...when your toddler keeps licking your legs because she likes that funny stubble feel.
Heidi is sooooo funny about hair and skin--you should have seen her biting Rich's [very hairy] arm in the pool! She was trying to get that weird soggy stuff off her daddy!
PS: After I worked out at lunchtime, I stopped in to check out a new gallery/shop thingy downtown (which means "2-tenths of a mile from our apartment"). It's called The Sparkling Dawg and it looks like fun. The owner, Lynn, is a writer/designer paper person like me! I agreed to attend a bookmaking class they are holding on June 29th...sounds fun. (If you go to their website, be sure to click the links to "shop" and "Calender Street"and see how cute Livingston is).
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Trouble, Thy Name is HEIDI
I had turned the steps around so she'd stop climbing on them--fat chance.
Monday, May 16, 2005
ON THIS DATE IN HISTORY, part 2
Today is my step mom's birthday...Happy 29th Birthday, Becky! We love you! My cousin, Larkin (aka YARKIN) was also born on this date, TWENTY--veinte anos!!!--YEARS ago. Happy Birthday, Yarkin!
ON THIS DATE IN HISTORY: No one can take place in my shoes
I found a box of old journals as I was cleaning up at the new house (they were in a box in the garage next to our brand new toilets!). I was excited because now I can play “On This Day in History” with my journals—won't that be fun!?
To start off, I was flipping through one journal from 1991-1992, but I found this letter from 1993 stuck in there. It happens to have been written on this date in history, so I am posting it.
It was written to me from a 15-year-old girl whom I taught as an LDS missionary in North Carolina—Rockingham, NC, to be exact. Her family was a little “Appalachian”—really kind, open people who lived in the hills outside of town. I have always loved this heart-felt letter with all its endearing typos and expressions. It is one of the things I treasure from my mission.
Dear Sister Post: 16 May 1993
Thanks you for all the stuff you gave! [I gave her some of my clothes to wear to church—I was much smaller then!] I really love them. Right now there is kids that is really bugging me and I think I am going nutts!
I really enjoy all the lessons you have talt me and I really like to learn about all you have to share with all people amd I really am amazed how you guys are so calm and nice to everyone. I am really not too good in writing letters, but I am going to try to make a long one if I can. I can’t wait til I can go on a mission and meet many new people and learn their ways and most of all share the word of Jesus Christ to all the people who don’t know about him and his ways. I am going to try to type my testamoney. I spelt that wrong.
OK. I am thankful for the Book of Mormon and I am thankful for having a family and friends. I know that this church is really true and that is shining in my heart and always will be. I am thankful for having life and that I can spend my life with a loving family and friends. I know that Jesus loves me and that he loves everyone on this planet even if they do something bad. I am really thankful that Jesus forgives people for ther sins and that he loves me and tells me that I am one of a kind and no one can take place in my shoes.
I will tell you now that you are very specil in my life and that I love you with all my heart and nothing can change that. When you leave, remember that we will se eachother again. Where, just look up and you will know. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Well, my fingers are hurting now and I still need to typ one for Sister Lee. Well, thank you again and again and again.
TTFN. Thank you,
Love, Darlene Henry
Write Back soon.
To start off, I was flipping through one journal from 1991-1992, but I found this letter from 1993 stuck in there. It happens to have been written on this date in history, so I am posting it.
It was written to me from a 15-year-old girl whom I taught as an LDS missionary in North Carolina—Rockingham, NC, to be exact. Her family was a little “Appalachian”—really kind, open people who lived in the hills outside of town. I have always loved this heart-felt letter with all its endearing typos and expressions. It is one of the things I treasure from my mission.
Dear Sister Post: 16 May 1993
Thanks you for all the stuff you gave! [I gave her some of my clothes to wear to church—I was much smaller then!] I really love them. Right now there is kids that is really bugging me and I think I am going nutts!
I really enjoy all the lessons you have talt me and I really like to learn about all you have to share with all people amd I really am amazed how you guys are so calm and nice to everyone. I am really not too good in writing letters, but I am going to try to make a long one if I can. I can’t wait til I can go on a mission and meet many new people and learn their ways and most of all share the word of Jesus Christ to all the people who don’t know about him and his ways. I am going to try to type my testamoney. I spelt that wrong.
OK. I am thankful for the Book of Mormon and I am thankful for having a family and friends. I know that this church is really true and that is shining in my heart and always will be. I am thankful for having life and that I can spend my life with a loving family and friends. I know that Jesus loves me and that he loves everyone on this planet even if they do something bad. I am really thankful that Jesus forgives people for ther sins and that he loves me and tells me that I am one of a kind and no one can take place in my shoes.
I will tell you now that you are very specil in my life and that I love you with all my heart and nothing can change that. When you leave, remember that we will se eachother again. Where, just look up and you will know. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Well, my fingers are hurting now and I still need to typ one for Sister Lee. Well, thank you again and again and again.
TTFN. Thank you,
Love, Darlene Henry
Write Back soon.
Fabulous Link
If you're done laughing yourself silly at the Baby Names Link I gave you a few weeks ago, it's time to go over and read the Open Letters at McSweeney's. Killer.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
An Issue of Gratitude or Perspective
There are so many things I want to write about, but my head is literally spinning and I am holding on by a thread. If you've ever had an experience--like, say, childbirth--where you have to walk yourself through each moment and encourage yourself to keep going, that's what I have been doing on and off for the past 5 months, and most recently for the past three weeks. Imagine being in labor for 6 months straight (and giving birth to a 5-bedroom house--heh, heh). Like holding my breath, or as they say in the south, losing my religion.
And it's not anything anyone else can help me with, really. Well, except for a really expensive therapist or a drug-happy psychiatrist--too bad I won't take drugs, though. I have thought about going on drugs, but I don't think I could be a mother and deal with the side effects. They affect everyone differently; for me, I become a dim-witted zombie. That might work when you're writing ad copy 50 hours a week, but it doesn't make for good parenting (no offense to all the zombie moms out there). Which begs the question, does life on the edge of sanity make for good parenting then? Well, no, but I like to think it's temporary. I like to think that someday soon I will return to normal and get a handle on my responsibilities, the sad thoughts that run through my head, and especially the awful things I say to myself about myself 24/7. So I shouldn't waste the month it takes to get on the drugs, only to need them for a few weeks and then suffer the getting off of the drugs for another three weeks. I fully believe the resources for survival are around me somewhere, I just have to tap into them. Somewhere. Hm.
I know I have to grow up and adjust to the future I have signed up for. That is what I KNOW. But what I feel (and fight) is that I want to be with "My People." People from where it's warm and sunny who are warm and sunny, too. People who GET ME. People who could look in my eyes and know when I am dying inside, and care. People who went to school and/or are doing what they love. People who believe that building relationships and understanding people are the most valuable pursuits in life. People who value life experience and education (not necessarily formal education, but a curiosity and desire to know and learn about the world and things that are different and sometimes hard to understand). It is so hard for me to live in a culture that celebrates ignorance as "the simple life"---I am all for simplicity, but it is NOT synonymous with ignorance. It's hard to live in a place where people are so bored and or dissatisfied with their lives that they literally drink (or drug) them away. The poor kids here--many of them don't finish school and don't ever plan on college. They just take lame jobs and stay here and the "brain drain" just keeps happening because the culture and the economy have nothing to offer a "brain." I have to strain to keep myself from saying to my Young Women (the class I teach at church), "RUN, GIRLS--RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
And it's so weird because this is such a beautiful and inspiring place to live. I have the most wonderful husband ever. And my girls--oh, my girls! Aside from the attitude problems they've had lately due to having a crazy mother and an absent father, they are awesome--gorgeous and healthy and strong-willed and smart. I have everything to be grateful for. But perhaps it's not an issue of gratitude or perspective. Maybe it's chemical or maybe all the junk in all my life that I have "risen above" has finally caught up to me and in what should be a joyful time in my life, I am mourning all that I lost in my early life and all the things that I will never be because of all the scar tissue. One thing that I grieve daily is that motherhood just isn't natural for me, and that is partly because I am practically paralyzed by the fear that I will hurt these girls the way I was hurt and I will not be able to live with that. I can deal with almost any mistake, but not that. And so I am afraid for them to even love me because what if I let them down? It's nuts. And when all is said and done, it is they who have paid the highest price for this house we are building.
I know--it doesn't make any sense. Can you see why my head is spinning? It's not just the oven cleaner I used tonight, it's really spinning. Maybe I will feel better when Heidi is not teething and I am not PMS-ing (I'm not, by the way, at least not this week) and we are finally free from the crushing burden and agonizing experience that is mutual self help housing. If not, you can send that paddy wagon to take me to the funny farm.
And it's not anything anyone else can help me with, really. Well, except for a really expensive therapist or a drug-happy psychiatrist--too bad I won't take drugs, though. I have thought about going on drugs, but I don't think I could be a mother and deal with the side effects. They affect everyone differently; for me, I become a dim-witted zombie. That might work when you're writing ad copy 50 hours a week, but it doesn't make for good parenting (no offense to all the zombie moms out there). Which begs the question, does life on the edge of sanity make for good parenting then? Well, no, but I like to think it's temporary. I like to think that someday soon I will return to normal and get a handle on my responsibilities, the sad thoughts that run through my head, and especially the awful things I say to myself about myself 24/7. So I shouldn't waste the month it takes to get on the drugs, only to need them for a few weeks and then suffer the getting off of the drugs for another three weeks. I fully believe the resources for survival are around me somewhere, I just have to tap into them. Somewhere. Hm.
I know I have to grow up and adjust to the future I have signed up for. That is what I KNOW. But what I feel (and fight) is that I want to be with "My People." People from where it's warm and sunny who are warm and sunny, too. People who GET ME. People who could look in my eyes and know when I am dying inside, and care. People who went to school and/or are doing what they love. People who believe that building relationships and understanding people are the most valuable pursuits in life. People who value life experience and education (not necessarily formal education, but a curiosity and desire to know and learn about the world and things that are different and sometimes hard to understand). It is so hard for me to live in a culture that celebrates ignorance as "the simple life"---I am all for simplicity, but it is NOT synonymous with ignorance. It's hard to live in a place where people are so bored and or dissatisfied with their lives that they literally drink (or drug) them away. The poor kids here--many of them don't finish school and don't ever plan on college. They just take lame jobs and stay here and the "brain drain" just keeps happening because the culture and the economy have nothing to offer a "brain." I have to strain to keep myself from saying to my Young Women (the class I teach at church), "RUN, GIRLS--RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
And it's so weird because this is such a beautiful and inspiring place to live. I have the most wonderful husband ever. And my girls--oh, my girls! Aside from the attitude problems they've had lately due to having a crazy mother and an absent father, they are awesome--gorgeous and healthy and strong-willed and smart. I have everything to be grateful for. But perhaps it's not an issue of gratitude or perspective. Maybe it's chemical or maybe all the junk in all my life that I have "risen above" has finally caught up to me and in what should be a joyful time in my life, I am mourning all that I lost in my early life and all the things that I will never be because of all the scar tissue. One thing that I grieve daily is that motherhood just isn't natural for me, and that is partly because I am practically paralyzed by the fear that I will hurt these girls the way I was hurt and I will not be able to live with that. I can deal with almost any mistake, but not that. And so I am afraid for them to even love me because what if I let them down? It's nuts. And when all is said and done, it is they who have paid the highest price for this house we are building.
I know--it doesn't make any sense. Can you see why my head is spinning? It's not just the oven cleaner I used tonight, it's really spinning. Maybe I will feel better when Heidi is not teething and I am not PMS-ing (I'm not, by the way, at least not this week) and we are finally free from the crushing burden and agonizing experience that is mutual self help housing. If not, you can send that paddy wagon to take me to the funny farm.
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