Deck the Halls...with Childhood Memories

So, we put up the tree this week. For me, the Christmas season begins the dawn of December 1st, because it can't begin soon enough! I love the Christmas music, I love the decorations, I love the wrapping, the snow, the tree, the cookies, and everything else remotely Christmas-like. Puts me in such a good mood.

The best thing (I think) about our tree is, even though it's artificial, it's the tree of my childhood. It's literally as old as I am and when parents decided to get a new artificial tree, I took their old one. So, in my living room (for the last 3 Christmases) is my old tree. The only tree I've ever had. It's not new and it takes a lot of "fluffing" each year to make it look presentable, as it's been stuffed in a box repeatedly for 25 years, but it's mine and I like it.

Only a couple of gifts under the tree so far. Santa hasn't come yet!

Random Acts of...Thanksgiving Week

Things I'll be doing this week:

-Making the sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house

-Working only 2.75 days this week! (Mon: Off, Tues: Work, Wed: Work...'til 3!, Thurs: Off, Fri: Off)

-Going to dinner with Rick's mom and step-dad for her birthday

-Getting ready to put up the Christmas tree! (Don't worry, I won't put it up 'til Dec. 1st!)


Things I'm trying to avoid:

-Crazy shoppers on Black Friday

-Getting any more flat tires on the crappy road I have to take to get anywhere (or to get home) because the main road to our house has been closed for a week and will continue to be closed until further notice (and I'm not kidding--this road I'm forced to take each day is a HORRIBLE road)


Guilty pleasure:

Magnum P.I. - So yeah I know this show was like brand spankin' new around the time of my birth in the early 80s, but I love it! Tom Selleck is the man. We have a bunch of seasons on DVD and I don't care if you think I'm goofy, but I like like like it!

I mean, who wouldn't love a tall, funny, Hawaiian-shirt-wearin' private investigator who has the greatest buddies ever, lives with a sarcastic yet amazing British guy on a beautiful tropical estate, and drives a red Ferrari?

Rick and I like to roll our eyes and go "Ohhh Magnum, will you ever learn?" when he gets mixed up with woman after woman who is nothing but trouble. But if he learned, there wouldn't be 8 seasons of Magnum P.I.!!!

Okay, that's all for now. Don't judge me. :)

Flat

So I was driving home from my mom & dad's house tonight around 10 PM. Singing to the radio. Smiling to myself. When, lo and behold, approximately one minute (literally) from home, I heard a pop! and a hiss! and the unmistakable sound of air leaking from one of my car tires.

I momentarily thanked God that I was a song chorus away from my own driveway and not some other abandoned street in the pitch dark at 10 PM alone, and then cursed under my breath.

I could feel the car hating me for driving it, saw a little orange light flash on my dashboard, no doubt telling me "Hey, you have a flat tire, moron!" and I just bit my lip and kept driving my car home. It seemed the most sensible thing to do, given it was late, dark, empty, and I could see the lights of my neighborhood.

So I pulled in my driveway, got out of the car, and walked around to the other side of the car to see what the hell had happened. I still don't really know. All I know is that I have a completely flat front passenger side tire. I didn't see anything in the road. But clearly there was something there waiting to get my poor little car tire.

Thank you, thank you, thank you God for letting me be RIGHT near my house and not somewhere else...like on my way to Connecticut or New Jersey or any of the other states I travel to on a frequent basis.

Please, please, please don't let Rick kill me tomorrow morning. I swear there was nothing in the road for me to avoid!

The Big Bang!

Okay...I'm not what you would call an...impulsive girl. In fact, sometimes I'm downright paranoid. But I decided I was SO ready for a change, considering I've had the same hair like...all of my life. Literally all of my life, because besides it being a bit shorter or a bit longer, it has always been exactly the same. And I was over it. Soooo I went to a salon and got my hair cut for the FIRST TIME in 12 years. YES, 12 years. Since the age of 13, I have always cut my own hair.

Well, folks, here it is! I got big side-swept bangs and a cut! I actually, dare I say it, think it *may* make me look a little closer to my real age of 25 instead of so much like a kid.

[Ta da!]

[Ah!]

[I'm kinda crazy with the poses.]

[I kinda picked my curls out so they were more wavy and full instead of ringlet-y like they get.]

[Looks good up too!]

I am sooooooooo happy with it, not that you could tell or anything. I think I might have to "update" my blog header to include a photo of the new look since I don't have that forehead a'showin' or anything anymore. Hmmm...

'Tis the Season...

The holiday season is upon us and as usual, it gets me thinking about those who are less fortunate than I am. I know it sounds cliché to say something like that, but for some reason this time of year illuminates certain situations, makes them stand out more so than usual. In a way, this gets me angry, because people are struggling every time of the year, not just during the holiday season. But I have to say, at this time of year especially, people are left wanting, children in particular. Or the togetherness and prosperity of others is so obvious, so enhanced, that less fortunate folks are forced to witness what they have not.

My seasonal heartache started off with a story my mom told when I saw her on Wednesday. She’s a school nurse and had seen a little boy in her health room who was dirty, hungry, and not well cared for. Long story short, he was six years old, hadn’t eaten breakfast, and hadn’t had any dinner the night before. When asked why, his response was something along the lines of “Sometimes we don’t have enough food. We have dinner some nights, but last night we didn’t.” He was wearing shoes without socks, and my mom gave him a pair of socks and a pair of sneakers he could keep. She made sure he’d had lunch and planned to make sure he’d be fed if he came to school again without any breakfast.

The sad thing is, this is but one small story of many I have heard from my mother over the years.

I remember a Christmas a few years ago... a little girl had come into my mom's health room exclaiming over a book she just had to have. All she wanted on earth was this book she saw at the school book fair. "I'd read this book over and over. I'd never want another book again," the girl said, the way kids do when they're really in love with something and being dramatic, but full of real passion.

My mom said, "Maybe you can ask Santa for it for Christmas."

The girl said matter-of-factly, "No, my mom said Santa isn't coming to our house." She knew not to expect anything for Christmas. And above all, she knew she wasn't getting even that book.

My mom bought her the book and sent it to her home with the return address reading: Santa's Elf. She also knew the girl had siblings, including an older sister who once said to my mom that she never had "cool" clothes and was so happy when my mom gave her a pair of my old outgrown jeans. So we went out and bought a bunch of "cool" clothes from Old Navy and a bunch of other Christmas gifts for the family, including gift certificates to McDonald's and gas cards. Then my mom wrapped it all in a big box and sent it to them for Christmas, as Santa's Elf.

I'm sorry, but as much as stuff like that makes me feel so damn good, it also breaks my heart, time and time again.

I’ve worked at the Boys and Girls Club of Allentown in the past when I was a college student, and I think my heart broke on a weekly basis – for children who didn’t have enough food, for a child who talked nonchalantly about living in a shelter with his mom, for a child who bawled her eyes out when there were no more hot dogs at field day because she’d had her little heart SET on one and hadn’t eaten anything all day.

I’m a Caseworker for Child Care Information Services, so in my line of work, I see a ton of kids who aren’t living the lives they deserve. I know of a bunch of families, come wintertime, who won’t be having much of a Christmas. I’ve heard a lot of sob stories, as they’re so deemed, but you know what? They ARE sob stories. They’re sad. They make me sad.

I wish I was someone who had a lot of money to spare, because I would make sure no one that crossed my path went without, especially during the holiday season. The last two years, I "adopted" a person from a shelter, giving him the only present he got to open on Christmas day. I guess stuff like that is all I can do, but somehow it never seems enough. It's only November, and I'm already slightly heartsick.

"We've Got 5 Years, What a Surprise..."

A lot has changed in the last 5 years. With me. With my parents. With my brother. With my whole life. November of 2004 seems eons ago if I look back in retrospect and recall the things I was doing, the things that were happening around me, the girl I was.

How can so much happen in 5 years? How can so much change?

Five years ago today, I was a junior in college, two months into the Fall Semester, hating my body, laughing with my room mate, missing my boyfriend, and loving my major in English. It was almost 2005, almost time to prepare for winter break—a time I both dreaded and desired. I dreaded it, because it had to be spent at home with my parents where my eating disorder inevitably worsened (or at least my sense of self). It meant I was far from friends who returned to their respective homes in different states. And it meant I worried needlessly about the impending new semester. Yet I desired it, because I got to enjoy the proximity portion of a long-distance relationship, got to take a breath between large amounts of schoolwork, and got to earn a little extra money.

So much is different now, this November. I'm sitting here in a house I moved into 2.5 years ago. I'm a Caseworker, a blogger, and amazingly (and thankfully) much happier.

5 years brought so much. My sense of self is restored, my body is not hated, my confidence is renewed. I graduated with two degrees. I fell into my job. I met Rick. We got married. We bought a house. I run an Eating Disorder Support Group instead of letting my eating disorder run me. I lost both of my grandfathers.

Yet so much is the same. 5 years strengthened pieces. I'm still a writer at the core and won't ever stop writing. My best friend is the same room mate with whom I laughed. I'm still as introspective as ever, though my focus is usually on the positive.

Even though, in a lot of ways, those days seem like yesterday sometimes, I am so struck by the turns my life has taken, by the changes in my circumstances, by my altered family dynamic.

People come and go. I think this is what makes mere years seem like eras. My dear friend Alicia and my own husband weren't even a twinkle in my life back then. And we're only talking about FIVE years.

Contemplation Station

I'm the kind of woman who believes in quality over quantity...but I'm also the kind of woman who thinks Why not both? I mean, why can't you have both quality AND quantity. Less isn't always more. At least that's how I feel.

 

My feelings on this stem mainly from the phrase "I love you." I know there are people who believe that if you say it too often, it somehow lacks validity or "specialness," if you will. I don't believe this and never have. I think, as long as it's TRUE, that "I love you" is one of the things a person can never say enough. I also know that there are people who don't say it, because they think, "well, she knows by now, after all this time."

 

You can never say "I love you" too much to someone. If it's real, it's always a meaningful thing to say. If it's offhanded or not genuine, that's a different story.

 

Of course, I am also of the opinion that if you really do love someone, "I love you" should not be said simply for reciprocation. If you feel it, say it. If you say it 5 times a day, it does not mean it is less true. It does not demean the sentiment. It is reiteration of a truth, said because it is felt. It is both quality and quantity.

 

Sure, I have been the one to say "I love you" and have waited for a reply, waited for those words in return. But I don't understand the other person holding back if the feeling is mutual. I don't understand holding back because you've already reached some mental quota of "I love yous" for the week or month. There is no threshold for "I love you" that once passed indicates the words are no longer meaningful. They are always meaningful if they have meaning for the person saying them.

 

Those words mean something to me. Every time I have said them in my life, I have meant it. Every time. I haven't said them to a thousand people, and they don't mean the same thing as "I like you." To me they are not the kind of words that thoughtlessly accompany a "bye" on the telephone, though I have often said "I love you" before hanging up. I don't say "I love you" as a clockwork phrase, said just because it's what people in relationships do. I say "I love you" because I love, and because I want the other person to know, to feel that good, fulfilled sensation that comes from hearing it directed in a personal way...because it's an expression of emotion...and because it bears repeating.

 

I say what I mean and I mean what I say. If I've said it, I've meant it.

 

Why not say "I love you" a lot, if it's real? Bad things can't come of it if you are sincere. Speak from the heart and you can't go wrong.

 

Thank you, Rick, for always telling me you love me, so I don't have to guess.