So What's Your Story

I feel obligated to preface what you are about to read.
It is shallow, self-serving, vain and a whole lot of wrong.
And it's ALL Kelly's doing.

But I'm willing to bet you do this, too. In those moments, when I'm  smelling like Tuesday -even though it's Wednesday-when I'm scrubbing something that should have made it's way to the bathroom-when I can't believe how annoying clothing without elastic waistbands can be...in those moments, here's what I think about.

(I'm TOTALLY cringing right now. And mentally screaming, "KELLLLLLYYYY!")

I think about my ego boosts. I think about a time someone looked at me, flirted with me, flattered and/or complimented me. And yes, I have complied a list. And yes, Kelly has said list and then told me, "Rachel, you should blog about this."

I have been listeneing to her for decades and she has never done me wrong. This may be the time when it all changes.

OK- strait off my ego boost list:

Dr. XXXXX(not saying his name because I have seen him on the news commenting on health issues).
My oldest son lacerated his spleen at the age of 9. After 2 ambulance rides, we ended up at the New England medical Center. He was there for 4 days and I never left his side. Except to go and get chocolate crossaints from Au Bon Pain.
He was released and we had to come back after 3 weeks and then again after 3 months. At the last appt, after an MRI, the dr cleared Ethan for normal activities. When we were leaving (me and the 4 kids) the dr gave me his cell phone number and told me to call him next time I was coming into the city. We could get together and have dinner. I played it cool and said my husband loves dinner in the city.

I am embarrassed to admit that sometimes I think back on that. No matter how bad/fat/frumpy I may look RIGHT NOW, there was a time, back in the day, when a pediatric trama surgeon (who had met my husband) (AND all my kids...well, all I had at the time) asked me out.

Ug.
I am already regretting this.

Now, your turn.
Let me hear your ego boosts.

Right This Second

Does your mind flit and fly from one topic to the next?

Mine, too. At an astonishing rate. If my legs could move this fast, I'd have the Boston Marathon in the bag.

My mouth runs pretty fast but generally, that is a bad thing.

For your entertainment, and for future generations, I will attempt to document my inner monologue:

The cockraoch I found in my kitchen must have hitchiked back in my luggage. I've never seen one before. And it's so tiny. If it's not a visitor, but born here I may lose it. L O S E it.

Am I the only person who has the air conditioning on so high (or is it low?) that I have to wear a sweatshirt?

I should have taken a typing class.

I miss my dad. And the $40 he gave me at the airport. The $2.25 Starbucks cookie was a rip off. I could do way better. But baked goods at 30,000 is a nice way to pass the time.

What are my boys doing? It's awfully quiet. I'll wait for screaming and then investigate.

I love my husband. And he thinks I am nice. He was tossing and turning last night so, at 3am I scratched his head. He likes it and it helps him relax. If something ever happens to him, I will fall apart and never get it together again. I hate when he gets up early.

My new friend, John, said he is depressed. He is 81 and lost his wife 10 years ago. This morning, when I got my soda, he said he can't sleep any more. He still can't believe she's gone. She was a "firey red head" and he has (had) jet black hair. When their first child, a red headed daughter, was born, John's mother said that if he was a stronger man, the baby would have been born with black hair. He tried to explain genetics to her, but she wasn't buying it. Her son was weak. But John said he didn't care because he loved his wife so much. "I adore her. I worshipped the ground she walked on."

I am glad I didn't cry in front of him. Or all the other convienent store customers.

I didn't buy a snickers bar for my son. Too much candy isn't good for him.

He wants to shower in the morning now, not before bed.

I think this has to do with girls.

I don't think he's kissed anyone yet.

I was almost a senior in highschool when I kissed a boy. I was in Texas. Padre Island. This weekend, while I was visting Texas, my Uncle threatened to find Diego for me. Gag. Just like the first time I met him.

That sounds mean. But it's true.

At my cousin's wedding reception, I was talking to one of the groom's men. My dad walked up and said, "Quit flirting."

I was kind of mortified, but played it off. Maybe at 17, that would have been funny. But I'm married and kind of got a pit in my stomach thinking that I might even appear  to be flirting. I hope I forget that moment. It's weighing on me.

Time for more family pictures. I think I want to take it in my bedroom...all the kids piled on my bed. We end up there lots of times. We watch Nick, Jr. or the Food network. Good times....

My fake tan looks like crapola.

Jen Alfson just texted me. Auntie Jen. She makes me smile.

My neice is in India, working at a lepor colony. She must seem like an angel. She washes their feet and combs their hair. She said they just cry and kiss and thank her. I'm crying right now. What a way to spend your summer. She's rad.

I get teased for saying rad.

I don't care.

This is boring.

I am done. Should have been done a while ago. And this isn't quite accurate.

I edited; When talking about my husband.

*blush*

Random thoughts, random picture.

That's my eye. I tried to think of a clever connection:

"Eye bet you can't guess what I'm thinking."

Lame. Not that clever. Once, I dated a boy with the last name Clever....

The Best Medicine

When you need a laugh, what do you think of?

I think of the time my pregnant friend fell.
ISN'T THAT HORRIBLE?
No lie, I'm laughing right now just thinking about it. And that was...8 1/2 years ago.
Sorry Heather D.

I also think of the time Su B. and I were at Heather D's house (pattern emerging?)
and we stayed up 'til some ridiculous time, like 4am. When we finally gave in to sleep, and quieted down, we could hear this weird noise. Like a tucan bird or something..."Ca-caw". Everytime we heard it, it sent us into fits of laughter. Still does.

Or I think of the time my husband and I expained the birds and the bees to our son and he promptly asked, "is that why you guys are always so tired in the morning?"
I was so embarrassed I started mumbling about staying up late to do laundry. ???
My husband tried to high five me.

Or there's the time the I had surgery and the OB/GYN just kept going on and on about- no- ya know what? I can't put this one out there for public consumption. But, boooooy is it funny. Those of you who have heard this story still bring it up. If there is a publisher out there looking for a book titled, "What a male/lesbian gynocologist should NEVER say", let me know. I could write the intro, Chapters 1-12 and a few epilogues.

Laughing is my favorite. Sometimes, when I say my prayers, I even ask for a chance to belly laugh until I can no longer control my facial expressions and/or pee on myself. Truely.

So, what makes you laugh?

Didn't You Know?

 I have a 5 year old son, Elliot.

This is our conversation a couple of days ago:

Elliot: "Mom, Heavenly Father is in a video game."

Me: "Heavenly Father is in a video game?" (I glanced in the rearview mirror to see him excitedly nodding his head, thumb in mouth.)

Me: "Which one?"

Elliot: "Lord of the Rings."

Me: "Is he Gandolf?"

Elliot: "Yeah."


Did I mention I love 5 year old boys?

Friday Before Lunch

I volunteered in my daughter's 5th grade class this morning.
We discussed art.
All the paintings were done by black artists and featured black people.
We looked at a painting depicting a parade.
A boy raised his hand. He said when he lived in California, there were lots of Spaniards.
And Mexicans.

I told the class about my friend Connie who was my childhood neighbor.

She did not speak english.
I did not speak spanish.
I did not tell them of my other neighbor. Her name was Fanny.
I knew this fact would get us off track.
I said goodbye.
I went to the fabric store.
I picked out 2 patterns for aprons.
I perused the fabrics.
I noticed I had cut my finger and it was bleeding.
I held my finger in a funny position, afraid I would get bits of blood on a bevy of materials.
I was wearing an Addidas track suit that makes me think I probably look like the lady in Glee.
I have never seen Glee, so I don't know how I know there is a lady on the show that wears Adiddas track suits.
I found cute, coordinating cottons and made my way to the counter;
Where I apparently flipped the cashier off, unbeknowst to me.
I started home and remembered how the other night, just before we fell asleep, my husband farted the funniest sounding fart and we both laughed until we couldn't breath.

I'm on my 2nd double gulp of the day.

That's the Glory of, That's the Story of Love

I first saw my husband at the tender age of 12.
I was at Kelly's house. We were probably talking about how much we missed Sara N. and when, if ever, we'd need a bra.
Kelly's brothers and sisters had friends over, too. Presumably with better topics of conversation.
I was perched quietly in corner when a boy walked through the room. A teenage boy. The most beautiful teenage boy. Ever.
He didn't notice me. I didn't make a peep and away he went. I never saw him again.
But attractiveness like his is powerful and must be discussed.
And that's what Kelly and I did.

For 7 years.

"So, ummm, where's that Bryan guy? You know. The really cute one."
I don't remember how often I asked that question over the years. Often enough to get answers like, "Singapore" and "Switzerland".
He sort of became that dream guy in my mind.  When I fantasized about falling in love, he'd magically appear. When I wondered who the doctor would hand my brand new, fresh-from-me baby to, he was the stand in until I had a real love. Because we no impactful interaction, it didn't take long for his features to blurr.
As much as I imagined him, I couldn't describe his eyes or smile if you'd have asked me to. But that never stopped the wondering.

Flash forward to 1993. Imagine my surprise when Kelly called and said, "Guess who wants to go out with you?"
"Me? I don't know. Who?"
"Bryan (Insert fake last name except I can't think of one cool enough to match his real last name)", she said.

"THEE Bryan ( insert fake last name except...)" I squealed.

"Yes!"

Skip ahead a few days when I met Bryan.

He didn't look familiar. At all.

But he felt familiar.

Our first date was in San Fransisco. The first thing we did on our date was walk in Cartiers. To this day, neither one of us know how we ended up there. He asked me what I liked. I passed out.

We saw each other everyday for the next week and then he left to go back to school.

Two weeks later, he showed up on my doorstep- very early in the morning. He had driven all night long, making the most of a 3day weekend.

Before he left Sunday night, he told me he loved me and I was the one he wanted to marry.

I'd know him for about 3 weeks.

7 years and 3 weeks.

I find it funny, all these years later, how our story came together.

Kelly is still in it. There are a few other characters, too.

Mostly they look like me, but they have his sense of humor and love of peanut butter.

I've thought about all the little connections and intersections that brought us together.

What if I hadn't been at Kelly's that day?

What if he hadn't walked through the room I happened to be sitting in?

What if Kelly hadn't shown him a picture of me while they were hanging out at school?

I've asked how it came to be that he asked Kelly to set us up. He saw my picture and says, still, "I just wanted to kiss you. As soon as I saw your picture, I just wanted to kiss you."

15 years, 5 children, several jobs and countless moves later, I still daydream about him. And now, like that day he told me he wanted to marry me, he makes good on those dreams.

Happy Valentine's Day to THEE Bryan.

Groundhog's Day? Yes, please.

I got a diet coke today at 6:45am.
Don't judge me.

By noon, I had listened to a friend's sadness, refereed 13 fights, done all manner of housework and started to make homemade bread.

I was still in my gingerbread man pj pants and the XL bright orange t-shirt the YMCA gave my husband when he coached a little league team for them. I had on a bra, but only because I fell asleep in it the night before.
My teeth were brushed. I don't even go downstairs without brushing my teeth.

My husband wanted me to call Comcast. Supposedly, the bill is wrong.
I called. They explained.
I called my husband. He said, "Those frickin' guys. I hate Comcast. Call them back. They charged our American Express for last month."

Boring to tell you about. Aggrevating to do. I explained it all to my husband and ended up in tears because I H.A.T.E. calling and doing this kind of stuff. Turns out Comcast was right. Husband, wrong.
He felt bad and now I was at my wits end and the kids were walking in the door.

Things were pretty normal. Hectic, but normal. I had plans to meet some girlfriends for dinner so I kept thinking, "Just get to 7:30."

I made a delicious dinner for the kids, an intoxicatingly delicious dessert to share with the ladies and bread for my sad friend.

Then my daughter realized that I took the Aeropostle shirt she left on her floor ("If you leave clothes on the floor, I will take them.") She pouted. It was a fabulous pout face. Once for the record books.

My littlest was running through the house yelling "butthole" and enjoying my anguish.

My older boys were being lame.
This post is lame.

My husband called. He felt so bad about the phone call fiasco he enticed me to go to dinner with him.
I ditched my girlfriends for a boy. A cute boy. I felt so highschool. Except that I didn't worry they'd be upset. They all have cute boyfriends, too.

I cleaned more surfaces.
Reffed more arguments.
I wondered what I should wear on my impromptu date.
I went upstairs with a basket of clean laundry on my hip.

My door was locked.
I used the old meat thermometer to try to pop the lock open.
Nothing.
I tried a bobbypin.
Nothing.

The kids were suddenly so loud and annoying that I imagined going into my backyard and screaming a swear word at the top of my lungs.
No, not that one. I can't remember the last time I said that word.
Just the S word. But still. In my mind, I WAS LOUD!!!!

Husband called, excitment in his voice.
I said,  "We aren't going. I'm locked out of the bedroom. 9year old took a dollar off my desk and tried to keep it. 10 year old broke a bowl, 12 year old yelled at 9 year old and 2 year old took off his diaper.
I can't find 5 year old. I have to go."

This post is much longer than it should be.

Just know this, nobody listened to me.
Wait, not true. My daughter was delighful once she knew she could earn back her over-priced t-shirt. She played with the 5 year old that suddenly reappeared.

My husband came home.
Set the naughty kids straight.
Tried to go into our bedroom and burst out laughing.
He thought I was just upset and over exaggerating things when I told him we weren't going out because I was locked out.
He popped the lock in about 3 seconds.
He ate leftovers and yummy dessert.

I left a post on Kelly Foote's FB wall and he read over my shoulder and made a suggestive remark.
I said he was a dork and went up to shower. I had been in the same clothes for 23 hours.

I came downstairs and found him listening to Claire De Lune.
He apologized for it being so loud. He said it helps him relax.

I hated parts of today.



But if some of my days end with that guy listening to classical music and whispering apologies against my skin while he kisses my neck, you can bet that I will be starting tomorrow with a trip to 7-11 and hoping for a repeat.

P.S. This looks like me in the orange YMCA t-shirt after I've eaten all the dessert that I meant to share.