I had to go to the district office this morning to take care of some health insurance business. As I was walking down the hall, I could feel my ass moving and shaking and I thought to myself, “My ass has evolved into it’s own person.”
I do believe my ass needs it’s own name and social security number. I imagine as I’m walking, the people behind me are waving at it, winking at it, maybe laughing at it or flipping it off, or perhaps they’re thinking “Damn, ass, you need to lose some weight, it’s not good for your heart to be that big.”
I believe it has it’s even got its own personality. It’s carefree and likes to live life on the edge. It has good days and bad days. It has feelings.
My ass. The individual.
I really need to give it a name.
Sunshine?
“Good morning, Sunshine.”
Yeah, I like that.
Monthly Archives: September 2003
I’m a texture girl
I love apple crisp and apple pie, but I hate the apples in it. I just eat the crust and the sauce, but I throw away the apples. I love the flavors of apples, but biting into soggy, warm ones disgust me.
I do the same things with onion rings. I just eat the breading, but I can’t bite into the onion, unless it’s reeeeeeally thin and crispy, but biting into a thick, soggy onion just isn’t ok with my mouth.
Tony says this makes me weird.
I told him to shutup and go buy me an apple pie from McDonalds.
The tale of the fighting sisters and two tapes.
I have 2 brothers and one sister. My sister and I are very close now, but growing up, we hated each other most of the time.
We fought constantly. When I say fight, I mean physical violent fights.
Hitting, scratching, hair pulling, biting, kicking, cutting, burning with irons, punching… That kind of fighting.
I have the scars to prove it. One on my belly from a knife cutting incident.
The sweetest love I’ve ever known.
I was laying on the couch talking to my husband and I glanced over and saw a picture in a frame of me and my son, Ethan. I’ve looked at this picture hundreds of times and it always makes me smile, but today when I saw it, it touched me. An overwhelming feeling of love and pride came over me and I said out loud…
“I am a Mother“.
I started to cry.
I have two amazing, beautiful children to love everyday when I wake up. I have cared for their every need since the day they were born. I woke up with them every 2-3 hours when they were infants to feed them the milk of my breasts, I would sing to them to soothe them when they were crying, I lived to make sure that they were safe, warm, fed, clean, happy and loved.
I think I have lost sight of how blessed I am to be a mother. I don’t ever want to take it for granted. It is the best thing about me. My children are the greatest thing I have.
They are my life.
Their pictures always remind me of how lucky I am. They remind me of the unspeakable joy I have in my life. I remember the night I wanted to end it all. I looked up and saw their sweet faces smiling at me. Their love saved me.
They are the reason I am still alive.
Thank you, God, for my children, for the priviledge of being called “Mommy.”
From the bottom of my heart.
Thank you.
Campanions in laughter, friends in tears.
Everything is going to be ok.
I’m ok.
We all go through rough times in our lives. No relationship is perfect. We have hard times.
We’ve always managed to get through them because bottom line is we love each other and we love our family.
I will fight with whatever I have to keep my family together.
Would I stay around if there wasn’t love? No.
But there is love. There is deep love. The kind of love that kept my husband here next to me when I wanted to die. The kind of love that kept my husband around even after he had to hold me down so I would stop ripping my hair out and cutting myself. The kind of love that allows us to have bad times, to search our souls and yet always come back to each other.
That kind of love is worth fighting for.
He loves me. I love him. We just need to work it out.
13 years. That’s nothing to just walk away from and give up on.
And we won’t.
We always get through.
We love each other and we love our children too much to not try.
It will all be ok.
I know it, he knows it.
It might not be happy for a while, but it will be ok.
We can’t be happy all of the time. That’s not reality. We’re not in a bad situation. We don’t hate each other. We’re just having a rough time right now. My husband has things that are bothering him right now and I will allow him to have time to think things through. I am not going to panic. I am not going to pressure him. I am going to stand by him and love him the way he did when I was in a severe depression. I owe him that much.
September 11, 2003. Two years later.
Today, I remember.
I remember the horror, the panic, the fear, the anger, the sadness, the confusion, the disbelief.
I remember the people running for their lives, the people jumping out of desperation, the fireman running towards a building that everyone else was running away from, the people desperately looking for loved ones, the people on the streets watching and crying.
I remember the fear in my childrens eyes as they watched, I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe, not knowing if my children would ever be safe again, I remember holding my boys, crying, telling them everything was going to be ok, but not really believing that was true, I remember driving them to school, not knowing if it was the right thing to do, not knowing what would happen next, not knowing if the world as we knew it was coming to an end before our eyes.
I will never, ever, forget.
I cried this morning, I will probably cry again. However, I also smiled. I smiled when I woke my kids up and I felt their warm skin against mine as we hugged.
I am thankful. Thankful to be alive, thankful that my kids are safe, thankful that life goes on, even though there are thousands for which life will never be the same, we still have life. And we must move forward and continue to live life to the fullest.
But we can never forget.
Ahh.. life…
Thank you everyone for your emails and comments regarding my uncles death.
I’m fine. I’m sad, but I’m fine. I wasn’t very close to my uncle as an adult, however, as a child, I looked up to him.
Speechless.
I just got a phone call. My Uncle was in Arizona with his motorcycle buddies and he died suddenly of a heart attack.
I haven’t seen him in so long and he lives just a few blocks away.
You just never know.
Embarrassing Bathroom Stories are Fun to Read!
I was reading Joelles post about pooping in public restrooms and it reminded me of one of my most embarrassing moments in life.
When Tony and I first got married, he wanted to go to Tijuana to visit his grandparents. I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. When I was a young girl, I had to go there with my parents are part of their church ministry and I know what the “bathroom situation” is like in most places. The idea of staying somewhere for more than a day where I might possibly have to take a dump in a box with a hole cut out didn’t appeal to me at all. (I have bathroom issues.) He swore to me that his grandparents lived in a modern house, with running water and an actual toilet. I fought the idea of going, but I realized I was acting like a spoiled rotten brat and agreed to go. However, I wasn’t thrilled about it.
We arrived and I was thrilled to see that yes, they had a toilet! However, the toilet was in the middle of the living room. There were four pieces of wood surrounding the toilet that went about halfway up to the ceiling. So, while you technically had “privacy”, there was really no barriers to keep the sounds/smells confined to the bathroom area. I was slightly mortified, but hey! it was a real toilet that I could flush! And besides, it was just us and his grandparents at the house. I could totally deal with that.
A few hours after we arrived, Tony’s grandmother began making chocolate milkshakes for us to drink. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying “no thank you.” So, I had a milkshake. But then, she made another one and then, another one and you guys! I kept drinking them so as not to offend her. Later that night, my stomach started to hurt really bad. Uh, oh. I thought to myself. I know what’s about to happen and it’s not going to be pretty.
I was laying in bed with severe stomach cramps when I heard people start coming through the front door. The started to file in, one, two, three at a time. Before you know it, the entire living room was filled with people. And these people were ALL MEN.
“What the hell is happening here?” I asked my husband. He went to talk to his grandma to find out.
Apparently, his grandfather was very active in Mexican politics and that night he was hosting A TOWN MEETING! In his living room! The same living room that had the only toilet in the house right in the middle of it! With only four boards around it so no one could see you, but everyone could hear and smell you!
Oh hell no. This was not happening. Except, it was happening! OH MY GOD IT WAS HAPPENING.
I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t. I ran to the living room. After making my way past two thousand Mexican men, I made it to the “bathroom.”
OH LORD JESUS, HELP THESE PEOPLE FOR WHAT THEY ARE ABOUT TO HEAR… and smell
And then. It happened.
Sitting on a toilet, shitting out dozens of milkshakes in the middle of a mofo TOWN MEETING. It was loud in the room, so that helped to calm my anxiety about what was happening just a little bit. Until THE ROOM GOT QUIET. I sat there, crying, asking Jesus to JUST KILL ME NOW PLEASE because I had no idea how I was going to find the strength to exit that bathroom after what I had just done.
I sat there until I figured out an exit strategy. I was going to walk out of there with my head held high, like, YEAH, I JUST DID THAT… WHAT??! But that’s not what happened. I walked out of there, saw the line of people waiting to use the same toilet I had just tore the hell up, and ran out of there– tears streaming down my face– as fast as I could.
So there you have it. My Most Embarrassing Bathroom Story.
Care to share yours?
On second thought, DON’T! I don’t want to hear it!