On grief

Since Neil died a few people have made oblique comments along the lines of I don’t know how you do it. Recently a man in his late thirties died suddenly, and a friend of his wife asked me if she could talk to me about how I managed when Neil died, so she could help her friend who is left with three little kids.

I may have blanched when she said that, despite saying of course, call me anytime. Because I knew there would be nothing I could say that was going to help her friend. She hasn’t come back around to talk, so my guess is she’s changed her mind, or she’s heard through that great gossip vine that maybe Neil’s death and this man’s were different (as if there was such a thing).

Anyway, here’s what I would tell her, what I would tell anyone. It’s like someone has just handed you this giant, ugly, scratchy sweater and told you that you have to wear this every second of the rest of your life. That your burden to bear is this gigantic uncomfortable sweater.

So you put it on, that first day, and you think there is no way I can wear this. It’s too heavy, it swallows you up and goes on and on. It hurts. I won’t be able to do this, I won’t be able to wear this. And it pisses you off, and makes you sob and makes the passage of time terrifying. Everybody can see you’re wearing this heavy sweater, but they can’t do a damn thing about it, and they’re relieved it’s not their sweater. They think wow, I don’t know how I would handle something like that. Like it’s a secret. Or some skill set that you’ve been given.

There is no secret to it.

The days go on and on and on and on and you wear that fucking sweater around while you help your kids with their heavy sweaters. You get mad that people look at you and your family with your heavy sweaters like maybe it’s contagious.

Then one day, many many days later, you realize that the sweater shrunk. And your arms got longer. Or maybe all of you got bigger, but you can see that the sweater isn’t so big anymore. It’s still big, and some days it seems to have stretched because it feels like it did that first day again. But most days, the sweater is smaller and you are bigger.

And this will go on forever. No matter what you’re wearing, no matter whether people can see your sweater, you’re always wearing it. It’ll fit better most of the time, but it will always be there and you’ll make peace with it. It won’t scratch all the time, the sleeves won’t hang below your jacket anymore.

I decided to write this down today because I came home from church and started sobbing. I’d like to say it was for no reason, but it was because I was thinking about my son’s heavy sweater, how it’s caused juvenile PTSD and how he works through that every day. I wish I was a better shepherd for him, I wish I could tell him in his kid language that he’s going to be ok, that I’m going to be ok (because that’s his biggest fear).

OK, I feel better now. I just had to get that out.

Now I have to go to Home Goods cause I don’t have a spring wreath for my door and I’m gonna get me one.

- H

Peace and tranquility? Aisle 7

I had quiet moment of clarity the other day. One of those things that sneaks up on you. Not like an Oprah A-HA moment, those kind of hit you over the head. See, I'm shopping a lot.

I know, you'll be thinking to yourself Heather, you've always shopped a lot.

And you'd be right because I do like to shop.

But this feeling, this is different. This is shopping for something I can't find in a store. I've been here before. A long time ago, so long ago I can say it was in my twenties. Before Y2K. I put it away for a long time, and now I think it's crept back into my life.

Luckily, I can quickly brush through the crap and ask the real question - why am I shopping so much right now? What's bothering me? And that's the harder part. There's just such a plethora of choices, I'm having a hard time narrowing the field.

• Neil [for the record, since I stopped writing lo those many years ago, this is now my go-to question for all issues that arise with me or my children or my extended family or strangers or new neighbors or new neighbors' children or garbage men]
• Nanny [Is it that she's on another date tonight with yet another new guy she's met online?]
• Work
• Children

It could be Neil. I told my therapist I will be happy to get to a place when an entire hour can go by where I don't think about him. It hasn't happened yet.

But I think I'm just lonely. I think that's how I felt in my twenties, too, the last time I found myself wookin pa nub in the aisles of Target. Here we've moved to a wonderful new home in a wonderful new neighborhood with a school that makes my son (the one with PTSD now, thanks Neil) feel warm and comfortable and safe 95% of the time, and I'm still lonely. I still don't fit in. Next month we'll have been here a year! It's hard to believe.

When I'm lonely, I start watching QVC. That's embarrassing to admit out loud. I do, I watch it at night when I'm in bed and then this week I ordered some stupid conditioning shampoo that doesn't lather but is supposed to turn your hair from fried to luxe. Hey, you know what? My hair isn't fried! And I like lather! That's how crazy my relationship with QVC is.

Hey you know what?? Maybe that's why I want to have my boobs fixed, too! Maybe it's just another form of shopping! Holy shit. That's an A-HA moment.

Or it could just be that it's February. And I want it to be April. And all the other aforementioned items on bulleted list above.

Well, hells bells. So glad we had this hour together (surely you read faster than that) that didn't cost me $200. Very successful therapy session, thank you.

- H

I'm writing a book. So there's that.

I'm a-gonna write a book.

So that's why I'm writing this here blog post instead. Cause writing a book is HARD.

And before you're all like "oh, Heather, you must be writing about how whacked you and your crazy family are" NO, it's not that. I'm writing a children's book. Sort of.

See, you may have noticed, I have boys. And boys like boy things. And guess what? Now that my oldest is reading (or really trying hard to become a reader), there aren't a lot of cool books for him to read for his age. There are short stories about sports and there are "baby books" (his term, not mine) but there aren't cool, intriguing stories written for a boy in first or second grade.

Enter his mother, stage left. I had this moment the other night, not aided by wine or anything, where I decided I wanted to write a story that he would love to read. And then his brother, in a few years. And then maybe another story, and another, and then pretty soon I was totally the guy who wrote Diary of a Wimpy Kid and made it into three movies. Which of course means we're millionaires and all that. But first, the story is the most important thing.

So I'm working on it. I took myself to lunch today and outlined my idea for the first book.

I also need an illustrator.

And I might need a new laptop.

I have a feeling this "book" is going to be very expensive.

- H

I am resolute.

I spent some time this freezing afternoon reading through old posts. I want to come back, I really really do. But it's hard to find my words some days. Anyway, I read something I wrote three years ago, at New Year's 2010:

In putting together that post, I got to read a lot of my old posts. A lot. And that's when I realized, that's what this blog is good for.

If you're a blogger, you've undoubtedly had one of Those Moments. The moment when you think "why am I doing this? What is this all about anyway?" You start to get bogged down in the popularity contest instead of just enjoying what you're doing, and why you started doing it in the first place. It starts to feel like a chore instead of a joy. 

That's why I'm back, why I like doing this. Because in reading all those old posts and walking down memory lane I felt warm and cozy. Even when they weren't warm and cozy posts and even though we lost Neil. I can't tell you why, but it's good to have my words reminding me what life was like when Griffin was a baby, when Cooper was a toddler, when Neil was with us.

I wasn't going to make resolutions this year. Because yeah. Everything changed this year, so much so that I don't actually have habits I need changing. For the last sixteen months I've been in a modified survival mode, every month better than the last. Plus, I already started Pilates again last fall. My posture is so much better, my back doesn't hurt every minute of every day anymore. I don't need no stinking resolutions! I thought.

And then when I was sucking down the large Pepsi from Taco Bell, the one that helped me wash down the Chicken Burrito with sour cream (highly recommend if you're at Taco Bell), I thought yeah, maybe I should get off the sugar sauce again. So that's my first one. No more large Pepsis for lunch, unless I like the bloated belly that sticks out farther than my boobs these days.

And then I have another one, The Big One. I'm gonna go do something drastic to myself. Something I've wanted to do for a long time, since I was in my twenties. I'm gonna go do some mammary sculpting (please refer to previous resolution). I don't need a second career as a stripper. I just want to look like I used to, back before I had kids. Before gravity did her awful thing to me. I'll keep you posted, I'm still in research stages of this thing.

- H

My fingers itch.

Blogger has changed. A lot. It's symbolic, really. I stepped away for my life while it spun and Blogger did too. I've missed writing, and having a way of seeing how we grow. So much has changed since I last read this blog, let alone wrote anything. I love it, though. I came back tonight and love every word of it, even if it's hard to read. Here's a quick update, and then maybe I can get on with it. We moved. We have new friends. We have some of our old friends. We lost some. I look a lot older. So do my kids. This is like physical therapy. The first session is always bad. -H

On talking to Neil. Again.

I am still talking to Neil. I've had some friends email me wondering why it disappeared.

I wanted that conversation to be as anonymous as possible, which is laughable. At the time, I was worried about protecting Neil's legacy.

Now, I'm not so worried. I've come to terms with the truth and I know that others will have to as well.

- H

*tap* *tap* *tap* is this thing on? *tap* *tap*

Hello? I can't tell if I even know how to use this thing anymore, this blog o' mine. It's been so long.

I've been thinking about writing for a long long time. Does that count? No? Oh right.

Well, here goes. Remember that post I wrote around New Year's? The one where I was all like "hey, I kept the band together!" Yeah, that was so 2010. I'm all moving forward into 2011.

I'd love to make this space my own again. I need to do that, for my sanity. I've been drifting through my own life for the last two years months, holding my breath. I want to let it out again, shake the cobwebs from my head and get my tippity tappity fingers going again.

I am tentatively trying my arch-enemy as well. You read that right. I'm actually reading and occasionally posting on facebook. I still hate it, but that Zuckerberg kid has made any other form of connectivity nearly obsolete. So facebook it is. It's a great tool, though, if you're uncertain about whether someone in your life is a true friend or not. Highly recommend it for that.

It's kind of fun, actually. To write! To read! To breathe! Hey, did you know two spaces at the end of sentences is totally dead? The new rule is one space. I'll give it a shot and let you know how it goes. My guess is not well, considering the fact that my high school typing classes left me with so much anxiety I dreamt about typing for four straight years.

And I'm going to try to do this without censorship. From myself or from others. Which means my content may be fairly bland for a while. Wait, that's censoring! Crap this is hard.

Remember me? Me neither. But I hope to again soon.

- H

Career aspirations

Let's just pretend I haven't been gone for months, and carry on, k?

This morning in the car, after listening to John Tesh tell a story about a child who became a musician:

Mom: Cooper, do you want to be a musician when you grow up?
Cooper: NO.
Mom: What do you want to be?
Cooper: Mom, I just want to be a regular worker person.
Mom: Oh, ok.
Cooper: And then, I can do a really bad job and get fired so I can get another job.

Interesting what he's learning about career aspirations in this household?

- H

ready for a chuckle?

If you're like me, you cringe and quickly click away when you run into one of those "I'm a regular girl with dreams of being a stylist so I take daily pics of what I'm wearing" blogs out there. There are a million of them.

I hope this didn't hurt anyone's feelings. Sometimes I like to share things like my favorite sandals or an awesome dress I found at Target, too. But the stylist-o-the-day thing is just not my gig.

Which is why I laughed deep belly laughs when I stumbled across The Man Repeller. Seriously, you must not only scroll through her posts as she takes normal clothes and turns them into hideous runway fashion that men would hate, but you must also read each and every one of her brilliant and snarky words.

Enjoy.

- H

This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.

Cooper had his surgery today. Surgery on the whole doesn't freak me out anymore, after spending a number of years working in anesthesiology. I understand the process, I know the drugs they're giving him and how he's going to feel (or not feel). I'm not scared about the actual process.

Still. It's my little boy, and he's little. And now he's missing his tonsils and adenoids and has two shiny new ear tubes to help him hear again. And he's hurting.

Not in pain, per se. No, for some reason he is in no pain, but he can't swallow. I literally saw him hold a sipful of water in his mouth for ten minutes so he wouldn't have to swallow it.


I am confident the new tubes will help him hear again. In fact, he's been holding his hands over his ears pretty regularly today, which tells me the real world is a whole lot louder than he was used to.

I'm sure he'll improve as the week moves on. I just wish there was more I could do for him than popsicles and Tylenol.

- H

I've survived but the downside is I created a monster.

Three. straight. weeks. It is not even March yet and I've been away for three separate weeklong meetings. The good news is the meeting season is OVER. The bad news is I can't feel my fingertips and I have a strange pain in my lungs. I swear I caught some sort of African flu at the Opryland hotel last week. It was under water six months ago, and my room was on the ground level. Can you say mold?

Never fear, I will survive as we all do, right?

On one of the sixteen flights home, I sat next to a techno geek. I wouldn't have called him that myself, he used that phrase to describe himself. So I'm not being catty, I'm merely quoting.

Anyway, he was showing me how to work my new iPhone (thank you, company, for making me turn in my beloved Blackberry and learn this dagnabbit* contraption) and some fun apps to put on it. I sheepishly pulled out my iPad, a Christmas gift from my husband, and confessed I've done nothing with it other than surf the net.

So when I got home last night, and the dust had settled, I set about loading up that iPad with games for the kids. It is now 5:15 p.m. Less than 24 hours later, and one of my sons will cry giant crocodile tears if he can't play his "games."

I have created a monster.

Sadly, this monster does not yet know how to fold laundry. Apparently his father doesn't, either, as this is the scene I returned home to. I had washed and dried all of this loveliness before leaving.


That's ok! I love folding laundry! Doesn't bother me a bit! I have a whole second weekend day I can devote to it.

- H

*I was in Nashville. What do you expect?

Evil, you have met your match

After getting the shock of my life and realizing that I'm fat and ugly right now (at least to me I am), I made an emergency call to my pilates studio. I haven't taken a class since last June when my husband got sick and all hell broke loose. I figured maybe it would help me tighten up a little and then feel a little better about myself.

I booked my lesson on Friday with a girl I took lessons from last spring. She was a little hard core last year, but not too bad. In order to protect her privacy, I'll give her an alias. Let's call her Evil Personified, kay?

So we met at the studio, and instead of doing the typical pilates thing where they ask what your body has been doing and what level of fitness you're at, have you do some cleansing breathing, you know, all that safety stuff, Miss Evil threw me on the Reformer right away. When she said "send the carriage out" and I could barely get it pushed all the way out, she admitted to me, "yeah, I pumped up your springs a little."

Many of you may have no idea what I'm talking about right now. I will give you an analogy. It's a bit like a personal trainer meeting a client who hasn't stepped foot in the gym in 8 months and then loading up their benchpress bar with an extra 100 pounds.

Things with Miss Evil went downhill from there. Was she mad that I'd disappeared for eight months? Did she think I'd been cheating and taking classes at a different studio? I'll never know. What I do know is that she actually had me doing things like one-armed pushups when my form was so bad I had to tilt my body towards the ceiling just to keep from falling down. Did she correct my form? No.

I could barely walk yesterday. One of my boobs actually hurt. Boobs typically do not hurt after exercise. The muscles underneath them, yes, but this was the actual boob. My husband and I went out to dinner last night to celebrate his new job (yay!) and while walking to the restaurant I lost control of my leg muscles for a second. I didn't fall, don't worry.

Today, the legs are a little better. I can pick up my son again today, that's a plus. My left boob no longer hurts. I'm supposed to go back into the studio tomorrow for a chair class. My options are 1) Call the owner of the studio and threaten to sue them for hurting me and employing a dangerous teacher, or 2) Go to the chair class because my butt is in horrible shape and the chair really whips it into shape and I'm superficial enough to only care about my looks.

I've got a feeling I know which way this is going.

- H

Note to self: plastic surgery is your friend.

I got a new iPhone yesterday. I had a Blackberry that I loved dearly, and then my company decided we were all joining the Applevolution and we'd all be hooking up to white cords.

So they sent me the iPhone, and I cursed my way through the first day, accidentally making phone calls I didn't want to make and whatnot.

Then I remembered something. My friends with iPhones love the cameras! So I whipped that baby out, ready to snap some super cute shots of my brood. I was looking for a zoom feature, when I clicked a little button in the top righthand corner, and BAM. My life changed. That button wasn't a zoom. It was this freaky ability to flip the lens facing towards you!

Now, I know what you're going to say. Duh! What did you think? But honestly, it was a shock to see it in such black and white terms.

I look like hell. That's it in a nutshell. I am haggard. Aged.



Two years ago I didn't look like this. In no other two years of my life have I aged this quickly except maybe when I was four.



Look at the annotated pictures. The primary creases. The jowls. The bag under my right eye.

I am seriously distressed. I knew the last two years had been rough on me, but I had no idea just exactly how rough until tonight. I guess I should probably never touch that button again, eh? And I'm going to book a vacation. I can't breathe right now from all the fun goings on. I need to take a breath.

- H

Half a month? Yeah, that's about right.

Maybe later today I'll have a very witty retrospective on Valentine's Day to share with you. Probably not, considering how my month of February has gone so far (where has it gone?!).

Instead, I will leave you with a flashback of sorts. This post that I wrote last Valentine's Day. Which could easily be this Valentine's Day, because we still live in this godforsaken HOT HOUSE.

Happy day of luuurv, everyone.

- H

I vote no more snow days

Let's see....rough weekend with children, followed by one day of work, followed by two snow days trapped with children, followed by two work days, followed by two weekend days with children....

You get the picture. I hate to be all child hating and whatnot, but my kids are OUT OF CONTROL with winter boredom right now, and having the fracking malls close for inclement weather doesn't help matters. No Chik-fil-A. No playzone stocked with new germs. No Nordstrom's for mommy.

We never did get the snowmageddon we were predicted to get. We did get an inch or so of freezing rain and ice followed by five or six inches of sleet. You know how I know it was sleet, even though it's white and you can sled on it? Because my irritating know-it-all oncologist neighbor's five-year-old son made SURE to tell my sons every single time they yelled SNOW IS FUN that it WASN'T SNOW, it was SLEET. There was a point when I, the adult, actually said "R, who cares? Snow, sleet, it's still fun to sled on!"

Yes, I'm not proud of that moment. Good thing he wasn't listening to me at all but was busy thinking about how brilliant he is. Brilliant, and yet oddly unfamiliar with such regular childhood things like The Outside.

Anyway, the day flew by, my kids rampaged the house, I kicked them out a few times to sled, I scraped ice and shoveled sleet (remarkably heavy, by the by), and I fielded a late afternoon phone call telling me that surprise! my boss is no longer with the company, which is corporate lingo for she is no longer with the company and it wasn't her choice. Aaaannnnnd scene.

You know what? A local career in real estate is looking mighty attractive right about now. No travel. No corporate dramas. No oversized egos. No income.

Hmmmm, this is going to be a tough one. Good thing I have one more snow day to ruminate on it all. Somebody call me late tomorrow afternoon, would you please? Just a courtesy check to be sure the inmates haven't overtaken the asylum. Thanks.

- H

Waiting for SNOWMAGGEDON

There's nothing like a bunch of amped up St. Louis weather reporters to get an entire region super nervous about some impending weather. Yes, we've had a crazy cold winter so far. Yes, we're probably going to have some snow this week.

But the thing that totally freaks me out is the excitement in the voices of the weather reporters. They're all totally psyched that we might get two inches of ice, followed by up to eighteen inches of snow. They like to pull out their historical video footage of way way back in nineteen-aught-eighty-two when our fair city got fourteen inches of snow in a two day period. HOLY COW. Fourteen inches?! How do you manage with that much snow?

Oh, that's right. All the other cities that aren't total wussies (which is NOT the word I wanted to use but my better judgment prevailed) manage just fine every other week in the winter when they regularly get fourteen inches of snow. Small, fairly nondescript cities such as Chicago. And Boston.

So, I sit here at my desk, working through work stuff and glancing out the window every now and then. Waiting. Waiting for the STORM TO END ALL STORMS to start. So far I see a little bit of rain and some of it has frozen. Pfft.

The worst part about it all is that no matter how much snow we'll get, the schools will be closed until Friday. That much I can guarantee you. I vaguely remember me saying something last night to the effect of sweet mother of God, please let Monday morning come quickly when these two Devil-children will be off on their merry way to play with friends and leave mommy in peace and quiet to interact with adults and her laptop, in silence. Or something like that. It was a rough weekend.

The older child, who had regained his hearing temporarily, caught another cold and has lost it again. Either that or he totally figured out the whole if-I'm-deaf-it-gets-me-out-of-trouble thing and is totally playing me. We go back to the doctor and the hearing lab on Thursday. Oh happy day.

Ok. I'm going to go back to glancing out the window and cursing at the weather reporters with their overnight bags and cots laid out in the weather room. I'll keep you posted on Snowmageddon's progress towards The City With No Snow Removal Equipment. Saint Louis.

- H

I'ma gonna kick yer -

Ah, good times. Did I mention I suffer from night terrors? Actually, I don't suffer from them, but my husband has been known to be battered upon. I had another one last night, which is odd. I don't know why they would crop up again now, when all is hunky dory in the world.

Oh, yeah. I guess maybe all isn't hunky dory and that stupid house guest STRESS is visiting again and I'ma gonna kick her ass outta here cause I hate her. Today I was on a last-minute conference call !surprise! letting me know I'll be travelling to a meeting the same week my husband is away at his meeting.

Now, I'm no mathemagician, but I'm thinking two little kids, one one-eyed terrierist, a gigantic brown moron and zero adult parents is a bad equation? My mother (I should really just start referring to her as The Saint) will be flying up from sunny Florida to care for my brood for three to seventeen days and then flying back to sunny Florida unless I kidnap her and don't let her leave. Did I say that out loud?

But I didn't even know about all that shit when I found myself sitting up in bed fighting the Bad Guys with my arms all aflail, sweating and flailing and cursing and sweating. Then my husband pushed me down and said "go back to bed" and I couldn't because my heart was beating too fast.

I started getting these stupid things when I was pregnant with my oldest. I'd jump up in bed, fighting the good-albeit-imaginary fight, and scared the crap out of my husband. Who was at the same time trying to heal from a horrible surgery to his bumside, and oh my God it just hit me why I was having night terrors! Newlywed. Newly pregnant. Husband with newly surgery affecting his bummy (I always revert to mommy talk when I'm uncomfortable). Now it all makes sense!

Anyway. They continue. They go away for a while. They come back. Just like adult acne. Yay! I've won the shit lottery.

Still, it's good to know that if I really needed to, I could go all Chuck Norris on someone's ass and give it a good kicking. Always makes me feel confident when I think of it that way.

Oh, and hey! Funny story from today's parenting chronicles. We (meaning the two anklebiters and me) have been having some funny car conversations lately. Today Griffin and Ruby went with me to pick up Cooper from his school. As we were meandering through the streets of our little town, we discussed why we can't have a cat (Dad's allergic). Which reminded Cooper of what he's allergic to.

C: "I can't have cotton candy. I'm allergic."
Me: "Huh? Ohhhh, that's right. Yes, you are allergic to cotton candy."
G: "I'm not allergic to cotton candy."
Me: "Oh. Well, you might be too. We'll have to ask Dr. Julia next time we see her."
C: "You're allergic to cotton candy, too, because we're twins."
G: "Yeah, we're twins."
C: "Mom, what are twins?"
Me: "When two babies live in a mommy's belly at the same time and come out at the same time, they're twins. You and Griffin aren't twins, you're just brothers."
C: "Oh, right. We're brothers. But you might be allergic to cotton candy, too."
G: "Yeah."

Which reminds me to be careful of my crack team of excuses on the spot of why my kids can't have ___________ [fill in the blanks]. Being allergic is very handy.

- H

Christmas is going to be so awesome this year.

*Gratuitous brown moron in a new sweater shot.*

Every winter, at least the past four since I had children, I get hit with this moment. One year it actually happened in February. This year I had it last week. I was riding in the back of a cab on my way to a hotel where I'd spend the rest of the week in a meeting for work.

I glanced at the snow, and I thought "Christmas is going to be pretty this year."** And I didn't mean Christmas 2011 either.

I have no idea what that's all about, except maybe Christmas would be better appreciated in January than in December. By the time the hubbub of the holidays is past and I launch myself into the next year with gusto (or the next year is launched onto me regardless of how I feel about it, whatever), that's when things finally settle in and I'm totally ready to appreciate the holidays.

This also somewhat explains my feelings when looking back at pictures of my children in their various developmental phases.

I looked at my calendar this weekend and I believe I'll be able to come up for air sometime in March. Which is cool because March is officially spring to me and God knows I am not a lover of cold winters that drag on and on. Hopefully I'll find something to write about before March, if for no other reason than to keep the BlogHer ads team from descending on me.

I do want to give you an update of my Sugarbusters success story. Just give me a couple weeks to lose the weight I regained at Christmas, and then I'm totally on it.

- H

**Don't shoot me for using the word Christmas in January. I know, it makes you crazy, it makes me crazy too. I'll stop. Christmas.

Check me out with all my positivity and junk.

I've been meaning to write a super thought-provoking New Year's post, full of insight into what went wrong in 2010 (and oh hell there was so much where would I start?) and my high hopes for 2011. But then I didn't. Because two weeks at home with two pre-schoolers and I finally decided a successful day was one where no one ended up in the ER with stitches, not one where mommy got to write her manifesto.

You may or may not have noticed, but I've brought my alter-ego back. It was there that I started to construct a "that what I made in 2010" post, and only got so far as April before chucking it. Holy crap, I made a lot of stuff last year, and much of it was crap. I am definitely adding a goal of do not make any more crap to my list this year. Heh. I'll be so full of the awesome by the end of this year you all won't know how to handle me.

In putting together that post, I got to read a lot of my old posts. A lot. And that's when I realized, that's what this blog is good for.

If you're a blogger, you've undoubtedly had one of Those Moments. The moment when you think "why am I doing this? What is this all about anyway?" You start to get bogged down in the popularity contest instead of just enjoying what you're doing, and why you started doing it in the first place. It starts to feel like a chore instead of a joy. I think it happens to everyone at some point. When it happens to me, I step away from the keyboard. Luckily, my mojo has always returned and my fingers start tapping away.


It was in reviewing old posts that I had this AHA moment (no, I will NOT pay Oprah royalties for using that phrase). This blog has been the best diary, the best journal of what's happening in my life that I ever could have imagined. I'm so glad I added the LinkWithin widget, because now when I go to read an old post, I see pictures from even older posts, and suddenly I'm carried away to two years ago, when Griffin was just a baby and still in love with his toilet brush.

I won't lie to you. There were many tears wept over this walk down memory lane and many memories I wish I didn't remember. I cried a little for all the bad memories that came flooding back, but also for the fact that WE SURVIVED! I kept the band together! It's a small miracle considering what we had to overcome, but so far we've managed to do it and that is something.


So. I have no grandiose resolutions for this year. I hope to not spend as much money on marital counseling as I did last year because we don't need it. I hope there aren't as many dragons to slay this year. And I hope I stop and look back and smile a little more often than I did last year.

- H

One is the loneliest number

Oh happy day, my little dog Binnie went from two eyes to one today. She seems fine. I cried like a baby at various times in the day

Binnie is my dog, I picked her out at the city pound on Valentine's Day when she was a scant eight weeks old and I was newly moved to St. Louis. She has defied me at every turn since then, but I do so love her and I feel like I've failed her.

You may recall she had an abrupt retinal detachment last spring of her left eye? And then that same eye got glaucoma, which is like winning the shit lottery twice, because with glaucoma if you don't keep the pressures under control the eye starts to SWELL and it hurts like a mother.

Swell it did. Until it was really just a red, roving mass of stinkeye. The vet recommended we give up the sham and just remove the blind eye and put her out of her discomfort.

I agreed.

Today was the big day. She went in at 7 and came out at 6, minus one red oozy orb.

The most disturbing comments have come from the children.

Griffin: "If my eye gets sick, are you going to do that to me?" No, sweetie, for you we would spring for the glass eye.
Cooper: "Will she wear a patch like a pirate?" Only if she plans on running away to join the navy or something.

The worst indignancy? They sent her home with a big pink bandana around her neck, like she'd won some sort of dog rodeo beauty contest. How rude.

I'm sorry, Binnie.

- H