Maybe It's Not So Bad

Back in the day, my days of youthful angsty love, I celebrated Valentine's Day in two ways:  wearing all black and putting up bitter love quotes on my AIM profile and away messages.  It became a thing and soon I had friends sending me their bitter love quotes, poems and song lyrics.  A few years after I started my tradition, I had so many people sending me things that I put up a different quote for the first 14 days of the month, saving the best one for last.  A good example, just so you get the picture about the depths of the the bitter, this was one of my favorites: 

Even though you outwit me, I’m not going back to you ... I am not going back to the axe of your love, O triumphant husbandman and lasso king of the gateless horses, I am not going back to you, even though I squirm in your arms and surrender to your will the total essence of my dusty shell here in this captured sweat-hall, I am never coming back, I swear that I will lie to you forever, and I will be never again the cup of your need. 

~ Leonard Cohen

What makes all of this kinda strange is that I loved love, like, really loved it.  If you walked into my room, it would be pretty clear, as I had a wall full of kissing pictures and love quotes.  But, Valentine's Day, it was my Achilles Heel; it didn't seem to matter whether or not I had a boyfriend or was single, the day was always bad.  The boys would say or do really dumb things, like, the one time I got " I thought you'd appreciate it more if I got you flowers the day after Valentine's- that way you wouldn't be expecting it."  There was also the time I got a card from the boyfriend and he had scratched out the word "love" where it was written on the card.  And I don't mean he wrote "love" and then decided against using the word- I mean he bought a card, or found one for free at his parent's house (the more likely choice even though he was in college), and the card itself had the word love written on it.  And he scratched it out.  With pen.  And gave it to me.

Year after year I set myself up for disappointment by having great expectations for the actual day itself as well as for the generally unwise objects of my affection.  So I stopped celebrating it as a day all about the "we" and made me it all about me. 

Looking back on all of this, I can clearly see how I was trying to protect my heart on a day where I was particularly vulnerable.  For the past few years I haven't felt that way anymore, but I still didn't like to acknowledge Valentine's Day out of respect for the old me who promised herself she'd never celebrate it again.  And even though I feel a little bit like I'm letting her down, I've decided that the 29 year old me can't be held to a decision I made at the age of 18.

If I didn't have my Spencer, I might feel differently, but there is something magical about the way a young child is capable of loving everyone and everything without reservation.  Yesterday at church, my faith in Valentine's Day was restored by a four year old boy. He told his mom he wanted to give Spencer a flower and so she went out and bought a rose- which he shyly gave to her in front of me and his parents.  I almost cried.  It was the sweetest thing I have ever seen.  How can I not celebrate a day like that?  I don't want to be closed off because I really believe there is a great love for me out there and I don't want to miss it.

In honor of my decision, and maybe to make a little restitution for all the bitter love quotes I spread throughout the world, I'm putting up my favorite, I love love, love quotes.

When I was apart from you,
    this world did not exist,
    nor any other

~ Rumi

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

~ Pablo Neruda

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

 

~ Emily Bronte 

 

In the whole of the universe there
are only two: the lover and the
beloved.

~ Bhai Sahib

If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.

~Michel de Montaigne 

 

I love her and that's the beginning of everything.

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.

~ Pablo Neruda

 Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale.

~ Anonymous

What will survive of us is love.

~ Philip Larkin

Naughty Nights

At one time in my life this title might have meant something very different than it does now.  The only naughtiness that fills my nights these days is that which involves my little Spencie.  Ever since we got rid of her noonie, or since I got rid of her noonie for her, nighttime has been an uphill battle filled with lengthy back scratches, leg tickles, and "I just want to give you one more kiss[es], Mommy!"

For the first couple of days I totally fell for the one-more-kiss line. But then my little sweet-talker picked up on my weakness for her displays of affection and all of a sudden I was getting and giving about ten to twenty kisses.  Kisses turned into hugs which turned into her telling me "your my best best friend in the world."  She came up with that line all on her own and it just melted my heart into an oceanic sized puddle,  Or at least it did until I heard her tell many other people that they were else her "best best friend in the world."

Even after I realized her new nighttime lovey-doviness was just a ploy to stay awake longer, I was having a really hard time resisting her charms.  During the day, Spencer is, well, not so fond of the PDA.  She is fiercely independent and wants to do everything with no help from me.  So when she turns into that sweet little smooth talker as soon as she realizes it's getting dark out, I'm putty in her hands. 

Or at least I was.  Tonight I put my foot down after 20 minutes of her attempts to try and "love me" into letting her stay awake longer.  It about broke my heart when she said "but I just want hold your hand!"   But we'd already held hands, done our kiss routine, sang songs, etc.  One more hand holding would turn into two more hugs and she'd be no closer to going to sleep.  I felt like the worst mother in the world.

But I had to do it, right?  I feel so guilty about this whole thing- everything was fine with her sleeping habits until I put an end to her pacifier.  I knew it was going to mean that nights were going to be a little more difficult for awhile and that I'd need to be patient and understand during the transition process- but that was in the middle of March!  Isn't the transition period over?  My answer to that was yes, but now I'm starting to question whether or not I'm wrong here.  I don't know- what do ya'll think?  How would you handle this situation?

Sweet Talk

I don't like it.  Sweet talk annoys me to no end, mostly because of it's fake fakiness.  Which, unfortunately, I've had an unfortunate history of falling for many times before.  I've never been very good at doing myself, and I've certainly never called anyone I don't know "Honey" or "Sweetie."  In fact, when someone who doesn't know me calls me one of those names, my internal bull honkey antennae goes up.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered my two year old daughter has become the master of deceptive sweet talk.  It snuck up on me, and for awhile I was in denial; I tried to trick myself into believing that all of her "I love yous," "Don't crwys," and unsolicited kisses were just obvious signs of her love and appreciation.  But I've had to face the facts.

My very intuitive daughter tells me she loves me right before she's about to do something naughty.  If I get angry with her, she comes and gives me a kiss, says "Your wekome.  All better?"  She looks at me with such earnest eyes as she strokes my face, nods her head and she's all "It's k! k? ok."  Like she's telling me to back off, what she want's to do is perfectly acceptable, and I just need to chill out and let her do her thing.

In the beginning it was kinda cute, and I probably perpetuated it by being smitten with her ingenious way of manipulating me.  But now, I'm over it. Today when we are on the road, I hear her say "I love you" and as soon as the you was out of her mouth, I heard an unmistakable click.  The click of her unbuckling her car seat!  I start yelling, trying to find a place to pull over and put her back in, and she's all "It's okay, Mommy, I love you!  K? K? ok!"  My jaw was clenched, one hand on the steering wheel, the other trying to keep her in her car seat, and trying to keep any expletives from coming out of my mouth.  This wasn't the first time she's tried to get out of her car seat while I was driving, but it was the first time she's managed to unbuckle it, and I was on a highway!

We were on her way home, she needed her nap, even though she kept telling me otherwise.  So I put her down for her nap, we hug, say our I love yous and it's light out.  Only it's not. I hear another I love you, followed by a thud- indicating she had climbed out of her bed. I finally got her to sleep, but it wasn't easy.  And I've been in a bad mood since then.  Does anyone else deal with this kinda thing? 

A Long Short Goodbye

This is going to be/is a pretty stressful week for me, as Spencer's birthday is Friday and her party is Saturday. Everything's been ordered, invitations mailed, now it's just implementing all of it. Of course my house needs a good cleaning, but it's not that bad. But when you have an almost two year old, and a Great Dane puppy, you can't clean too far in advance, or else you'll just be doing it twice, or thrice, and what ever the -ice version of four is.

You can't do anything in advance really, just order, buy, and wait for the horrendous day when you know you have to do everything at once. It's just hanging over my head right now, and I've never been all that great at implementation. I'm a much better planner than doer. Almost every paper I've ever written that received an A was done in an all night marathon. When I spent days or weeks trying to write one paper, I'd write a few pages, come back the next day and maybe decide to go with a new theme, or the flow was off, the tone different. I'd second guess, rewrite, re-edit, waste loads of time, and erode my self-confidence in the process. For me, long term projects lack coherency- I'm a sprinter, not a marathon type of girl.

Of course this leads to a great deal of stress and is probably not the smartest or healthiest way to handle anything, but so far, it's the one that produces the best results. But I'm open to suggestions, always!
So today, while I was taking a break from my mental party preparations, Spencer and I went with my aunt to my Grandparent's house. It's finally been sold and the closing is tomorrow. I'd already said my goodbyes to the house and I really didn't want to go, I felt like it would be having to do it all over again. But my aunt really wanted someone to go with her, so we went. And I'm so glad I did.

I didn't go in again, but I got out with Spencer and walked around. It's the weirdest feeling to be somewhere and know that you'll never be there again. Even though it's only 15 minutes away and I could drive by anytime I want- I won't. I won't be able to go in the backyard or sit on the porch. This was it. I walked to the edge of the backyard and memories came flooding back. There's this concrete drain type thing in the back, that runs through the entire neighborhood- on the other side is just woods.
When I was a little girl I thought it was a real creek, because water was always flowing through it, and I used to dare myself to jump over it. My Grandpa built a plank for me to cross it, like a pirate, and then I'd be in "the woods" which was very scary for me. It's where I saw a deer for the first time, and I'd put out treats for her so she'd come back and visit. I can remember my Grandpa telling me to be very quiet or else she'd get scared and run away.

The "Creek"

As I got older, I rarely headed into the yard and the creek became more overgrown. When I saw it today, it looked nothing like my memories of it, but it still brought tears to my eyes. I have a very difficult time letting go of things/feelings, but I've done a really good job with it in terms of Grandparents. Not forgetting them, but knowing that they needed to be together to be happy and if that meant they'd have to be in Heaven to do so, well, okay. But going back there reminded me of a much happier time with them, it made me forget their last awful days, and it was tears of happiness that I quickly brushed away from my face. (Spencer does NOT like it when I cry).

My Grandpa was my only grandparent who got to meet to Spencer. My parents initially tried to hide my pregnancy from everyone but my Grandma died when I was 6 months pregnant, putting an end to that. My Dad told him shortly thereafter and when I saw him the next day, he gave me a long hug and said "We lost our girl, but God's given us another one." I'll never forget that- his words, his expression, his embrace. He was so loving and supportive of me.

I thought I'd already said goodbye, I sprinted right through and tried not to look too far back. But Spencer's upcoming birthday has really made me very reflective and emotional. I decided I don't need to say goodbye, I have two decades worth of fabulous memories and stories to keep my company. So much of the grieving process is spent on the final days, probably because the good days are too hard to remember. But going back to their house today reminded me of all those wonderful times and cherished memories. It wasn't a goodbye today.

Forget Me Not

The Forget Me Not Flower

I have an excellent memory. Not photographic, but I did memorize the entire Gettysburg Address in the 5th grade (I still know it), I could tell you what you wore on any given day, and can playback entire conversations from as long ago as nursery school. I just remember things, which can sometimes be good or bad.

Most of these things are facts or feelings, I often can't remember where I hid my keys from Spencer. But recently I've noticed a startling a trend- I've forgotten, or blocked out, large parts of who I used to be. Before Spencer (BS), I was the ultimate hopeless romantic, the girl who believed love conquered all, and there was no romantic comedy that I didn't like. During my freshman year of college, our hall ordered t-shirts that had our names and a quote about us on it- mine was "Katie 'I love love." I had a kissing wall, every year, in all of my dorm rooms- photos and magazine cut outs of various kisses. I unconditionally gave my whole heart to the love of my life.

Then one day I had a baby and all my love went to her. It no longer seemed appropriate to be that girl anymore, after all, it was my amorous ways that got me here. Deep down though, I'm still that same hopeless romantic who believes in soul mates and true love. But, it makes me sad to remember that Katie (uh oh, I'm talking in the 3rd person) and how I thought I was going to grow up, become a pro bono lawyer, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. That's still no excuse for completely excising that part of myself just because it makes me wistful.

Yesterday, I realized that it wasn't just the "I love love" me that I put on the back burner, I also did it with, to a lesser extent, the government loving patriotic me. I still talk about politics, but if you knew me BS you'd know that it was one of my favorite topics to discuss- I don't think a day went by when I didn't talk about it in some way or another. But then I had a baby and continuing law school was no longer an option- talking about politics, governments and laws only reminded me that I wasn't going to have the life I'd spent years preparing for.

I was listening to NPR on the way home from celebrating the 4th with the PGP's and they did a segment on the WASPs, no not White Anglo Saxon Protestants. The WASPS, Women Airforce Service Pilots, were female pilots during WWII who flew military aircraft for the United States Army Airforce. They were flight instructors, test flew sick planes to make sure they were suitable for flying before the men flew them, and were often used to pilot planes that were being used as target practice for the men learning how to shoot while flying. Thirty-Eight of them died and not one was allowed to have a military burial or a Gold Star- the US didn't even pay to have their bodies shipped back to their families. After the War, Congress defeated a proposed bill that would have given these women the military benefits they deserved and went so far as to seal the records of the WASPs, their contribution hidden from the world. On July 1, 2009, 65 years after their records were sealed, President Obama awarded these courageous women with the Congressional Gold Medal.

When I heard this, I burst into tears- which surprised me. But I thought about why it had elicited such an emotional response and the answer came to me- these ladies were heroes who were unjustly forgotten. They dedicated a part of their life, some gave their lives, to a cause and were then forced to ignore it, to pretend like it never happened.


And here I am, shutting out, ignoring huge parts of myself just because it makes me sad?! So what if I don't have the life I imagined? It may be different, but I LOVE it. All I've really wanted, my whole life, is to be remembered, have a legacy- change the world for the better in some small way. I still plan on achieving that goal, I'm not sure how, but I still see endless opportunities in my future. I'm not sure why I've going about these past two years as if the old me no longer exists, or isn't really relevant to the current or future me.
My baby turns two on Friday. Two. She's a little girl now and I'm having some trouble accepting that. I keep thinking about our life together and how I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world. I'm happy- there's no longer a reason for me to forget who I was. Spencer is almost at the age where she's going to remember her life- our life- and I want to be all of me for her, not just the parts I've carved out. After all, if I hadn't been me I wouldn't have had her, and that's not something I ever want to forget.

I Got You Babe

My Ex Boyfriend is Getting Married

“I always thought that if he could get it together, grow up, maybe we do it. Maybe we could really be a family, in a stupid traditional Dan-Quayle-golden-retriever-grow-old-together wear-matching-jogging-suits kind of way. And then he did get it together. He became that guy. And he gets to be that guy with her.”

—Lorelai Gilmore, Gilmore Girls - Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days :

Isn't This Sweet?

I LOVE This!