Comfy and Cozy

Like a warm towel fresh out the dryer. 

Hand knitted socks from mom. 

Caramel apple cider from Starbucks.  

A tiny baby sleeping on your chest. 

Some things in this world are too comfy for their own good. Things that make you go "aaaaaaaaaahhhhh" and relax in a melted puddle of bones and contentment. Everyone has their own favorite comfies. Their routines. Their safe zones. 

But what about the whole wide world outside the coziness? 

For Valentines Day I wanted to try something different for our date and my gift to husband. Usually we go out for dinner at a restaurant and maybe a movie and then exchange gifts. My gifts to him are usually returned or exchanged because I never know what to get him. 

This year I talked with my mom and sister and got the idea to paint him a picture. Soooo I did. 

              (Not exactly Van Gogh)

I'm not a painter, obviously, and this project took a lot of reassurance from a lot of people for me to even try. This was 110% out of my comfort zone. Even so, I finished and concocted scenarios in my head to be prepared for any reaction. 

My favorite was presenting the picture to him and he stares at it, gaping in amazement before proclaiming, "YOU made this? It's AMAZING!!" 

More realistic scenario being me sheepishly handing him the canvas where he studies it while stuttering, "you must have worked hard on this....it's...........interesting."

The reaction I got was somewhere in between. I mean he didn't slam it down in the closet of forgotten junk, but he didn't book me wall space at the Louvre either. 

The other part of our date was a picnic at the park with a playlist of romantic songs, martinellis, and candles. Well, I forgot the bottle opener so we had to pry the bottle open with a fork. I also forgot a lighter soooo we just had unlit candles in the center of our picnic. I felt kind of stupid for not just going to Red Robin or PF Changs where everything would be perfect. 

I also planned to go rock climbing. 

FUN FACT: I'm terrified of heights. We went on a skyride thing at the zoo once and I almost passed out. 

Rock climbing was ridiculously out of my comfort zone, but I knew it was something husband enjoyed and he would be surprised I had planned something so out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, I forgot he hurt his shoulder so we ended up at the mall shopping instead. 

FUN FACT: shopping is 9000% inside my comfort zone and 9000% outside of husband's. 

Even with a wrench thrown in our plans, we had a great Valentine's Day date. We both wiggled a pinky toe outside our comfort zones and it was more memorable than just another restaurant and movie date. The rock climbing groupons are good until May...so there's still an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone for a memorable date. Hopefully my harness doesn't fail as I'm climbing up and my hand slips off the grip and I hurtle downward toward ultimate doom while horrified patrons look on helplessly. 

Seriously, heights are a problem. 

Marriage Is Work?

I recently read the Mindy Kaling book "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" and she had one part where she was talking about a guy she knew that made marriage seem terrible. 

Just awful. 

The people who are all "marriage is WORK."

Yeah. I get it. Marriage isn't just snuggles and his & hers towel sets and lovingly feeding each other bites at a restaurant in the candle light. 

Excuse me while I barf from that previous paragraph. 

That's better. 

Now I'm gonna get all philosophical. Kind of. 

I don't think marriage should be WORK. I think marriage should be natural. 

 I don't view marriage as work. I think of work as something unpleasant, yet necessary. 

Like your first job in a dark basement, opening and sorting mail for an insurance company that pays slightly more than minimum wage. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. I'm not saying marriage is without trials. Sure, there are moments when you've asked for a chore to be done and it goes unheeded for days on end. There are disagreements about how to fold towels and the amount of hair on the shower wall.

       I need this pillow for obvious reasons

Is marriage hard? Sometimes. Is it maddening? Often. Is it worth it?

In the words of Severus Snape,

"Always."

Because even when the arguments and annoyances arise, and they will, you're still facing off against someone who is ultimately on your side. Someone who vowed to weather the storms of life or PMS or cooking your first thanksgiving.  

Those are the things I try to remember when I'm on some tirade about being the only person "who even gives a crap if dinner gets put away and how many times do I have to sweep this frickin floor today?!" 

That's when it's hard. When I feel unappreciated and that my hard work goes unnoticed. I get a little selfish and play butwhataboutme. 

A charming game where I think of all the things Husband does, and then think butwhataboutme?

"Sure he goes to school and studies a bunch of stuff I have no clue about and sits in uncomfortable chairs listening to boring lectures...but I'm at home with kids all day and cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and laundry."

It makes it so easy to belittle what he actually does. I just see him getting out of the house without worrying about the number of wipes left in the diaper bag and galavanting off to higher education and intellectual conversations with adults. REAL adults! I overlook the fact that he's exhausted from staying up until one am studying, only to wake back up at four to study some more. I glaze over the Tupperware of leftovers eaten cold from his lunchbox and that the adult conversation is really sitting at a laptop texting classmates about exam material. 

I also forget to mention the two (sometimes THREE) hours of nap time that I get almost every day to do whatever I want. Sure he thinks this nap time is probably spent prepping dinner menus and folding clothes and cleaning counters. 

It's not. 

Most of the time I'm parked on the couch with a pile of snacks and either my kindle or Netflix. 

Moral of the story is: you can't compare your contributions. They're separate, but equal. I scoff at the notion of him being "mom" and he chortles imagining me learning about Dopaminergic pathways from the ventral tegmental area to the nucleus accumbens and 

prefrontal cortex.  

I even had him type that out for me. 

Don't compare his apples to your oranges. That's not innuendo either. Even though it made me giggle. 

Marriage is difficult, but so are a lot of recipes. However, if you pay attention, make sure you have all the right ingredients, and keep trying even when you mess up, you'll end up with something wonderful and fulfilling. 

Like cheesecake. But sexy. 

    Even though we piss each other off.          .......................Frequently.........................

I felt prompted to write this post and I have no idea why. 

It's deeply personal. More personal than asking if you can stick your tongue in my nose. 

I would say no, by the way. 

I'm also not posting this one on facebook. Not yet at least. 

Maybe it's something to get off my chest in an effort to fully restore my soul, or maybe to help someone with a similar weight. 

Whatever the purpose, it's going to be uncomfortable for all of us. If you want to stop reading after the next sentence, I completely understand. 

I was sexually abused as a child. 

Thinking about typing those words has caused serious heart palpitations. Typing them is borderline panic attack. I have to keep going though. Whether for myself, or someone else, I still don't know. I'm writing this as fast as my fingers can type on an iPhone. 

Did you know I blog 100% from my phone? True story. 

Anyway, twice when I was nine years old and once when I was ten, my step dad molested me, for lack of a more eloquent term. I've always hated the word molest. I don't know if it's the stigma attached to its meaning, but the word itself just feels like a travesty to humanity. 

I never told anyone until I was 14 and a friend confided in me that she had been abused as well. For years after that, I shoved it so far back into my subconscious that I had no adverse affects in my life. I shoveled so much dirt and buried it so deep. 

I was a survivor, but that really wasn't THAT difficult to accomplish. 

My mom found out and brought up the idea of pressing charges. At this point I was 19 and wanted nothing more than forget that human had ever existed. Another few shovels of dirt to make sure it stayed down this time. 

Then one night, after being married for just a few weeks, it all came back. 

Like the walking dead of emotional trauma.

I laid in bed crying. Praying to forget it all again. Begging for it all to just disappear. I clawed at my chest in the dark, trying to feel something, ANYTHING, except the growing pain, fear, and disgust that was overwhelming me. 

Poor husband had no idea what was happening. I had never told him because that meant it had to be real. Too many years had been spent pushing and shoving and stomping that notion down. 

Now here it was. In my bed. With my husband. And I was paralyzed. He asked me what was wrong and I just couldn't say it. All he wanted to do was help, but even his loving embraces triggered flashbacks and another tidal wave of turmoil. Helpless, he suggested giving me a blessing. 

In my church, worthy men are given power from God through the Priesthood. That power can be used to give blessings of healing, comfort, strength, and peace. 

Having faith in this power, I agreed and my husband began the blessing. He blessed me to know my Father in heaven loves me and knows me and knows my struggles and my pain. He blessed me to feel that love and to have the peace it carries with it. When the blessing was finished, I finally fell asleep. 

The next day, I told husband what was wrong. I expected the head tilt, knitted brow, whimper of sympathy that I detest more than anything. Instead he stared at me for a moment and then asked to give me another blessing. It followed much the same as the one the night before, but it had one key part that shook me. 

"I bless you with the ability to forgive."

It's been almost 20 years since that first terrible night, and I have yet to bring that blessing to fruition. I don't know if I ever will, especially since having daughters and seeing their frail innocence and remembering and thinking, "how could you even THINK of it, let alone commit such heinous crimes?!"

I am not perfect, and I'm still a little not ok. But having reached the end of my post, my heart isn't beating wildly in protest and my stomach isn't churning at the thought of revealing such a raw part of my life. So I guess that's a step in the right direction. 

Just please, please, please don't pity me. Don't put your hand to your heart and say "oh you poor thing". Don't treat me any differently. This is part of who I am and part of who I've always been. I'm a fighter. I'm strong. And I will do more than survive. 

Avid

You know what's magical?

Books. 

I used to be one of those "e readers are for noobs" kind of people. I love the feel and smell and weight of a book in my hand. 

Then I discovered something that would forever change my literary world. 

There is an app that lets you check out e books from the library. You don't even have to physically GO to the library. You don't have to drag three children through two aisles of adult fiction before the growing crescendo of "I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE PUZZLESSSS!!!!" begins to cause a weary eye to turn your direction. 

You sit in your home or the local McDonald's with free wifi, peruse the titles gingerly, make a selection, and BAM! 

There's a book in your hand. An unbridled universe of fact, fiction, paragraph and prose at your fingertips. 

The best part? 

After two weeks, it automagically returns the books FOR YOU! No suddenly remembering it's due that day and frantically rushing to the library in your jim jams in hopes of avoiding the incurred late charge of .20 a day (or $2.00 if its a movie). 

This discovery was life altering for me because I, dear reader, am a reader. 

I get grumpy without a book. I get emotionally involved with nearly every story. I got my Kindle on November 8th. Tomorrow will be one month and I have read...aaaah...let me check my list. Because I kept a list. 

I have read 11.5 books. Not all of them have been profound works of literary art. I will admit I enjoy the written word of rom coms. 

I'm currently reading The Walk series by Richard Paul Evans (which is not a romantic comedy). And I love it. 

I've always loved reading, but what really cemented books into my life was my dad. You see, when we first moved to Texas to live with him, he took us to get library cards. I didn't ever have one and knew nothing of its mystical powers. Then I got grounded for the first time. 

No phone. 

No tv. 

No playing outside or at friends houses. 

You go to the library and you get some books. 

"You mean my punishment is to sit in my room. Alone. And read? For hours on end?"

Guess what, dad? That was zero punishment. That was bliss. I began to read faster and devour books. I remember coming home from church one day and opening the door to find the fifth Harry Potter book on our doorstep. Fresh from Amazon. Before anyone else could realize it was there, I had snatched it up a la Book Thief (minus the Nazis, sorta), ran into my room and hungrily poured over the pages. It was finished in about 8 and a half hours. And yes. I cried. Siriusly.

Too soon?

Older girl child is five and a half and she loves reading as well. I really hope that seeing how much reading means to me will kindle a similar love and devotion to the glossy words contained in each miniature universe, bound in imagination and endless adventure. 

If there's one thing I want my children to inherit from me, it's an absolute adoration for books and reading. 

Happy Tuesday

You know what?

You look beautiful. 

Those cheerio crumbs in your cleavage really compliment the messy, three days since your last shower ponytail. 

Your spit up accents on your shoulders are the perfect accompaniment to the dark circles under your eyes. 

Those yoga/pajama/sweat pants with the hole worn in the knee make your butt look FABULOUS. 

It means your kids spent the day cared for, having fun, and being loved. 

And there is nothing more beautiful than that. 

Rock that t shirt from your junior year choir trip and believe your husband when he says you look gorgeous today. 

Because you do. Even if you don't feel like it. Please remember how beautiful you are. Maybe not as perky and sleek as you used to be. I know I'm not. But you have a new beauty. It radiates from your soul and shines through your whole being. And that's not just the TV glaring off your greasy hair. 

It's the light of love, patience, power, and compassion that is ignited when you become a mother and will never stop shining. 

I'm blind to it most days as I look in the mirror and see a paunch where a flat six pack used to be. I ignore it when my once perky and perfect boobs sag like two pancakes tacked to a bulletin board. I get angry when husband comes home and tells me how gorgeous I am. 

But when you're sitting on an airplane without your kids, reading a book quietly, and you hear the exasperated cry of a bored toddler, you're light clicks on a little brighter and all you want to do is help. When you swore you would never be a creepy baby ogler, and yet here you are gently cupping the glorious hair of a stranger's infant and cooing about how stunning she is. 

I saw the light of a mother in myself today. And in the frustrated eyes of another mom, and in the tired shoulders of yet another. 

We all have it. Whether we are mothers by birth or adoption or outer space, we all have that brilliant glow within us. 

And we are beautiful. 

Drunk Preschooler

Boy Child has quite the imagination. 

And a complete lack of conversational normalcy. 

While eating lunch-

"Mom, I'm tired now. I don't want to finish my food. Lobsters don't laugh."

Nice transition of topic, son. 

While driving in the car in complete silence-

"Mom, snakes are just wiggly sticks."

Are you high?

After taking his clean clothes to his room-

"Last night, the moon came close to the earth in space and it made the moon different colors when it was a circle!"

What?

After reading The Pigeon Wants A Puppy-

"If I had a puppy I would...wait. No, if I had a pigeon I would give him a puppy and he would say 'WHAT THE HECK BRO?! I CANT EAT THIS!' And then I would give him......mom can I have fruit snacks?"

Focus, kid. 

Singing along in the car to "Little Talks"-

"Though the truth may bury our sheets will carry our...MOM THEY SAID CARRY! LIKE GRANDMA CARRIE! Can we go to California now?"

Me: your sister is at school. We can't just go to California. 

"Yes we can. She can stay at school for sleeping."

How kind of you. 

Real Talk

I wanted to high five the little old lady who gave me real talk at the grocery store. Boy child was running in circles, Younger girl child was pterodactyl screaming just for funzies, and I was just trying to get everything I needed and get out. 

This 80 year old woman comes up and says "I do not miss these days at all. Hopefully it's almost nap time sweetie!" 

That was worth so much more to me than all the "oh it goes so fast. You better enjoy them!" I usually get. 

Why?

Because when I'm in public and my kids are being "those kids" and I'm trying my hardest to keep cool, I'm definitely not enjoying them and I'm certainly not going to miss it. The grandma guilt trip is the worst!!!

So thank you, honest woman at Sprouts, for validating my frustrations and making me feel like I'm not the worst mom in the world for not "enjoying" the grocery store madness.