DisGraceFul

   At work yesterday, as I was slipping out of my chair to go to lunch, I hit my hip on a corner of my desk. When I bent over to check out the damage, I hit my head on - brace yourself - the plastic straw of the tumbler I recently bought in an effort to not spill things quite so often. (Seriously there is still a two inch red mark on my forehead; it wasn't gross at all trying to clean the straw of the skin cells it scraped off of my face).

A mere hour later (returning from lunch) I dropped something and squatted down to get it. Wouldn't you know it, I managed to hit the back of head on the underside of the desk - so hard in fact that a coworker brought me a small bag of ice to put on the newest injury.

((It might be too much to include here that as soon as I sat back in my chair I hit my ankle on the nearby bookcase, flipping the middle shelf and sending the contents flying... ))

My clumsiness is probably hereditary (yes, if you must know, I googled it). My father is a smooth talker but ummm, he can't exactly walk the walk (sorry Daddy!). For real tho, the man has had way more creative injuries than I can attempt to count. And my son... well, for now we'll just say he's an active little boy and accidents are expected.

I've been following in my father's stumbling footsteps for quite a while now, now that I think about it. Back in middle school I was playing second base for my softball team when a grounder hit a rock, popped up and hit me in the face - giving me two black eyes, a broken nose and leaving the imprint of the ball's stitches on my chin. (My dad and stepmom made me go to school the next day - thanks a lot!)

Before that, I was climbing on my cousin's back trying to reach the pears in our neighbor's tree when i fell and fractured my arm - on my cousin's face. Side note: while my arm was still in a sling, I further injured it by using it to jumprope (because that's perfectly logical).

Oh, oh, oh! There was also the time I was plugging in my laptop and then backed into the corner of the counter, causing a stream of blood to flow from my lower back right down into my... well, I'm sure you can figure it out (it rhymes with back). And once, I dropped a chopstick that stabbed me between the toes, making me trip and hit my head on the nearby doorframe. (All this while perfectly sober, mind you.)

My typical response is to laugh - I think I've actually forgotten how to cry about pain. Usually there are only tears after I've giggled so hard I can't breath (and yes, if you fall, I'll laugh then too). Is this a normal or healthy reaction? Hell if I know. Maybe I'm a freak - my mother tells me that I never cried about shots as a baby/kid. I tend to respond that way to emotional pain too - it's inappropriate, maybe, but it's me.

Which brings to me to my point. We're all unique individuals - none of us are good at everything (such as walking without causing bodily harm) but all of us are good at something. When you're the one that's successful, how about being generous and kind to those who are struggling in that area instead of being prideful and harsh?

Hmmmm, let me put it like this: If you're gracefull (sic), share the wealth and show some grace to those who aren't.

***Because if you don't, sure enough, you can count on karma to trip your selfish ass... ;)***



Please Sit on the Fence; It Has the Best View

I'm pretty good about seeing (and sympathizing) with both sides of any story. It's been both a blessing and a curse... because it usually happens even in my own personal situations when it would be pretty convenient to focus only on my side of things.

It's just a part of my Aquarian nature. [I know there are arguments now that we've all been labeled under the wrong sign, but let me assure you that no matter where and how the stars lined up on the day I was born, I am the epitome of an Aquarius - and proud of it, as any true Aquarian would be ;)]

My whole life I have heard the term "on the fence" used with a negative connotation. It means a person is weak and indecisive; it means that one is a slimy coward who has commitment issues.

Well, I beg to differ. You're not a coward for being on the fence - a coward would be afraid of heights! Sitting on the fence doesn't necessarily mean that you're taking the easy route, too lazy to make a decision. Being on the fence is hard work and often uncomfortable.  But it's worth it because the truth is when you're on the fence, you have the best vantage point of the situation. (It's also akin to that other popular phrase "taking the high road," wouldn't you agree?)


The cliche actually just means you're in a neutral position, which I translate to mean peaceful. It means you don't see the world strictly black and white, but recognize all the different colors and even the vast variations of those colors. It means that being human - flawed but compassionate and understanding and kind - is more important to you than being "right."

Anyone can throw a tantrum on nice solid ground - kicking and screaming and shaking fists all to make a point. But doing that while sitting a on fence? I don't think so. Sitting on the fence requires balance, my friend. Balance. And isn't that something we all aim for in this life?

So I entice you: Sit on the fence, please. Enjoy the view.

Can You Feel This?

It was like there was sandpaper on the roof of her mouth making each word that came out sound scratchy and weak. But she couldn’t afford that; it was time to be strong.

          “You’re not supposed to be here, Timothy.”

          “Julie-”

          “I asked you not to come back.”

She turned her cheek against the pillow and studied the tension evident in his back muscles as he sat on the very edge of the bed with his head down. After a moment he stood, faced her. She watched his chest expand with a deep breath. He toyed with the bed knob, drawing tiny circles on its surface.

“Let’s just talk.”

“We’ve been through this, for months now. I can’t talk to you anymore.” Julie shook her head vehemently. “I can’t, Timothy.” Her hands remained folded, politely resting on her stomach.

“Why?”

“Because I have too much to say.”

She could see the disappointment circling his pupils. She understood the despair that caused his brow to crease. Every part of her ached to console him, to make it all better.

Well, not every part of her ached, she reminded herself bitterly. Some parts of her simply felt nothing.

One by one all the reasons they couldn’t be together anymore streamed through her mind, agonizing pieces of information she could not get past or ignore. The rims of her eyelids began to twitch and burn with unreleased emotion.

She would not cry.

Even though her eyelashes might go up in flames at any moment, she would not cry.

With long strides Timothy crossed the room headed for the door. Julie held her breath. How could she so desperately want someone to leave and stay simultaneously?

“Damn it, Julie!” He slammed his fist into the doorframe, making her flinch. Somehow, in some sick twisted manner, it gave her hope. “I just don’t understand… how could you… why won’t you..?”

When he turned to face her again she saw that, unlike her, his resolve was melting down his cheeks. His voice became low, childlike. “If you don’t want my heart anymore why won’t you just give it back?”

Her rib might as well have punctured her heart. Love came gushing out, painful and sticky, coating her insides, seeping out of her pores. “I’m trying to.”

Timothy rushed to her side, sitting on the bed with one arm poised across her body. He peered into her eyes as if he could some how hypnotize her into changing her mind.

She looked away from his gaze. “I can’t bear you children.”

“You don’t know that for sure yet. And so what? I’ll have you; we’ll have each other. And we could always adopt if we really wanted kids.”

It was the same argument he always gave. She looked down to see that he had moved his hand from the mattress onto her lower torso. His thumb stroked her hipbone softly, tenderly. She could almost feel it. Almost wasn’t enough.

To her demise her lips tasted salty when she continued her argument. “Timothy, we can’t make love.”

“Fine. We don’t need to make something we already have.”

A trembling hand came to her throat. Oh, god, how she wanted to believe him. But how could half a woman be enough for man so great?

“Sometimes I think…” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Sometimes I think my heart is overcompensating for what I can’t feel below the waist anymore.”

Timothy pressed his lips against the edge of her jawbone just below her ear. “Can you feel this?”

“Y-yes.”

“And this?” He made a slow trail of gentle kisses from her neck past her collarbone until he rested between her breasts where her heart pulsed dramatically. Each time he paused to ask, “Can you feel this?”

She gazed down at him, sadness tainting her pleasure.

“Julie?”

“Timothy?”

Several long quiet moments passed. He outlined a heart on her chest.

“I’ll leave, I’ll go without looking back, the day you don’t feel anything right here, beneath your skin and any stupid nerve endings. And there’s nothing you can do to make me leave before then…” He smiled. “You certainly can’t kick me out, now can you?”

Slowly, Julie smiled back.

Kind of Nice

How you treat other people is more about who YOU are and less about the other people.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to say that, but I've realized it's pretty freakin' true.

It's obviously not good to be mean to others, so I want to focus on the difference in being nice and being kind. I mean, nice people are cool... they're polite, they tolerate others, they're... nice. But kindness surpasses niceness.

Forgive me, I've been too lazy (or, ahem, reallllly busy) to do the in-depth research about the root of the word "kind", but it seems like it is somehow related to words like "kin, kindred" etc. That's how I got my little epiphany.

When you are kind to someone, you are saying "I recognize we are kindred, we are related, we are of the same kind." It's looking beyond age, gender, race, sexual orientation and every other possible difference and acknowledging that we are all connected.

When I looked up "kind" in the thesaurus, "nice" wasn't even listed as a synonym! Niceness may tolerate you, but kindness accepts you... loves you because you are family.

Kindness is putting namaste into action. 

Happy 25

I have never understood a person who doesn't like to celebrate his birthday or a woman who is ashamed of her age. Sure, it's just another day - nothing miraculous happens at midnight or anything. Still - it's the one day a year when the people around you are supposed to stop and remember why they are grateful you're here. It's not about celebrating a day; it's about celebrating YOU. And, why the hell should you be ashamed of your age?? At one point did that ever make sense? Especially if you're taking care of yourself - you should be proud to look good and be knowledgeable at whatever age you are.

Well I turn 25 today and I woke up feeling... beautiful... whole... happy.

It's not that I no longer screw up or make mistakes. It's just that I'm capable of receiving criticism (constructive or not). I'm not afraid to take responsibility for my actions and I know how to make a genuine apology.

It's not that my legs grew longer or my boobs got bigger. I've just realized that my body is beautiful as is, so I take care of it and appreciate it. Somewhere along the way small became lovely and short became sexy.

It's not that I've had my novel published and now I feel affirmed. It's just that I have learned that I am a writer, published or not, and I'm confident in submitting my work.

It's not that all of my relationships are smooth and easy. I've just figured out that the ones that are worth it are worthy of dealing with the rough and bumpy parts. And I know now that I'M worth it- I deserve to be loved not just when I do something right, but when I'm struggling too. 

It's not that I think I have a superior relationship with God. It's just that I know that my spirituality cannot be determined by anyone else. There is something I feel beneath my skin in the space that links my heart to my belly button that makes me know I am loved, I am connected... and I am not afraid.

I woke up today feeling beautiful, whole... and happy. Happy birthday to me.

A Letter to Wisdom

Wisdom: Apprehending true nature through intuitive understanding: Insight.

My Darling Little Boy, Gavin Wisdom Scott,

    When we first decided to use Wisdom as your middle name, I just thought it was cool. I mean all the time you hear of girls named Faith, Joy, Grace or Hope - yet how often do you meet a guy named Truth, Justice or Trust? 

     Over time I've realized that we could not have chosen a more appropriate name for you. Wisdom is about seeing allll the little details but never losing sight of the big picture... comprehending that life and people really are good at the root of it all. Wisdom is about seeing the motivation and not getting sidetracked by the action.

     Gavin, you are the indisputable raw evidence that at least once in my life I got it right. The moment you looked at me with those intensely alert eyes, my heart stopped - yet I didn't feel like I was about to die, to cease existing. I realized there was so much more to my very being, that I had barely begun to live in the first place.

      Over the last two years you have made my heart stop and made it race on a fairly consistent basis. And I don't mind, because you've put this heart of mine to the best possible use - you have taught it to love without condition. Yup, beyond the crazy heart palpitations is a slow and steady pulse that will never desist. You have taught my heart something it simply cannot unlearn. I can never stop loving you.

      I love that you talk too much and repeat EVERYTHING that I say. I love that heartbreakingly adorable little gap between your front teeth. I adore the way you laugh. I'm crazy about your dance moves and your obvious natural music ability. I love how you think smiling means you're supposed to squint your eyes. It makes me grin how you think a hug is not a hug unless you've been patted on the back. I love your big ole head and that floppy hair - those ocean eyes of yours melt my heart.

     I love the way you say "Mommy"... I love YOU.

    Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby Boy!!!

      

No-uh and the Bark

It pretty much sucks when your toddler tells you "No!" (particularly when there are witnesses) but things go to a whole other level when he takes that itty bitty word and puts an extra syllable on it... ya know, something like this:
NO-UUUUUHH! I don't wanna nap!


Gavin, my adorable and normally incredibly sweet 2-year-old, was recently having an "off" day. Maybe we can blame it on cabin fever thanks to the recent freak ice storm in Georgia, but the same scenario played over and over for about a solid 24 hours....

"Mommy, I want a Cheeto please."
Mommy gives in to request. Gavin takes Cheeto happily - THEN, noticing a mild-mannered dog LYING ON THE COUCH a good SIX FEET AWAY, Gavin feels threatened. So threatened in fact that he can't even manage to bring that coveted Cheeto to his lips. Instead he throws his fist into the air and bellows, "NO-UUUUUH dog - MY Cheeto! No-uh!"

This of course gets the dog's attention. So dog stretches, hops off of couch and steps over to sniff the Cheeto. Well, NO-UH, Gavin can't bear the heartache. He gives the Cheeto to the dog, thrusts his body to the ground with a flood of tears - "No-uuuuuuh!"

Well, now the dog is concerned about Gavin's obvious distress. What can a dog do except bark?!
Such a response is not acceptable to my darling toddler, so he gets louder - NOOO-UUUH DOG!!! NOO-UUH!

Eventually he calmed down, until the next round that is. In all fairness, he did mix it up a little bit:

Later, it's a banana in Gavin's hand. He searches throughout the house calling "C'mere kitty cat, c'mere kitty cat." When the cat presents itself, purring and rubbing against his legs, Gavin begins to shriek "NO-UH! My banana, cat. No-uh! Nooooo-uuuuuh!"

Ahhhh, it's all so hilarious now that I'm not trapped in a house with no internet, no phone and too little sleep =)
To sum it up, it was an experience of Biblical proportion...