The Beautiful (Bandaged) People

So, lastnight, around 3 a.m., I felt someone watching me. I looked up and was startled and relieved at the same time. It was my 3-year-old.

"What ... do you want?" I was rather annoyed because, yeah, don't stand over me at 3 a.m while I am sleeping. I don't care who you are.

"I want mommy," he said and watched to see if he was getting the green light. At 3 years old, he knows how to manipulate the situation. "Awwww," I thought. And with that, he jumped in bed and curled up beside me beneath my huge down comforter.

With my 3-year-old., Mr. E, on one side and hubby on the other, I drifted back to sleep, feeling very safe and very loved. About an hour later, Mr. E is tossing and turning. There are toes in my face and at one point, he turned around and ... scraaaaaaaape.

Right across my face. He got me good. And I mean, he drew blood.

The next morning, I swore I'd never let Mr. E back in bed with me again as I stood before the mirror in horror. There was a bright red gash on my left cheek. It looked pretty bad but it felt worse. I could feel the pounding and pulsing of the small, dime-sized wound.

"Oh, perfect!" I yelled to hubby. "Look! Look at my face. What am I supposed to do? I can't put makeup over this. It will get all ... icky."

And so, I put my makeup on--around the small child-inflicted wound. And then I put some neosporin on it and thought "Ewww. I wouldn't want to look at me."

Feeling a little bad for my co-workers, I pulled out a pair of scissors and a regular-sized band-aid and I cut out an ever-so-out tiny band-aid that fit right over the spot. (Nursing school was good for something, afterall).

I got to work and emailed my fave co-worker, C. "OMG. I am not coming out for the entire day. I have a band-aid on my face!" She tried to make me feel better, via email, and when she saw me, she laughed hysterically.

"You are insaaaaaane," she blurted out. "I can barely see that!"

Whatever. I could feel people looking at me, just wondering: "Hmmmm ... why does she have a smurf-sized band-aid on her face?" And it was you know, a different color than my skin and all. It was just ... awful. I felt like I was that awkward girl in high school.

I kept my head (purposefully) buried in my work all day--only coming out for lunch. And when I did, C and I headed to the mall where we sat with our packed lunches at a little table for two. We always sit at the same spot. It is away from the crowd of people at the food court and just outside of Starbucks.

We don't spend money on mall food, and we get to get away from work for a good hour. It works.

So, about five minutes into lunch, we noticed this one chic. She was working at a certain shoe store in the mall. It is actually one of my favorite spots. She looked bored as the first woman wandered in and looked at a few pairs of shoes.

"That seems mean," I said to C. "She didn't even look at her."

Ms. Shoe Girl She was staring at a computer, apparently. "She's probably on Facebook" I said, laughing.

But, then we sat and watched and noticed ... a trend.

A cute college girl walks in and she is all about her. "Hi, how are you?" The next shopper is an older woman, not very fashionable ... and she gets the snub. The girl says nothing and doesn't even acknowledge her.

Again and again and again ... it happened. And it was so blatant. We could look at the person walking in the store and if they seemed fashionable (or beautiful), she'd make small talk. And if they didn't quite fit the "beautiful people" profile, they'd be totally ignored. Totally snubbed.

It was so ... bizarre. I mean, I guess I expect it in South Beach or something. But, in Gainesville? Where did this "mean girl" come from and why is she in my mall? That's how I was feeling.

"Well, we've been talking about my ugly band-aid all.day.long. And now, here's the test," I said to C.

"What? What are you going to do?"

"I am going to find out if I make her list or not. Will the hideous band-aid keep me off the list? Will she say hello? Or will she snub ... us?"

"No, no, no," she said. "You are crazy. She's going to ... I don't know what she's going to do."

"Are you scared of her?" I replied. "Are you scared that she is going to make or break our confidence?" At this point, I was being over-the-top silly.

And so, as I finished the last bite of my homely little sandwich--definitely not a glamourous lunch, I picked up my purse and strutted right into the store ... with C reluctantly right by my side.

And you know what Ms. Shoe Girl did?

Well, I can't give it away. I'll let you choose the ending.

(Okay, maybe I'll tell you how the story ends ...next post.)

Did someone just say 'Prince?'

I am sitting here, right now, in the middle of the gym with my tiny laptop at my finger tips. I am starting to feel sticky now after a 26-mile cycle class. Those 26 miles were a total accident. I had no idea I'd be hitting it that hard. My goals was do do three miles today--on the treadmill.

Instead, I walked by a small crowd of eager women--waiting for the next cycle class; and I thought, "Hmm ... that's got to be at least three miles. I'm in."

(I have exactly 11m inutes left until I have to get my four kids for childcare, so I'm making this rather quick.)

So, about five minutes into class, I was (admittedly) a little annoyed with Ms. Instructor. Why is the music so low? I kept thinking. I mean, cycle class usually means a hard-and fast-workout with hard-and loud-music.

Instead, we had a hard-and-fast workout with hard-and-low music. (Who does that? And why?) But, I thought, I can't be the obnoxious new girl with a list of demands. (Okay, just one.) So, I said nothing. Until, I just needed the music. I needed it.

It's a part of the experience. And so, I turned to my sweaty neigbhor and asked her, "Do you think the music needs to be a little louder?" "Yes!" she quickly replied.

I realized that everyone was probably thinking the same thing, so I said what was on my mind. "Can we crank the music up a notch?"

"Oh, you want it louder?"

Ummm ... yeah.

And she cranked it up, by exactly one notch. Yes, just one.

I figured out that I'd probably need to plan my classes around instructors. I want the loud-music lady--whoever that happens to be.

Sometime towards the end of class, we had one last 'round' to go; and Ms. Instructor said "Who wants what? Prince? bleh-bleh-bleh?"

Okay, I couldn't really understand what she had just said. And so, I quickly blurted out--in much excitement: "Prince!"

When what she had actually just asked the class was: "Who wants what? Sprints? Jumps?"

"What? Sprints? Is that what you what?"

"Yes. Um, Sprints." (Yes, that is exactly what I just said. Prince who?)

And so we ended the class with some low-volume Ozzy instead of some hot, loud Prince.

Oh well, I did 26 miles--without Prince; and with Sprints. Yeah, something like that.

Oh, look, I have three minutes left to pick up the kiddos. See you in about three days, unless something fascinating happens in my life.

Old, dirt road

So, yesterday was wild at work. I mean, as an editor, I have times when things are pretty cool and laid back, when the deadlines are rather forgiving. And then, I have months like July--when I have four deadlines in four days. (In a normal month, we have a total of four deadlines on average.)

I had so much work in front of me that I barely had time to get up to make the seven-second walk to the bathroom. And finally, when it was all over with for the day, I quietly packed up my things and headed for the door.

There was this heaviness. I sighed. Sometimes, when I get really busy, I forget that I ever had a sister. Is that mean? And then reality snaps me right back into place. You know, like on the drive home, when I think about how nice it would be to call her ... just to tell her about my day.

(I love words on paper, because I never have to apologize for my tears in mid-sentence.)

At the first redlight, I texted hubby. "I really need a date tonight."

I just needed him to save me for a moment. I needed him to take care of me. I needed him to tell me that, you know, I'm pretty and all that stuff we love to hear. It was only Monday, but I needed our Friday date.

When he made it home from his 12-hour shift at the hospital, he simply asked me to get ready. And to choose any place. But, I was too drained to even do that. "Your choice tonight. Take the lead. I'm too tired to lead anything. Even food."

And so, (since we now live in Jonesville--a tiny little town sandwiched between Gainesville, a college town; and Newberry, the little country town where I grew up) he decided to venture into Newberry. On any normal date night, we'd have taken a right into Gainesville.

But, it was Monday and we were both tired. So, we decided we'd take the left into Newberry. Funny, I rarely venture into the little town, that is rich with my childhood memories. I think that is the reason why I usually ignore what is to the left of me.

It reminds me too much of my sister; of our childhoods.

"Turn here," I said to hubby before we made it to the main road. "This is a short cut. It will take you right into Newberry."

I hadn't even thought much about it, but as soon as he turned, I realized what I had just done. This little road leads right to my old neighborhood and further down, I knew the little, old dirt road would be coming up.

Only, it had been paved sometime since my childhood.

"We used to walk down this road when we were kids," I said to hubby. "And we used to make that left and we would just walk and play. We had nothing better to do."

I remember the days distinctly--almost as if I could reach out and touch the blue sky that we peered up at, together, about 20 years ago. And the old little shack, it was still there, looking as if it would fall if the wind even hinted at blowing. Everything looked the same--except for the paved road.

We were almost to the end of the once-dirt road when I recognized an old landmark from my childhood.

"A girl from highschool died right there," I said, as we passed a huge Oak tree whose body leaned just a little into the road. Sometime while I was in highschool, a girl had run smack into that tree while she was driving. And she died instantly. Or so it was told to me.

The memories were bitter.

About 10 minutes later, hubby and I were sitting down at one of my favorite places to eat. (Although, I don't frequent it, you know, because it's in Newberry.) I pulled out the laptop and we began working on something when I stopped.

My hands were frozen at the keyboard. I was sitting in the middle of this little country diner, where, you know, Garth Brooks should be playing overhead. Instead, the song came on. I call it our song. We played it at her funeral and I always, always think of her (and usually cry) when I hear it. It was Celine instead of Garth on this Monday night.

"For all those times you stood by me.
For all the truth you made me see.
For all the joy you brought to my life.
For all the wrongs that you made right.
For every dream you made come true.
For all the love I found in you.
I'll be forever thankful baby."

I was gone for a moment--imagining those summers in Newberry, when we'd explore that old dirt road. And it really stung. I just wished with everything in me that it had turned out differently ... that we'd be eating at the little barbecue joint in Newberry with our children; listening to this song together, humming the words while looking over the little paper menus.

But, I can never get those summers back. Things have changed; and I have no control over any of it. The old dirt road that we used to walk and ride bikes and skip down, it's gone too.

Our cute little waitress was ready to take our order just as the song was winding down. My face was hot and my eyes, a bit teary. But, I wasn't crying. And so I ordered the chicken tenders with a side of mac and cheese.

And I realized that one day, I'll be begging to have these very moments--in a quiet little diner with hubby--back. And so, just as I savored the mac-and-cheese, I savored the moment. Even though it hurt to realize that she was gone.

On the way home, I decided to take the long way back. I don't think I want to travel down the once-dirt road ever again. Goodbye, old friend. You were good to me--for a time.

"We can go there and draw our initials in a heart on the table" ...

"We can go there and draw our initials in a heart on the table, lol"

... was the text message I sent to hubby just before lunch. He and I had been going back and forth about where we could meet up for a lunch date.

Just outside, the sky looked heavy and dark and solemn. But, I felt light and happy and joyous. I was feeling almost giddy. The thought of my hubby picking me up in the front of the building--as if he were my chauffeur, ready to sweep me off of my feet and away for an all-too brief lunch hour--swirled around in my mind.

The hour would be ours. We had, at the last minute, decided to go to Macaroni Grille. I guess the initials-and-heart thing did it for him. He laughed--via text--and told me he would be there in 10 minutes.

We barely escaped the rain and walked in hand-in-hand into the chilly restaurant--whose tables are all draped with paper table clothes and sitting on them--crayons for those who care to doodle during dinner.

I eyed the four crayons on the table as we were seated. And as the waitress babbled on about menu selections, I picked up a red crayon and scribbled ... MR + SR. I encircled the four letters with a giant heart and sipped on my cold water. I was really happy; truly savoring the moment--when something happened. I said something about somethng and he gave me a look. I had spoken without thinking much about exactly what he had been dealing with since we almost parted ways not too long ago.

And, in a split second, the mood shifted. He was angry and hurt; I could read his expression. And I was ... annoyed. My whirlwhind lunch date had just taken a turn for the worse. Things were quiet for the next few minutes and part of me--the tantrum-throwing baby part of me--wanted to pick up the black crayon and scribble the heart away.

(Well, if he wants to pout, I can do the same.)

Instead, the conversation moved on to the dull and practical--the bills and the kids and the day care ... and the hair in the complimentary bread ... and the waitress who was MIA.

Ugh. When did this happen? What happened to my chauffeur and my romance and "the hour that belonged to us"? It had been whisked away just as the bread with the strand of hair had been.

After lunch, I decided that it wasn't a total loss. "Wanna walk around the mall?" I asked, half pleading. "I guess," he replied. I wanted to show him--without really showing him--the ring that I want to get him for the vow-renewal ceremony. We stepped into a jewelry store when ... wouldn't you know it?

There she was.

It was the girl; my former friend who had taken the idea that I shared with her confidentially and used it for her own gain. A smack in the face of friendship. Man, that still hurts to write it. Hubby said hello; and I said nothing. I just wanted to walk by her and pull her hair. Just one good tug. That's all.

On our way out the mall, I had to ask hubby: "So, if I wanted to pull her hair, does that mean that I haven't forgiven her?" ("I'm afraid not.")

Forgiveness is such a funky thing. I've said it with my mouth that I have forgiven her for betraying me. But, my heart is a bit behind my mouth. I must have a slow heart that simply doesn't want to let go.

I kept thinking about it and I was asking God: How do I forgive her? I've said I have forgiven her; but I feel like I really hate her for what she did to me. He had an answer for me, but I'd have to wait about five hours for it. And it came in the most simple, most innocent, most precious form: It came in the form of my toddler and baby.

You know, they had been tugging at me since I had picked them up from day care. I was giving, giving, giving, giving ... and finally, I crashed. Right there on the living room floor. They had eaten, they had baths and since we haven't gotten our couch yet, I took one look at the empty living room floor and accepted the invitation to lay down.

I put on a movie for the kids and as soon as my head hit the ground, the toddler asked "You cold mommy?" (Yes.) He waddled into my bedroom and grabbed my pillow and blanket and brought them to me. And, following his lead, the 1-year-old grabbed--in spurts--the following:

My favorite silk Victoria's Secret shorts; a pen; a pair of jeans; a sock; a stuffed animal and laid each one of them on top of me. Oh, the mess! The mess! He was pulling everything he could find out of my room and placing them on top of me.

But, you know what I did? I let go. I didn't care about the mess. It was rather adorable. When I felt like I had nothing left to give, they gave to me--in their own way. And God showed it to me clearly: this is how you forgive. You let go, even in the midst of the mess.

(So, you mean, I don't wait until things are cleaned up and looking nice to let go; to forgive? I don't wait to heal and to feel better before I forgive?)

No. You let go in the midst of the mess. And there, you will find forgiveness. (God, can I still pull her hair? Just once?) Um. No. It's time to let go. In the midst of the mess.

McDonald's blue, boring french fries

So, on Saturday, my hubby and four children ended up at--of all places--at McDonald's in Lake City. The irony of this is that:

1) I sort of dread McDonald's, and I (on a normal day) cringe at the thought of being the stereotypical American whose kids are chomping on french fries in the back of the soccer-mom minivan; and
2) Lake City is not my favorite place. I'm more of a breezy, by-the beach, St. Augustine girl.

So, you know what happened, right? The baby and toddler were screaming and my first thought: Pull this minivan over so that we can stuff some french fries in their mouths. (Did someone just say stereotype?)

I dragged the two little ones inside with me. I kind of hung my head in shame. "Ugh," I muttered to myself. "I hate this place. One thing. We are just getting one thing: greasy, nasty french fries."

Just moments later and with hot, salty, golden, yummy, waist-expanding fries in hand, we were headed out of the door, when ...

I noticed this couple. And the reason I really noticed was because the young woman was looking dead at me. I had seen this look before, especially in South Carolina. You get to the point where you know the look. You don't even have to read their lips. You can read their minds.

The plump, bleach-blond, twenty-something girl with a little too much eyeliner whispered something to her man, who was sitting right across from her. And he turned around to look at me; and then my children and he smirked. And then he laughed. An audible laugh. All while looking in our direction.

OMG.

I looked around the place and I quickly realized that perhaps my colorful family was a little less common (or a little less accepted) in these parts. My thought: This idiot just laughed at me and my babies. I walked by him, pulled my shades off of my face and took a good look:

He was wearing his huge belt buckle and the boots and oh, and the shirt with the rebel flag on it. Yada yada yada. I guess this was the day for stereotypes. I wanted so badly to say to him: "You stupid, ignorant idiot. Don't you know that your president is bi-racial?"

I marched out to the mom-van and with a disgusted look on my face, said "Okay, everyone out of the van. You too, hubby." (Hubby's expression: Oh no, what is she talking about now? She was only in there for five minutes. Probably less than that.)

"Um, are you kidding me?!" I said to hubby. "Did I just get a "look" because my children are bi-racial? Come on, honey, I want to really give him something to talk about. Not only does that white woman have two brown babies. She has four! Oh, and she is married to a black man. Come on, let's blow his mind today!"

But, I laughed it off. "You know, I am just messing with you," I told hubby, who was now giving me the deer-in-headlights look. "I just think it would be great to march back in there with four kids--and you--on my arm."

You know, it's a good thing that I am not God. Because I wouldn't hurt the poor guy. I'd give him just what he wanted: a world filled with one color. His sky, his dirt, his toothpaste, his car, his jeans, his skin ... would all be blue.

And his fireworks ... they'd all be blue. Just like his hamburgers and hotdogs would be. And guess what, his McDonald's french fries ... they'd be the same boring blue, too! And then, maybe he'd realize how stupid the whole thing really is. He wouldn't be laughing at my world. No, he'd be begging to get a glimpse of my beautiful, colorful sky filled with amazingly, colorful fireworks.

By the way, here's a few snapshots from my, um, rather colorful weekend.

Sparklers and S'mores around the bonfire. It couldn't have been better.

We had baby E's third birthday party on the Fourth of July. I wonder when he'll figure out that the fireworks are not all for him?

Don't tell my hubby!

This post is secretly dedicated to my hubby. (Ooh la la!)

Since he doesn't get on facebook (and since I have banned him from the blog for six weeks), this will be safe with you, right?

So, many of you know that the past few years (since my hubby and I uprooted our family and moved to South Carolina and smack-dab in the middle of turmoil), we've had a really rough time.
We were hanging on, you know. But, you can only do that for so long. And you can only layer so many things before there is no more room to push them down.

That was me. I had so many layers: my sister's untimely death; bad relationships with men; pain from the past. I mean, I could go on and on and on--just as the layers did. I got to a point where I couldn't quite figure out how to remove the layers and so, instead, I numbed myself. I didn't want to feel them. They were too heavy and I was too fragile.

If I couldn't remove them, I certainly did not want to feel them. And so, I reached out for whatever was around me ... and those things, while a good temporary anesthetic, actually created additional layers.

Today, I find myself finally chipping away at the layers. God is revealing something so beautiful beneath the build-up of the many different layers. But, this time it's different, because I am feeling it. And it hurts and I hate it at times and I've cried more than I have in a long time. Just because I feel it.

I feel her gone, but with a clarity I didn't really have before. I feel the pain that I have caused in my own marriage. And I feel the bitterness and anger that I have allowed to build up in my life during the past few years. But, that pain is also somewhat peaceful. Because I know it is a cleansing, healing, powerful pain.

Pain can be powerful.

So, I said all of that to say this: I have decided to renew my vows with my husband. But, here is the crazy part: he knows nothing about it. It's going to be a surprise. Yes, as in he is going to walk in and bam: let the renewal of the vows begin.

I honestly have no idea how he's going to react. He might run, lol. He might cry; He might blush. Okay, he won't do that because you know, he's a little too dark for that, heh.

But, I am determined to start over; and to do it right. I am determined to fight for what is mine; for this amazing gift that God has laid before me. But, you know, I am also determined to make it really complicated, because that is what I do.

So, can you help?

I don't know what the heck I am doing. I'll actually incorporate any ideas I get into this ceremony, which is going to turn into a dream date. After the ceremony, I am going to whisk him away. I don't have the details ironed out in my head yet. But, I have about six weeks to make it all happen.

Again: Me=complicated.

But, what is a dream date for a man? How can I make this special for him? Any suggestions? At all? Any suggestions for the renewal of the vows ceremony? Come on, give me something to work with.

I know there are, like, 11 people who read this blog. Heh. I like to amuse myself with that number. For those of you who don't know, I once had about 500 followers on my old blog. Yeah, those were good times.