THINGS I DID BEFORE 11:30AM TODAY:
Put in a load of towels
Supervised bathroom duty
Cleaned the kitchen – including the ucky bit under the burners
Emptied the dishwashers
Washed the dishes from last night’s dinner
Supervised bathroom duty – really watched the hawk circle above who was waiting for a Pepper sized breakfast
Went to target
Went to Publix
Came home, put everything away
Put load of towels in dryer
Supervised bathroom duty –Really hunt the chipmunk
Drank smoothie while starting blog post
Gave up on writing and went to Costco
Came home, put everything away
Folded dry towels
Supervised bathroom duty –Really dig holes for chipmunks in the yard till ej screams
Scrapped blog post and started this one
THINGS HUSBAND DID BEFORE 11:30AM TODAY:
None of the above.
It is easy to get caught up in the swirl of all things you.
It is easy to think that your life, your hurts, your slights are worse than what others are going through.
It is easy to wallow in the "Woe is me." and not hear the pain of others.
But everyone has their story and sometimes it gives your life a reality check to listen to someone else's.
This has been my reality check - eight months ago, a co-worker I worked with briefly last summer at the theatre had an ATV accident, ended up in a coma and life as they knew it was changed. Thankfully, three months later, he emerged and now they are both working on their new normal.
Now I am not a religious person. I'm not even a nice person some days but the love and the faith that these two share is awe-inspiring. Harrison's wife, Hayley has started a blog and you can read her first entry here - in the dark, there is light.
Perhaps your angry moments of the day will smooth out and you'll find the beauty in your life and your loves. Because underneath the "Woe is me." there is hope to be found, there is light be seen, there is joy to experienced. There is love.
So. As I said in a post early this year regarding the tattoo enhancement I got in January:
I do not regret my tattoo. It is not the perfect tattoo I imagined but I do have a reminder of all my doubt, my second-guessing, and my failure to speak my soul. Which, ironically, was the F-ing point of the tat in the first place. I do not regret it. In this, my year of positivity, I am choosing to see it as my beautiful mistake. A bright image of my insecurities and doubt, a forever reminder on etched upon my skin.
But I lied. LIED!
I don’t mean I regretted getting it. I don’t. Just that I was unable to see it as just a beautiful mistake. I was embarrassed by how bad it was and I didn’t want it to represent who I was, who I am because it didn’t. I’d like to think that while colorful, I am not badly designed and without depth.
Sure, I liked some elements of it. The way the right side looked like a rhino was funny cool. The bright garish colors were so different and pretty –when I held my arm out fully extended, took off my glasses and squinted my eyes. But I started hunting for bracelets to cover it up. I kept my sleeves down. I was self-conscious if someone noticed it. I’d have to explain the story, pull out the pictures of what it should look like.
I protested so much. Waaaaaay too much. Husband was sick of how much I talked about it, looked at it, cried about it. “Quit staring at it. It hasn’t changed. It’s going to be there forever.”
So last month, I quit whingeing and did something about it. I found this studio here in Nashville with an artist that has worked on covering up/amending tattoos. I met with her and liked her and what she said and how she said it and so I arranged to have her amend my beautiful mistake. AND I LOVE WHAT SHE DID!
She actually listened to me and she actually asked me exactly what I meant when I wasn’t quite clear - which I can be sometimes. She showed me how it would look before she came at me with her tiny needles of pain. AND she kept my inhalexhale whaleshark and the weird rhino bit at the left.
I love that this tat has a beginning and middle and ending and that every piece of it – including the story of how I got it and the second bit and the third bit - is a part of who I am. A sort of evolution of my sense of self. It, in itself, is a messy story like the mess that is I.
Or as I said earlier this year: … that every little thing you do is etched on your skin, on your self. We are all covered in scars. Some little, some big, some more visible than others. And regardless of the result, take these lessons, these beautiful mistakes and learn from them. Embrace them and grow forward, not back.
I waffled on sharing pictures because I do think that some times words take away from pictures but vague-booking is not what I’m intending to do so here we go -
But what it actually looked like.
Not. Even. Close.
To quote my mother, "Interesting. A little gaudy, but you won't see another one like it anywhere."
Husband has OCD. It manifests itself in his not being able to eat in other people’s homes and having to have certain things in set places. And to apparently have to have the same bedspread - from that high end store known for fabric quality, Ikea - for as long as we’ve been together. It’s beige and boring with a white-stripped grid pattern and I have grown to hate it. Not because it's offensive but because it's not.
Every birthday, Christmas, anniversary, hallmark holiday, random Wednesday, I’ve asked for a new spread. But Husband can’t have bright bedspreads in a “place of calm” and so we’ve got beige and boring.
Before Husband, I had bright bedspreads with flowers and shapes and large blocks of garish colors. I miss them. My bedroom was a mix of colors and styles - much like the inside of my brain or my thought process. There was nothing calm about it. I didn't sleep well but that's beside the point.
But then miracle of miracle, he told me yesterday he is actually looking into getting new bedding. I KNOW!!! I about squealed when he mentioned it. I didn’t because I didn’t want to scare him off but inside, inside I was doing the wiggly dance of joy. I was picturing colors and patterns and maybe a paisley swirl or two. I was imagining going to sleep our new bedroom and all the crazy psychedelic dreams I was going to have...
And then, last night, he told me he’d found a possible replacement for beige and boring. I started the party in my head. And then he showed me this!
And I started laughing.
And laughing. And laughing. Because those are the same f***ing sheets. Sure, they're grey and the lines are bigger. Sure, the quality is likely to be better than Ikea’s but seriously?!? That is the same sheet. SAME!!!
“It’s nothing like it...” he kept saying, as I’m laughing and gasping for air. “It’s nothing like it...” as the tears were streaming down my face and my colorful dreams were dying.
What was I thinking? Husband suddenly changing the sheets from beige and boring to vibrant - like in what world would that happen? The kind of world where I am sane and never worry about anything? A world where I never ever second and third guess a decision? A world where the presidential candidates and politicians suddenly wake up and realize if they don't play nicely with others, we're going to be in a war with everyone and not just ourselves? Yeah, we don’t live in that world. We live in a world where we've had the same beige and boring bedding for twelve years.
But it's the kind of world where our color and patterns and crazy comes from the people in it. Where our lives are the farthest thing from boring because suddenly we're parents to three dogs who apparently can't just lie quietly in the corner until I'm ready to play with them but MUST play right now. A world where that man I married is constantly surprising me - and not always in a good way.
Some days, I'd prefer colorful bedding... But then I'd have nothing to say.
The reason these two stinkers were quarantined in the crappy "master" bathroom - one of them other stepped in poop, stank up the house and I was forced to bathe them both or die from a tick bite and the horrid poop smell. Guess which one. I'll give you a hint, it ain't the smart chipmunk killer.
You can tell they used their confined drying time well. Pretty sure that small pile of toilet paper Pepper is innocently sitting on was a whole role of toilet paper when I left them in there. The rest of it will show up in the yard later today, thanks to the not-so-smart-or-innocent looking Joseph.
And speaking of chipmunks - I'm pretty sure that Wet Broken Chippy and friends crawled up the wall of the garage and managed to key in the code to open the garage door under our bedroom at 3:30am. Yep.
What followed was a sleepless night worrying about home invasions and the like - which I'm sure was his plan.
We're preparing ourselves for subsequent attacks and a possible siege. Readying the burning oil and flaming arrows...
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me