone is gonna arm wrestle me for my Vicodin, I will cut you. I'm kidding. But not really.
Nothing could prepare me for teaching 6th grade in the East side. I can't believe that I thought that I had all the knowledge to dole out going into that profession. HARDEE HAR HAR. Those kids and their experiences humbled me daily.
Marriage is an interesting dance of recognizing and appreciating what Tom has to offer me, is what I lack, but what I need to grow.
Loving a grand baby has given me access to a piece of my heart I didn't even know existed . It's a deeper, different kind of love. I'm taking all that in right now.
When an elderly person corners me in the dairy section of Safeway, admiring Charlotte, and I may be rushed for time, I stop and recognize that it's a blessing. So what if I'm a running a bit late? It's the sweetest thing to watch.
Nothing life shattering. Just little lessons I've learned. Feel free to add your own!
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