She's got me wrapped around her fingerrrrrr

I've been around a lot of kids in my life: cousins, the ones in church nurseries, kids I babysit and nanny for. And I've loved all (ok, nearly all) of them. But nothing prepared me for my Lila. I knew right away, when I held her for the first time 5 minutes after she was born, that this kid was different. And since I just got to spend an entire week with her at Christmas, I realized a few things: one, no one likes a whiner and whiney-ness bugs the crap out of me. But when Lilian fusses, I find myself trying to figure out what she's trying to tell us, what she needs or wants. Even if she can't have it, I'd still like to know. Plus, she's still young enough that fussy = need so it's not like she's whining to be a brat (Well, maybe. Maybe she is a brat. But I'd still think it's cute).

Secondly, when I'm babysitting and the kids cry at bedtime, I walk away knowing they will calm down eventually and fall asleep. I know they are all right, that they will be fine. But when I put Lila down and see that lip quiver and those eyes get wide, it's all I can do to make it out the door. I listen hard and almost hold my breath, ready to call in the cavalry and rush to the crib to rescue her if she cries too long. I know she will quiet down and be in slumberland within two minutes - she always does and always is. But the cavalry and I are waiting, ponies ready and pistols drawn, should we be needed. Usually, though, we just back away quietly, glad that the horses' hooves didn't distract her in the 12 seconds it took her to fall asleep.

So yes, all kids are awesome and special. But my Lilabug is really something. She can "ba ba ba" and "da da da" with the best of them, and her laughter is the most wonderful sound. She can take 3 steps, although I'm sure it will be any day when 3 turns into 5 turns into 12 turns into oh-my-gawd she's walking for real. And then she'll talk for real, real words and real sentences. And then she'll start school and then there will be boys (or girls, or both, or whoever she wants). I tell her now that she should only ever be whoever she is right now on the inside because that is perfectly and wonderfully wonderful. That there is no way she has any original sin; she is pure blessing. And if anyone tells her otherwise, she should tell her Nnenna and I'll kick them in the shins.

Just the haps

A picture is worth 1000 words. Here's 8000 words of some recent haps (with rhyming captions. You're welcome):

Herman Cain is kinda gee

Colby snugged behind my knee

Bingley's on my desk at work

I did this tree myself, you jerk 

A peep with whom I spend my day

She made those cupcakes on my tray 

At first, the cabinet looked like this

But then I organized it
(this is also when I decided my next apt will be a studio)

Ok, so it almost all rhymed...

Sigh no more, no more.

I hate the term "hubby."

Hubby. Is that short for Hubble,

the telescope?

There. Got it out. I've been holding that one in for a long time. Facebook post after Facebook post about "my hubby" makes me puke - I envision a little squealing five-year old dragging a teddy bear around the house. But seriously, where did that term come from? Why do people use it? If you're really shortening husband, shouldn't it be "husby?" I really am all for nicknames. I have a couple myself. I use them frequently. They are endearing and cute. But "hubby?" Really? Put it in a circle and draw a line through it.

I feel like I've started this entry off on the wrong foot. I set out to write about one view of what it's like to be 27 and unmarried in a world of "I got married at 22" (seriously. Pretty much all my friends got married at that age, including my sister). And then I saw the word hubby and puked up some shoelaces (ok, I didn't really puke up shoelaces. That would mean I would have eaten shoelaces, which I have not). Let's start again...

The sad, single, late-twenties gal is an overplayed stereotype in ABC Family movies. I think those movies suck, as do most rom-coms that have a slightly nerdy, but really smart, witty brunette getting the guy instead of some ditzy blonde. Real life isn't like that, and I think sappy movies are, well, shit. I don't do sap. I don't see myself as that girl, so I'm not sure who I'm supposed to identify with. Let's try portraying how things really are. Real life as an unmarried person can really suck sometimes in ways ABC Family doesn't write into their story lines. If they did, it would include some of the following:

The TV viewer would see that help is scarce. There is no backup. If I forget to pick up milk on the way home, guess who gets to go back out and get the milk? (Hint: it's not my hubby). If there are three things that need to get done, there is no divvying up the tasks. One person always does the laundry, folds the laundry, puts the laundry away. And cooks, cleans, makes and keeps a budget, takes care of the car maintenance...all those mundane tasks. If you're tired or depressed or worn out, guess what? That shit still has to get done and you're the one to do it. (The angry part in me now wants to flick off anyone who has someone with whom to share those responsibilities, and yell something along the lines of "do it yourself for a while and see how you like it!" Especially to those who take it for granted. If I hear one more, "I'll wait till so-and-so gets home and he can do it" I'm going to throw my shoes at them.) Remember that some people don't have that luxury and be grateful. (And try doing it your-damn-self.)

Furthermore, there is no emotional backup. There is no sharing of anxieties, no sharing of the burden. In the same koi pond, there is no emotional sharing of the joys either. I do have wonderful friends who are close to my heart and with whom I share. But when it comes down to brass tacks (or tax), it's hard. It really is, especially the older I get and the more there is to deal with.

And then there are the little things: "Hi honey, how was your day?" and hug, hug, kiss, kiss. Talking in bed before you fall asleep. Gosh, just having another warm body in bed. I've never liked to sleep alone. When my sister decided she was old enough to have her own room, I would get up in the middle of the night and get in bed with her (our parents put us back in the same room shortly after I started that. Booyah!). Snuggling on a couch. Having little traditions, things that are "yours." Having someone to go home to, to eat dinner with. Having someone to share things with on a level deeper than your roommate.

Plus, with marriage being the only privileged relationship in society, there is a certain second class status that gets assigned to anyone over 23 who isn't married. Ok, you might get away with being 24, but please be married by 25. Otherwise we don't know what to do with you and your legitimacy as a human will be in question. My parents thought it was totally fine for me at the age of 25 to sleep on a sofa in the middle of the Thanksgiving gathering. I had to cry and pitch a little fit in order to get a room, and even then I shared with my sister and brother-in-law. Restaurant and movie deals are for two, not one or three. And just try getting your married girl friends to do those things with you instead of their husbies. Second.

I'm not saying marriage is all sugar cookies and egg nog. I've seen it at amazing and at really sucky. I'm not even saying that marriage doesn't need or deserve special attention and care. It does. I know how hard relationships are, and I know how much harder intimate relationships are. I also realize there are upsides to my current relationship status. I am able to spend my money how I want. I get to spend the holidays with my family or whoever I choose. I have the final say in all decisions and it's easier to compromise with myself than with someone else. I'm just saying... I'm just saying don't take having a life partner for granted. Don't underestimate the miracle that is someone loving you and wanting, committing, to do life with you. Enjoy it if you have it. And be aware of how not awesome "we" speech can be to an "I."

La la la linoleum.

The decision to go to McAfee was a relatively easy one. I checked out two other schools, visited one, and at each step came to the same conclusion: I just felt at home in Atlanta. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, except I knew I felt like I'd already been there, already knew the people, and could take my shoes off and cartwheel in the hallways (which I did. Often). During those three years Atlanta and McAfee continued to burrow in my heart as the most homey place I'd ever called home.

Home should feel this way

And then I graduated, people moved, and everything changed. I no longer felt at home - anywhere.

I had never really reflected on just what the concept of home meant to me - how much it meant to me or how deeply I seek and try to create it wherever I am - until coming to and graduating from seminary. Home for me means emotional and physical safety, a place where you can be totally yourself, whatever or whoever that is at any particular moment. Where that is affirmed and loved. A place where burdens and joys are shared. Where things are...lived in. Whether or not that's what I experienced growing up, that's home for me. It's what I want my home to be, wherever I am.

The first tree I've
bought myself

Now I'm having to rebuild and create a new home - in physical terms, as well as emotionally. It's been nearly four months since I moved into my new apartment and my new job. It still isn't completely home, but I think things are getting okay-er. The physical part is basically together - things are hung on walls and I have a place for most everything (and most everything is in its place). I like the Christmas tree I picked out and decorated, and I like sitting on the couch with the Christmas lights on while I read Harry Potter. I'm settling in with my roommate, who is a sweet and kind (if not a little absent-minded) gem. I'm getting to know the people at work, enough to joke around with them and commiserate about the more challenging patients. The emotional parts are coming along, too, albeit a little more slowly. I'm learning to be my own safe foundation and to care for that as I care for my tangible home (which, considering the mound of dishes in the sink, is still a work in progress).

Here comes the...ah, fuck it.

With engagement season in full swing (have you checked your Facebook newsfeed lately?), it's time for a much needed reflection:

Oh my gawd, if you aren't getting married (and oh please, even if you are), stop planning your wedding on Pinterest! You do realize you're part of a trend, right? Sun burst engagement photos with you and yours holding hands against a brick wall? (Oh, sorry, are you sitting on antique-ish steps, making a heart shape with your hands, or looking up at him as he looks away? You're right. Totally original). Mason jars holding flowers, candles, breath mints...? Throwing up a little in my mouth every time I see a new pin in this genre?

I realize you are oh-my-gawd so excited about this oh-my-gawd so special time in your life, but please. All the rest of us really want to see is the ring, people! Put up a pic of the happy couple, flash a smile, and then show us a close up of that little round symbol of never-ending (you'll probably hear something similar - but way less cynical - in your ceremony). That's what we're going to judge you on, anyways. Quit littering Facebook. I will block your posts if you keep this up. Upon further reflection, I'm going to go do that to a couple people right now...

Back. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I'm way funnier when I'm pissy (I may have said bitter, but whatevs. Same diff). Do I wish I was planning a wedding right now? Not really. One day, yes, but not with this current go-round of every-wedding-looks-the-same. Do I wish you weren't simply because oh-my-gawd you're so annoying about it? Yes. Most definitely.

I guess it's just that nowadays, with all this digital age, Internet shit, I can no longer avoid that which I don't wish to see, and people have the opportunity to publicize every thought that pops into their heads. Yes, I could not get on Facebook or Pinterest. I could just look past it, or block the users whose lame-o posts I don't want to see. But let's be honest, I love FB and Pinterest. They're fun. And sure, you have the same rights as I do as to posting on them. But please, for the love of all things brown and pink (or gray and yellow...I think that's the current color combo fad phase), realize you are being fucking annoying (feel free to embrace it, though. I'm all about embracing it). Think about something else for five minutes and post about that once in a while.

P.S. If you are engaged and you are not being ridic annoying about it, thank you. I'm really happy for you and I hope this time is sweetly special.

I really miss TV

My dear, sweet, kind, compassionate roommate didn't want to get cable. I did. The compromise was to get basic cable - like, really basic. At first I was okay with it. Networks have great shows, right? But then college football season started, followed by the NFL (i.e. the Packers). Oh Game Day, how I miss thee. And then I missed too many Daily Shows, Colbert Reports, Sister Wives (though OnDemand helps with that one), the weather channel, and Harry Potter marathons on ABC Family. Speaking of ABC Family, I miss the countdowns. What am I going to do without the 25 Days of Christmas??