Oct 27, 2011 | This Life
Photo Caption: This post is going naked. You can imagine whatever image you’d like and insert it in this spot, m’kay?
What I’ve Learned:
Despite my facebook declarations to save my melt-down for New Year’s Day, I met my end yesterday. Stood in the hallway in front of the kitchen door and just wept.
What’s worse, (yes worse than missing deadlines by months) I melted-down in front of the very nice guy who is plastering our walls. Two days after I stood in the very same spot and told this same plaster artist, “I don’t know how I feel about the plaster. I can’t think about that right now, because IZ is in the ER and they think he’s had a heart-attack.”
Yeah, it’s been that kind of a week.
Let me put you out of my misery. IZ is fine. Well, he’s not, but he’s not having a heart-attack or a stroke or anything dire. He’s just under the immense pressure of trying to finish our house and work full time and parent and hold the hand of his wife who cannot keep her “stuff” together.
For that, I’m terribly sorry.
I kept my “stuff” together in the ER. There’s that. I kept looking at this man I love, this PARTNER (because we don’t define our relationship in terms of husband and wife. We’re best friends, lovers, PARTNERS.) and I kept thinking “I don’t do so well with this role reversal stuff.” I’m usually on the gurney, he’s usually holding MY hand. And well, he’s really amazing at that. How does he keep so calm? How does he crack jokes and not look worried and not sit down in a puddle of his own snot and tears and lose it?
He will tell you he’s Danish and it’s in their natures to be stoic and solid and perfectly calm.
I will tell you he’s a rockstar.
A rockstar who is stressed out.
So, yesterday comes along (see this page, last post for details) and I faced my end. You know, the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back? That straw came in the form of an email break-up note and turned on the tear spigot.
I cried. I stood in the hallway and IZ, the rockstar that his is, both held me and cracked jokes to the poor plaster guy watching me come undone, about how his wife didn’t weep a tear in the ER, but is crying over the tiler. He’s keeping it all together, because he is IZ.
Because the love of my life is Danish. And he’s eating his stress. And he’s holding my hand. And he’s making everything OK for everyone.
And I love him for all that and so much more.
Oct 11, 2011 | This Life
The weather has turned and I’m feeling that need to bundle up just a bit. Not ready for heavy wool jackets really, but an extra layer wouldn’t hurt. So, I ran up to the house today to grab a stack of cozy sweaters. I forgot exactly what was in my sweater stash, (Tall piles of pale neutrals) and what it smelled like (balsam sachets keep the moths at bay) Â Does that happen to you? You know, put things away for a season, only to rediscover them later? Â It will be like this again next year when I pull out the summer clothes. Until then, I’m breathing deeply; inhale balsam, exhale bliss. (Take a big sip of latte)
Has summer left your world yet? Have you put away your summer frocks in exchange for cozy sweaters?
Sep 27, 2011 | This Life
The photo isn’t blurry; you’ve been drinking. (Sazerac with real Absinthe from the amazing Astoria Coffee House and Bistro.)
Sep 19, 2011 | This Life
Look what arrived in the mail today? Good Mojo! Photo credit and bracelet by the ultra talented Kerri Jones of Ten Things.
When Kerri listed her new line of bracelets few weeks ago I knew I wanted one. It felt like a good omen. The tiny beads remind me of those nuts you put on the end of screws to keep them in place (no you may not read into that any further than the construction metaphor)—and Lord knows I feel like we could use a little Evil Eye protection when it comes to the chaos that is our house. I also knew that with construction budget being squeezed like a proverbial turnip, I had no business just buying one out-right. So, I sent a gushy email and raved like a lunatic and pitched the idea of a trade.
Kerri, being Kerri, just sent me one. Encased in some amazing fabric that I’ll save for another post. I’m wearing it now, and already feel calmer. Call me superstitious. I don’t mind. Â I really needed good mail and a bit of equally good mojo. The Universe knew that and apparently, so did Kerri.
(thank you, thank you!!)
Sep 16, 2011 | This Life
Mom Jeans?! Seriously?! *groan*
Now You’ve Gone and Done It
It was bound to happen eventually. But MUST all mom jeans look so, what’s the word, hideous? I get that once you reach a certain age weight begins to accumulate around your middle, unless you’re Heidi Klum. (I hate you Heidi Klum. No, really, I love you. But honestly girl, this “let me pop out babies and look 22” stuff is so last season!) And that means finding jeans to accommodate your new girth. But seriously, friends, this aging bit is on my last nerve.
And an aside, because I know some of you are not of that certain age and you’re saying in your head, “Oh, that’s never going to happen to me. I will never wear mom jeans.” Bad news, you probably will. I have proof. Go stand in front of a mirror. Who do you see standing there? Heidi Klum?
Anyhow, MY moment has come. I’ve lost some weight. Actually, quite a bit. I’ve not bought jeans in years and one pair of jeans does not a wardrobe make! I had a second pair, and um, blew out the thighs of those ridiculously thin and poorly made denim. My jeans are bagging off me so much I don’t even bother to unzip to pee. Not to mention the serious case of “granddad butt” going on. So, it was time. I just had no idea I’d be walking out of the store with a pair of mid-waisted dark wash mom jeans.
I tried for chic, I honestly did. I can’t explain why  every pair of  not mom jeans I tried on looked ridiculous. I kept looking at myself and thinking, “You’re not fooling anyone.” Besides, do I really need sparkly hearts and roses to decorate my mom ass? I don’t think so.
So, reluctantly (as in after 3 separate and loaded trips to the dressing room) I crossed the aisle to the adult jeans department. Elastic waists? GOD kill me know. Hidden “comfort” bands? Is there no shame? And then I saw them. A pair of mom jeans that promised  to “secretly slim” me.
I’m not sure if they’re actually slimming me. Upon closer inspection the tag doesn’t promise to make me look younger, in fact it reads, “sits higher on the waist.” If that’s not code for “mom jean” what is? It’s official. I’m a woman of a certain age.
And I’m pretty sure it’s no longer a secret.
Sep 14, 2011 | This Life
Note:
I posted this on Facebook this morning. I’m counting it as today’s blog post because I’m sleep depraved. ~~Wende
A Prayer for 4 A.M.
Creator God,
It’s 4 am. I woke up to a dog doing really disgusting things and I find myself up at our demolished house working on the order from hell. Hey, at least I escaped the smell.
And the thing is, God, it’s only Wednesday and already, it’s been a REALLY crappy week. I have friends who were shot, diagnosed with cancer, and facing extraordinarily hard transitions in their lives. Parents who are slipping away, and children uncertain of their futures, and, and, and.
It kinda stinks, God. I mean, more than what I woke up to, God. And I have to wonder. . . can you smell it too?
So, here’s what I’m asking, God. Blow a fresh breeze into the lives of those I love. A healing wind. A calming spirit. A fresh perspective. And, where it is applicable, a mysteriously but well-placed can of Lysol.
Because, God, it’s 4 am.
