Monday, February 16, 2009

Wow. I'm not very good at this blogging thing, am I? It's hard to come up with a topic of converstaion that's applicable to the entire world wide web. (Much easier for me to ramble on and on when I know my audience.)

I guess I could tell you I'm newly engaged. It was a phenominal proposal! The number one reason being HE ACTUALLY SURPRISED ME! Seriously. I pride myself on figuring things out, reading between the lines, adding two plus two together - duh! But this one blew my mind away. Blew it away in that gotta cock the head to the side and with an ultra-quizical look ask myself, "what is he doing? why is he on the ground? like, kneeling? what's he holding? i've seen that before... sparkly... a ring? why is he holding a ring? OH MY GAWD! HE'S HOLDING A RING!" Amazingly, the words out of his mouth matched exactly what I was thinking: He asked me -- ME! -- to marry him!

And all this happened in the middle of the court at halftime at the Badger game last Wednesday. I couldn't have dreamed it up any better!

One minute you're hopping around heaven smiling your lips right off your face, and the next minute you're crashing back to reality. Nothing like a new engagement to bring out the slaps of reality.

I suppose I know that deep down nobody wants to say something that would ruin this moment for us, but it sure does make me wonder if deep, deep, DEEP down they might.

If I have to hear "You better invite me to the wedding" from his mother one more time I'm going to lose it. First of all, you know you're like the obligatory invite, right? Even if he didn't quite care for you (which is the complete opposite of the truth) he'd still feel that he HAD to invite you. So yes, you'll be invited. In fact, you should be so sure of that fact that you no longer have to make passive comments like, "well, I hope you don't get married without me" and "I hope you let me know when you're getting married." I want to scream, " how many of your children have gotten married without telling you? without inviting you? NONE! They have all invited you. They have all told you. This fear of yours is irrational and is actually driving me to think about elopement so please stop."

We have been engaged for exactly five days. That's it. Who has all their wedding plans detailed out and confirmed within five days? Not me, that's for sure! But when I get some details I'll let you know, ok? So please stop stressing. You're making this so not fun.

Now, I believe in being an equal-opportunity griper. Therefore, I will now switch over to the topic of my mother. I have had the honor of knowing my mother for the past 35 years. There is much about my mother that I do not know. But there is much that I do. For instance, I happen to know that my mother is completely incapable of showing support and excitement for any other other human being. I'm not convinced she actually feels these emotions. You could run into her house and announce you've just won $400 million dollars in the lottery and you're giving all of it to her to use how she so desires and she'll go, "Oh."

My brother got a job that paid twice as much as what he thought it would. Twice as much is HUGE to a guy who filed for bankruptcy a few years back. Twice as much! First person he called was our mother. Her response: "Oh."

And that's what she does. This vacant look, this absent of all emotion word left hanging: "Oh." It leaves you wondering what you missed. Obviously you're an idiot because Mom can see it's not that great of a deal, so why are you getting so excited about it?

I made a conscious decision not to tell my mother until I was ready to be let down. On the ride home, when both V and I were busy making calls, taking calls, responding to text messages, I chose to not call my mother. Label me a bad daughter. Label me evil. I'm not. I'm more of a procrastinator.... I know there will come the time for the "Oh" but I just don't want it right now, and that's perfectly ok!

Thursday, February 5, 2009

* sigh *

There are many days I wish I had a super huge whirlpool tub.... not because I enjoy sitting naked with my butt pressed against hard fiberglass while watching my skin pucker... but because I think maybe, just maybe, the noise of the jets will block out the sounds of "the everything" that intrudes on my patience and I'll be able to "settle my mind," thus making me more respectful towards my children.

You know the noise of "the everything" -- kids bickering, husband saying he'd gladly put the dishes away if only he knew where they went, bills mocking you in their high pitched voices "ha! ha! you still haven't paid off your balance! you're paying more in interest than principal! ha! ha!", the toothpaste dots on the mirror teasing you because you still haven't figured out who is responsible for spraying them up there (seriously - do you really need to be THAT close to the mirror? And if you do, could you not just wipe it down when you're done?), your own mind pointing out to you over and over and over everything you've done wrong: "You know, that chicken was a little dry. You've never really mastered the moist chicken thing, have you? If only you were a better cook..." "You know, there are siblings that actually enjoy each other and get along for more than eight minutes at any given time. You've never quite been able to get them to quit bickering, have you? If only you were a better example...."

I believe that the noise of "the everything" is what chips away at our internal peace. It shoves Patience aside and allows Discontent to set up shop. Respect is a good guy.... and he feels bad that Patience got pushed out, so Respect goes after Patience... which means that Discontent is leaning back with his feet up calling the shots... and that is never a pretty thing.

The topic tonight of Respect and Patience is so important to me. Perhaps it's because I have neither. Honestly. I want it. I search for it. I get put-off when someone else doesn't shower me with respect and patience. But do I have it? At times, I suppose I do. But not when it's really vital. And by that I mean, "why do I treat the WalMart greeter (with those rediculous stickers that my kid never wants; can't she see that my daughter is attempting to climb back into my body just to get away from her?) with more patience and respect than I do my own children? And why am I so surprised when they dish it back to me?

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