Today is the day before Thanksgiving. It is the day before the whole of the country celebrates a long history of tradition and remembers the things we too often take for granted. It's a time to begin the complete season that falls at the end of the calendar year. For a little over a month at the conclusion of a 12-month span, we take stock of what we have, looking at the true point of our lives: the beauty and love surrounding us in the people we spend our lives with. So today, as we "officially" begin this season, (though let's face it, if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you know I've been listening to Christmas music and preparing decorations since November started), I want to take a moment to compose a list of all that I am thankful for this year. Those things I try very hard not to forget about, but still sometimes forget to say "thanks" for.
I am thankful...
1. ...to be alive. God has given me a wonderful life full of great things and without that life, I wouldn't be able to compose this long list of the fantastic things I have.
2. ...for my parents. This year they have been through the ringer. My dad's hours got cut after being moved back to the home-shipyard. My younger sister's senior expenses hit. I got married. My grandfather died. Just to name a few. This year has been tough on all of us, but them especially. Money may be tight and with Christmas around the corner, I know they are stressed with worry because of the way things have fallen. But somehow they keep on. They manage to handle things well everytime. I have watched my family go through so many tough times... and my parents always somehow pull us through. While I certainly believe God has had a hand in that, he used them as the means. I'll be forever grateful to them for all they did for me this year, especially pulling a wedding together in only six weeks. They made phone calls, searched and visited venues, shopped, decorated, cooked, prepared, handled so so so much I can't even fathom, most of which was in the two weeks after Papaw's passing. It was hard. And I couldn't have done any of it without them. They are amazing and I couldn't have picked a set better myself.
3. ...for my siblings. They have been there through it all. We all shared those tough times and watched and waited through a plethora of experiences. We may not always get a long, but we've grown weary of the fighting in our old age, so we avoid it when we can. They make happy times happier, sad times more bearable, fun times more awesome, and angry times infuriating. Ha. Together, we own more inside jokes than all my friends and I combined. I think I could live without them... but I would never, EVER want to.
4. ...for my extended family. I come from a long line of loud mouths. We can talk your ear off about pretty much anything. But we're fun to be around, and once you're in, you're in for life. We lost one of the great ones this year. My Papaw is very much missed all the time and the Christmas party will be incredibly odd without him there cooking up some gumbo in the kitchen and taking a nap once the presents are opened and everyone's eaten. But he will be remembered. We'll look at his chair knowing it'll never really be empty because he's definitely sitting there watching us... and probably laughing. I have a great set of relatives and I wouldn't trade them for anyone.
5. ...for my in-laws. Seriously. From the woman I called my second mama growing up, to the siblings I gained who were like brothers and sisters to me for nearly a decade before it was true, to the father-in-law who dug out all of Dustin's old Christmas ornaments for me this trip, to the extra grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and countless others... I married into a great crowd. I'm sad to say one of the sweetest people I ever met, Poppy, won't be around this Thanksgiving. But tomorrow we'll celebrate him, too. Because he was Dustin's ultimate hero
6. ...for my university. Maybe it's silly. But I go to a stupendous school. The people I have connected with and the lessons I have learned make me feel prepared for whatever I may encounter once I leave, and I feel that is what I wanted most out of the education. I think that's what most people are after, but many places don't provide it. USA does. At least that's what I have learned. If you ask those questions, get involved in the discussions and interact with those around you (instructors and peers alike), it will make the difference. And so I am also thankful for my growing courage these past few semesters that have allowed me to take in so much.
7. ...for my church family. I use to say how thankful I was for my church. And I still am. But the church I have always called home is no more. This past year it went through a change I thought could be a good one. We combined with another church to save what was left of ours, and offer a new home for theirs. What resulted was not a bad thing. But it was different. And not something I felt a part of. I felt like an outsider looking in the windows of a distant place as the conversion took place. I gave it as much time as I could... but it still felt wrong to me. The new church took a new name, new people, new outlook and traditions. And I no longer felt at home. So for now I am without a church home. My "letter" still lies with Fulton Heights United Methodist Church. But that church no longer exists. So until the time I find a new church home, that is where my letter shall lie. Because for 20 years of my life, that was home. The members surrounding me there became a second family. I had a huge number of extra "aunts and uncles" just because of my church family. I was christened, baptized, taught, and loved in that church. And it will always hold my heart. I remain thankful for what was while I called it home and for the people I still call family because of it.
8. ...for my home. Both of them. I am thankful my parents allow me to live under their roof even after I'm married so I can finish my undergrad at the school of my choice. I am thankful, too, for my home in Virginia. The place my heart lies is wherever my hubby may be, and for now, that is in VA. I'm glad to have his loving arms to welcome me back whenever I get here and am able to visit. Plus, I am thankful for two roommates who help us avoid paying a full rent on our own and don't mind my annoying tendencies when I'm here. They're pretty cool dudes, too.
9. ...for my jobs. Yes that is plural, and yes I am thankful for them. I like knowing the consistency of holding a job for three years will look nice on my resume. I also like knowing the experience I'm gaining with this one-year job is beyond helpful. I never thought I could hold two jobs while in school, and while it's not exactly a picnic, the fact that I now know I can not just hold two jobs and go to school, but manage also to keep up a cross-country marriage, means I can do anything. That experience alone is well worth it. This year has been/will continue to be tough, but I know now what I'm capable of accomplishing.
10. ...for my talents. I've always tried to be humble, but often got lost in humbleness to pure stupidity. I have lacked confidence in the past even in areas I shouldn't. I am very proud of myself lately for recognizing the talents I have been blessed with. Particularly my writing skills. I firmly believe they will be the defining characteristic I'll need one day to do something I want and they will be just enough to push me over the edge to achieve whatever that thing will be. Thanks to God and the long line of writers in the family (yay Scriveners) for passing down those mad skills.
11. ...for my husband. He is listed last, but most definitely not least. That man. That man is my world. I can't express how great my love for him is, especially when I feel it grow every day. He has made my life even better from the moment he stepped into it. He holds me and keeps me warm in this apartment he keeps at a chilly 69 degrees. He reads my dorky emails while he's at sea and just rolls his eyes and laughs. He goes along with me going all out for Christmas. He thinks as we start our own holiday traditions we should try new things... so we're having duck tomorrow for dinner instead of turkey. This is how we do things and this is what makes us a "we." I absolutely love saying "we" because I love knowing who my other half is. I spent most of my life somehow knowing I was supposed to be a member of that family... just not knowing how. Once I figured it out though? It all made sense and the waiting game started. I've always thought God wrote me an extraordinary love story. Sharing that story with Dustin has made it richer than I could have imagined. They can't make stuff like this up. Most of all though? I am thankful that he has pushed on and on with me through 3.5 years of school without much complaint of us being apart. The day before I started college he made his grand re-appearance and has been the number one reason I:
(1) finished assignments on time even after waiting till the last minute.
(2) stayed confident in myself to do what I had to.
(3) made myself push through the annoyingly frustrating and angry times because I knew soon after they were over, I would be back in his arms.
(4) took the time I needed to de-stress on those nights I was in tears worrying about all I needed to do. These moments alone made me fall more in love with him even before I knew I was in love with him.
As we go through the next six months until my graduation day, and then the remaining year he has in the Navy, I'll try to remember all this.
I have been immensely blessed by God and I think I seldom express the gratitude it all deserves. This year, I put it all on the internet for the world to see so maybe this upcoming year, I won't be so quick to forget.
Tomorrow, my very first Thanksgiving with my loving husband, I will be concentrating on my time with him, since it always feels very short. But in those moments, I'll smile knowing how lucky I am to have them at all.
Happy Thanksgiving.
~Jasmine~
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Love and Other Drugs.
Warning: Major spoilers are contained in this blog. If you haven't seen the title movie and don't want to know what happens: Stop reading now.
Hokay. So I just got done watching the movie Love and Other Drugs. You know the one. It stars Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhaal (Yes, I spelled that right on the first try without help. Go me.). Hathaway is a Parkinson's patient at the age of 26 and Gyllenhaal is a drug rep for the company Pfizer. The two meet and decide to have a sexual relationship so long as it stays strictly about sex(How many times have we seen this scenario, right?). He falls for her. (Of course.) And then she falls for him. (Duh.)
Well I'll admit I really liked this. It was kind of unusual and while the story line maybe cliche for the time, I still think it is indie enough to still be cool without pushing the limits on annoying. Anyway.
The end scenes were surprisingly simple, but with enough depth to make me happy.
Gyllenhaal is packing up his apartment because he has gotten a job offer in Chicago. While moving some boxes he picks up the video camera he and Hathaway had used to record little messages at random times. He hooks it to TV and it starts playing perfectly to a recent recording where she's lying under the sheets and he asks her in essence what she's thinking about.
"Just how happy I am. In this moment right now. The way the light's hitting that face of yours. There's this little breeze coming in through the window. And it doesn't matter if I have 10,000 more moments like this or... just this one. Because it's all the same... Yeah. Just that. Right now. This moment. I have this."
Then Gyllenhaal decides he has to go find her and profess his love again.
Anne Hathaway is sitting on a bus with a group of elderly people going to Canada for cheaper prescriptions. Gyllenhaal runs to Hathaway's place of employment to find out where she is. The boss man tells G to chase the bus. So he proceeds to cut off a bunch of people in traffic to catch up to the bus where he honks and yells to get Hathaway's attention so she can get the bus pulled over so they can talk. Ok. Cliche. I know. But after this was where I enjoyed it the most. Gyllenhaal goes into the monologue:
"I'm full of shit, okay? No I'm... I'm *knowingly* full of shit. Because, uh... because uh, uh... I have... I have *never* cared about anybody or anything in my entire life. And the thing is, everybody just kind of accepted that. Like, "That's just Jamie." And then you!... Jesus. *You*. You. You didn't see me that way. I have never known anyone who actually believed that I was enough. Until I met you. And then you made me believe it, too. So, unfortunately, I need you. And you need me."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
"NO I don't."
"Yes you do."
"Stoppit. Stop saying that."
"You need someone to take care of you."
"No I don't."
"Everybody does."
"I'm gonna need you more than you need me."
"That's ok."
"NO it's not. It isn't FAIR. I have places to go."
"You'll go there. I just may have to carry you."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't."
"Hey. Let's just say in some alternate universe there's a couple that's just like us. Only she's healthy and he's perfect. And their world is about how much money they're gonna spend on a vacation and who's in a bad mood that day or whether they feel guilty or not about having a cleaning lady. ...I don't wanna be those people. I want us. YOU. This."
I love the part where Anne says, "I'm gonna need you more than you need me." Because Jake says so easily that it's ok. I feel like that all the time. I don't feel like my husband needs me anywhere close to the way I feel I need him. So many times I have worried that it won't work with me needing him more than he needs me... but this scene made me feel better about it. As if sometimes, that just has to be the case. And it's ok. It's alright if you don't have a totally balanced relationship all the time. Sometimes I will definitely need him more. But sometimes... just sometimes... he'll need me more. And I'll be there. No matter what.
Just like he is for me.
Aww yay love<3
Hokay. So I just got done watching the movie Love and Other Drugs. You know the one. It stars Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhaal (Yes, I spelled that right on the first try without help. Go me.). Hathaway is a Parkinson's patient at the age of 26 and Gyllenhaal is a drug rep for the company Pfizer. The two meet and decide to have a sexual relationship so long as it stays strictly about sex(How many times have we seen this scenario, right?). He falls for her. (Of course.) And then she falls for him. (Duh.)
Well I'll admit I really liked this. It was kind of unusual and while the story line maybe cliche for the time, I still think it is indie enough to still be cool without pushing the limits on annoying. Anyway.
The end scenes were surprisingly simple, but with enough depth to make me happy.
Gyllenhaal is packing up his apartment because he has gotten a job offer in Chicago. While moving some boxes he picks up the video camera he and Hathaway had used to record little messages at random times. He hooks it to TV and it starts playing perfectly to a recent recording where she's lying under the sheets and he asks her in essence what she's thinking about.
"Just how happy I am. In this moment right now. The way the light's hitting that face of yours. There's this little breeze coming in through the window. And it doesn't matter if I have 10,000 more moments like this or... just this one. Because it's all the same... Yeah. Just that. Right now. This moment. I have this."
Then Gyllenhaal decides he has to go find her and profess his love again.
Anne Hathaway is sitting on a bus with a group of elderly people going to Canada for cheaper prescriptions. Gyllenhaal runs to Hathaway's place of employment to find out where she is. The boss man tells G to chase the bus. So he proceeds to cut off a bunch of people in traffic to catch up to the bus where he honks and yells to get Hathaway's attention so she can get the bus pulled over so they can talk. Ok. Cliche. I know. But after this was where I enjoyed it the most. Gyllenhaal goes into the monologue:
"I'm full of shit, okay? No I'm... I'm *knowingly* full of shit. Because, uh... because uh, uh... I have... I have *never* cared about anybody or anything in my entire life. And the thing is, everybody just kind of accepted that. Like, "That's just Jamie." And then you!... Jesus. *You*. You. You didn't see me that way. I have never known anyone who actually believed that I was enough. Until I met you. And then you made me believe it, too. So, unfortunately, I need you. And you need me."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
"NO I don't."
"Yes you do."
"Stoppit. Stop saying that."
"You need someone to take care of you."
"No I don't."
"Everybody does."
"I'm gonna need you more than you need me."
"That's ok."
"NO it's not. It isn't FAIR. I have places to go."
"You'll go there. I just may have to carry you."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't."
"Hey. Let's just say in some alternate universe there's a couple that's just like us. Only she's healthy and he's perfect. And their world is about how much money they're gonna spend on a vacation and who's in a bad mood that day or whether they feel guilty or not about having a cleaning lady. ...I don't wanna be those people. I want us. YOU. This."
I love the part where Anne says, "I'm gonna need you more than you need me." Because Jake says so easily that it's ok. I feel like that all the time. I don't feel like my husband needs me anywhere close to the way I feel I need him. So many times I have worried that it won't work with me needing him more than he needs me... but this scene made me feel better about it. As if sometimes, that just has to be the case. And it's ok. It's alright if you don't have a totally balanced relationship all the time. Sometimes I will definitely need him more. But sometimes... just sometimes... he'll need me more. And I'll be there. No matter what.
Just like he is for me.
Aww yay love<3
Friday, July 15, 2011
Harry Potter: My Lifelong Love
It's over. After 10 years of watching, reading, basking in the wonderment of the magical world of wizardry, my biggest childhood love is ending...
I was a late starter. When I was 11, I walked in the room where my little brother was watching some movie I didn't recognize. I stood there for a few minutes... then sat for a couple of hours.
"What is this?"
"Harry Potter."
And I was hooked. I watched as a vicious three-headed dog attacked three kids my age. Life-size chess games. A new game played in the air on broomsticks. A greasy-haired evil looking man seemingly holding a grudge against his own student. A grandfatherly headmaster. And three best friends who started with nothing in common growing to be so very close.
The story was interesting with very little effort. The movie ended and it seemed easy enough. There wasn't really any question about loose ends or a sequel. Then my tiny 6 year old brother informed me there was another in the works. I had heard of the book, but did not think much of them.
I got the first two for Christmas. After a few chapters I decided I was more excited to know what happened next having already seen the first movie. On to the Chamber I went. It was awesome.
For the following ten years I got the new book as soon as I could. Midnight release? I actually got to once. Movie premieres? If at all possible, I was there at midnight. I couldn't resist. They were addicting. These characters advanced along every year with me. Their stories, their lives, were mine. To this day I defend them as if they were my own friends. Someone says "Harry Potter is stupid." Oh, well let me tell you 193793208 reasons why you are hellaciously WRONG. Unlike other types of fiction overwhelmed with crazed fanatics, HP fans are loyal, honest people who go beyond just loving and supporting the series. It's become a way of life. HP isn't just children's literature. Yes, that is who it is directed at initially, but I have met more adults who read and loved the books than children. And the best part is one day I'll read them to my kids, too and they'll grow up loving them as well. These stories aren't one that will die out after this generation because already there are younger generations picking up on them. This is the sole piece of literature I can say I have consistently loved for over a decade. That's not something you hear every day.
In addition to being a heck of a story, it's well written, too. The writing is vivid, descriptive, alive. Rowling created a story millions of people want to read and will read over and over because it isn't written to people who are dumb. It's written in a way to keep your senses working and your mind active. Then the movies come and just further enhance the world you've designed in your imagination.
I've seen certain children not allowed to watch/read HP because it's witchcraft. I've never understood that. I get those people don't believe in witchcraft and don't want their kids to, but it's so much more than that. There is magic in this world and these stories give readers/viewers a new light to see things. No one said taking part in the series meant you had to believe in witchcraft or wizardry. But also, when I see it in that context it makes me think of it in a negative fashion and that is not how the story makes it. It's a wonderful thing that any average person can enjoy. Not the spells or enchantments or curses. The magic inside each and every person. That spark in your eye, that glimmer of hope on the horizon. Those are the things these stories instilled in me. I'm not gonna go hexing people. What the heck is that? Have you actually given them a chance? It's a fabulous piece of fiction. It's not a religion. Give it a chance.
For ten years I've watched and waited patiently for new books or movies. Ten years of loving characters I knew personally. We'd done everything together. We found a basilisk, snakes, dragons, bullies, dark magic, and Lord Voldemort himself. I've been there through it all. Their adventures were my adventures. And now I sit here, having just finished my last bit of the tale. The very last Harry Potter movie I will ever get to go to a premiere for. And I feel good. No loose ends. No more questions. It's perfect. I was worried I would feel sad to watch it end. And for a second I did... before the movie even started.
As I watched the movie progress and then end, I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel lost or upset it was over. Because it's not. At the end of the day I have eight movies I can re-live. I have seven books I can venture. And with the ending we are given, it's not really an ending. It's another beginning. And while no, there won't be any new movies or books about this new beginning I'm referring to, I once again felt that connection. These characters I know and love and have been friends with half my life are doing what I'm doing, still. So I watch and feel even more a part of the adventure. Cause really, the adventure is just beginning.
Thank you, Ms. Rowling. You have held my hand through a decade of life. Even though it's time to let me go, I'm glad to know you'll always still be there when I need you.
Mischief Managed.
~Jasmine Felicia Davis Mallet~
P.S. I love being on the east coast where I get to see movies an hour before my Central Time Zone friends. *devilish grin*
I was a late starter. When I was 11, I walked in the room where my little brother was watching some movie I didn't recognize. I stood there for a few minutes... then sat for a couple of hours.
"What is this?"
"Harry Potter."
And I was hooked. I watched as a vicious three-headed dog attacked three kids my age. Life-size chess games. A new game played in the air on broomsticks. A greasy-haired evil looking man seemingly holding a grudge against his own student. A grandfatherly headmaster. And three best friends who started with nothing in common growing to be so very close.
The story was interesting with very little effort. The movie ended and it seemed easy enough. There wasn't really any question about loose ends or a sequel. Then my tiny 6 year old brother informed me there was another in the works. I had heard of the book, but did not think much of them.
I got the first two for Christmas. After a few chapters I decided I was more excited to know what happened next having already seen the first movie. On to the Chamber I went. It was awesome.
For the following ten years I got the new book as soon as I could. Midnight release? I actually got to once. Movie premieres? If at all possible, I was there at midnight. I couldn't resist. They were addicting. These characters advanced along every year with me. Their stories, their lives, were mine. To this day I defend them as if they were my own friends. Someone says "Harry Potter is stupid." Oh, well let me tell you 193793208 reasons why you are hellaciously WRONG. Unlike other types of fiction overwhelmed with crazed fanatics, HP fans are loyal, honest people who go beyond just loving and supporting the series. It's become a way of life. HP isn't just children's literature. Yes, that is who it is directed at initially, but I have met more adults who read and loved the books than children. And the best part is one day I'll read them to my kids, too and they'll grow up loving them as well. These stories aren't one that will die out after this generation because already there are younger generations picking up on them. This is the sole piece of literature I can say I have consistently loved for over a decade. That's not something you hear every day.
In addition to being a heck of a story, it's well written, too. The writing is vivid, descriptive, alive. Rowling created a story millions of people want to read and will read over and over because it isn't written to people who are dumb. It's written in a way to keep your senses working and your mind active. Then the movies come and just further enhance the world you've designed in your imagination.
I've seen certain children not allowed to watch/read HP because it's witchcraft. I've never understood that. I get those people don't believe in witchcraft and don't want their kids to, but it's so much more than that. There is magic in this world and these stories give readers/viewers a new light to see things. No one said taking part in the series meant you had to believe in witchcraft or wizardry. But also, when I see it in that context it makes me think of it in a negative fashion and that is not how the story makes it. It's a wonderful thing that any average person can enjoy. Not the spells or enchantments or curses. The magic inside each and every person. That spark in your eye, that glimmer of hope on the horizon. Those are the things these stories instilled in me. I'm not gonna go hexing people. What the heck is that? Have you actually given them a chance? It's a fabulous piece of fiction. It's not a religion. Give it a chance.
For ten years I've watched and waited patiently for new books or movies. Ten years of loving characters I knew personally. We'd done everything together. We found a basilisk, snakes, dragons, bullies, dark magic, and Lord Voldemort himself. I've been there through it all. Their adventures were my adventures. And now I sit here, having just finished my last bit of the tale. The very last Harry Potter movie I will ever get to go to a premiere for. And I feel good. No loose ends. No more questions. It's perfect. I was worried I would feel sad to watch it end. And for a second I did... before the movie even started.
As I watched the movie progress and then end, I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel lost or upset it was over. Because it's not. At the end of the day I have eight movies I can re-live. I have seven books I can venture. And with the ending we are given, it's not really an ending. It's another beginning. And while no, there won't be any new movies or books about this new beginning I'm referring to, I once again felt that connection. These characters I know and love and have been friends with half my life are doing what I'm doing, still. So I watch and feel even more a part of the adventure. Cause really, the adventure is just beginning.
Thank you, Ms. Rowling. You have held my hand through a decade of life. Even though it's time to let me go, I'm glad to know you'll always still be there when I need you.
Mischief Managed.
~Jasmine Felicia Davis Mallet~
P.S. I love being on the east coast where I get to see movies an hour before my Central Time Zone friends. *devilish grin*
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I want to take the term "raging hormones" and shuck it from the English language. I hate it. If I could take a phrase and stab it with a paring knife repeatedly, until there was nothing left but a black and blue, bloodless shrivel of nothingness, I would. I HATE it. HATE.
Yes. It's true. I've used the saying before. I'll probably use it again. But each time it happens a little piece of me dies, along with the little puppy the good Lord killed for me allowing myself to use the biggest cliche in America to excuse someone's behavior. I get it. You're a teenager with an under-developed brain and chemicals shooting throughout your little not yet fully formed body making it difficult for you to make smart decisions. You're a pregnant woman trying to grow an infant in your lower abdomen while dealing with the stupidity of the American population on a daily basis where strangers want to touch your belly and ask all kinds of personal questions that are absolutely none of their business.
We got it. You're hormone-y. Ok.
To all you budding sprouts of a teenager: Stop being dumb. Sure, sometimes stupid opportunities arise. But seriously. Being emotional and dealing with pressure should not erase the fact that you do indeed have a brain, albeit still developing. You know what you're doing. If it's something that would make your mom and/or dad yell at you, the answer is no. Don't do it. It's not that hard. Been there. Done that. Bought a ton of t-shirts. (They're pretty much all I wore up until the age of 19.) If I managed to go 18 years without smoking a cigarette (or marijuana or doing any other kind of drug), drinking an alcoholic beverage, getting pregnant or an STD while living in the biggest drug selling neighborhood in the county, so can you. Suck it up and stop being an idiot.
To all you pregnant ladies: No. I have not been pregnant yet. So no, I cannot speak from experience. No I do not know the full intricacies of the emotional task it is to mother a child. But someday I hope to. And I've decided ahead of time I'm gonna be the meanest mother-to-be on the planet.
"Do I know you? No? Are you touching my stomach? Ok, well you're gonna lose an effing hand." *Bam* Out comes my pocket knife.
I don't like being touched now. I sure as heck don't want your grimy, calloused hands on my protruding stomach where my child resides.
I just read an article about the 10 things not to ask pregnant women. It was ridiculous. One, because most of the items were not in fact questions, but statements people make towards pregnant women. Watch the way you title, chica. Two, yes I've heard each and every one of the questions (or statements) mentioned, and yes, I've wondered why people ask (or state) them when they are so clearly stupid, personal topics that are not in fact, any of your business.
You wanna know why people keep asking these same stupid questions? Cause you keep answering them. Want it to stop? Tell them like it is. When those experienced parents go out of their way to tell you to enjoy your sleep while you can get it, tell them in your most honest tone, "Well clearly, I mean you look like you haven't slept at all in the past seven years you've been raising that hellian of yours. You really should do something about those bags under your eyes." I mean really? Come on. If you're sick of them saying stupid things, reply quickly and witty so they know how dumb you think they sound and they will shut up. Or keep on because they can't take a hint in which case I'd probably drop them from my Facebook friends anyway.
Like I said. I'm gonna be the mean one. And I don't care. And it's not gonna be because of any hormones. It's gonna be because I am over the nosy neighbor over the fence routine. And I'm gonna be mean not because of a pregnancy, but because I am over stupidity and am trying to remove it from my life.
Ugh. Dumb.
But yes, my point is I don't get why people blame their pregnancy moods on the hormones. If people are being so stupid when it comes to your carrying a child, don't you have every right in the world to be mean/angry? Sure, there are tears that go along with it, too, and happiness galore, but the happiness is based on your excitement for being a mom. The tears are because there's a lot going on in a short period of time and you have a lot to handle. As girls, we get emotional. (To which we again here that horrid term "raging hormones") But that's a stressful time and so sometimes, tears are gonna fall. Or all the time. (Again, lots of stuff happening here.) Every single emotion I see in pregnant women seems totally justified to me. Screw hormones. Let that emotional roller coaster fly. Stop trying to make an excuse for it. It's unnecessary.
*sigh*
Ok.
Also in that afore-mentioned article, there was one point I didn't understand. The author was carrying twins. She said anytime anyone asked if twins ran in her family it meant they were asking if she conceived naturally or with fertility drugs or other such assistance. I've asked that one before. And it has nothing to do with that. I have always been intrigued by twins. Maybe that's just me. But my two oldest friends are twins and with a lifetime of knowing them and marrying their older brother, I'm just intrigued when people say they're carrying twins to see if it's common in their family or if they are a cool exception to the genes. I always kind of thought of it as seeing if my chances of having twins were still ok. Now if you're carrying sextuplets, yes, I'll probably wonder. But twins? No. I've known way too many for that thought to cross my mind.
Geez, way to be a rude, presumptuous pregnant woman.
Guess it's those raging hormones...
:)
Yes. It's true. I've used the saying before. I'll probably use it again. But each time it happens a little piece of me dies, along with the little puppy the good Lord killed for me allowing myself to use the biggest cliche in America to excuse someone's behavior. I get it. You're a teenager with an under-developed brain and chemicals shooting throughout your little not yet fully formed body making it difficult for you to make smart decisions. You're a pregnant woman trying to grow an infant in your lower abdomen while dealing with the stupidity of the American population on a daily basis where strangers want to touch your belly and ask all kinds of personal questions that are absolutely none of their business.
We got it. You're hormone-y. Ok.
To all you budding sprouts of a teenager: Stop being dumb. Sure, sometimes stupid opportunities arise. But seriously. Being emotional and dealing with pressure should not erase the fact that you do indeed have a brain, albeit still developing. You know what you're doing. If it's something that would make your mom and/or dad yell at you, the answer is no. Don't do it. It's not that hard. Been there. Done that. Bought a ton of t-shirts. (They're pretty much all I wore up until the age of 19.) If I managed to go 18 years without smoking a cigarette (or marijuana or doing any other kind of drug), drinking an alcoholic beverage, getting pregnant or an STD while living in the biggest drug selling neighborhood in the county, so can you. Suck it up and stop being an idiot.
To all you pregnant ladies: No. I have not been pregnant yet. So no, I cannot speak from experience. No I do not know the full intricacies of the emotional task it is to mother a child. But someday I hope to. And I've decided ahead of time I'm gonna be the meanest mother-to-be on the planet.
"Do I know you? No? Are you touching my stomach? Ok, well you're gonna lose an effing hand." *Bam* Out comes my pocket knife.
I don't like being touched now. I sure as heck don't want your grimy, calloused hands on my protruding stomach where my child resides.
I just read an article about the 10 things not to ask pregnant women. It was ridiculous. One, because most of the items were not in fact questions, but statements people make towards pregnant women. Watch the way you title, chica. Two, yes I've heard each and every one of the questions (or statements) mentioned, and yes, I've wondered why people ask (or state) them when they are so clearly stupid, personal topics that are not in fact, any of your business.
You wanna know why people keep asking these same stupid questions? Cause you keep answering them. Want it to stop? Tell them like it is. When those experienced parents go out of their way to tell you to enjoy your sleep while you can get it, tell them in your most honest tone, "Well clearly, I mean you look like you haven't slept at all in the past seven years you've been raising that hellian of yours. You really should do something about those bags under your eyes." I mean really? Come on. If you're sick of them saying stupid things, reply quickly and witty so they know how dumb you think they sound and they will shut up. Or keep on because they can't take a hint in which case I'd probably drop them from my Facebook friends anyway.
Like I said. I'm gonna be the mean one. And I don't care. And it's not gonna be because of any hormones. It's gonna be because I am over the nosy neighbor over the fence routine. And I'm gonna be mean not because of a pregnancy, but because I am over stupidity and am trying to remove it from my life.
Ugh. Dumb.
But yes, my point is I don't get why people blame their pregnancy moods on the hormones. If people are being so stupid when it comes to your carrying a child, don't you have every right in the world to be mean/angry? Sure, there are tears that go along with it, too, and happiness galore, but the happiness is based on your excitement for being a mom. The tears are because there's a lot going on in a short period of time and you have a lot to handle. As girls, we get emotional. (To which we again here that horrid term "raging hormones") But that's a stressful time and so sometimes, tears are gonna fall. Or all the time. (Again, lots of stuff happening here.) Every single emotion I see in pregnant women seems totally justified to me. Screw hormones. Let that emotional roller coaster fly. Stop trying to make an excuse for it. It's unnecessary.
*sigh*
Ok.
Also in that afore-mentioned article, there was one point I didn't understand. The author was carrying twins. She said anytime anyone asked if twins ran in her family it meant they were asking if she conceived naturally or with fertility drugs or other such assistance. I've asked that one before. And it has nothing to do with that. I have always been intrigued by twins. Maybe that's just me. But my two oldest friends are twins and with a lifetime of knowing them and marrying their older brother, I'm just intrigued when people say they're carrying twins to see if it's common in their family or if they are a cool exception to the genes. I always kind of thought of it as seeing if my chances of having twins were still ok. Now if you're carrying sextuplets, yes, I'll probably wonder. But twins? No. I've known way too many for that thought to cross my mind.
Geez, way to be a rude, presumptuous pregnant woman.
Guess it's those raging hormones...
:)
Friday, June 17, 2011
An Elaboration.
I got married on Friday the thirteenth of May. I love my husband bunches and bunches. Hehehe. I have a husband. XD
Now. I have had dozens of people ask why we got married in a cemetery. Especially why we did this on Friday the 13th. Well. Part of it was because I wanted him to remember the date. Part of it was because he said he wanted to get married under an oak tree, and the cemetery has a bunch of gorgeous ones. Part of it was because I wanted to get married by water and the cemetery has gorgeous oak trees surrounding a little lake. And it so happened that when I was trying to think of a place with gorgeous oak trees not next to a street, that maybe just maybe happened to also be near water, my lovely mother suggested the cemetery where her parents are buried. She mainly meant it as a joke.
But it stuck.
I went to look at the area again. Just to make sure I thought it would really work. I took a couple pictures, sent them to my hubby-to-be, and he really liked it. I thought it would be awesome to get the two things we wanted, at a spot where my PawPaw and MawMaw would be there.
I was worried, however, that the cemetery owners would laugh at me outright when I asked if we could have it there. After much working myself up to it, I made the call. The woman I first talked to sounded surprised, but connected me to who I actually needed to talk to. He asked first, what time we were having it and how many people we expected. I answered all his questions and he said quite pleasantly that it would be fine. I was thrilled.
See, in the planning of our wedding, we hit a number of snags. I can't even begin to tell you. It was bad enough I had to wait around till my love could get enough leave to come home. Every time we came up with a date we liked we had to change it (a grand total of about 3 times. Finally we said to heck with it. I told him to let me know when he could get off and we would get ready on short notice.) So I waited over a year after our engagement for him to finally say "ok. I've got leave these dates." We whipped out calenders and decided Friday the 13th. Done. Finished. That's the date. It's official.
Well then more problems arose. We knew it was actually gonna happen and he was actually coming home for sure at the beginning of April. Which meant I had six weeks to plan a shindig. Ho boy.
Like I said, we had a slew of problems after that. In the months leading up to the us picking a date, I had gotten a lot of amazing people offering their services and help when it came. But because of the short notice, many of those people could no longer help. I lost a photographer, some family who offered to make the food, people who had offered to help decorate, a planner, and most upsetting of all, my brother-in-law, who we wanted to marry us, we found out couldn't in the state of Alabama. There were also some other things I have since forgotten in all the madness. But all the stuff that had previously fallen into place so randomly and wonderfully was quickly falling apart. And I was losing it. It was the end of the semester and my exams were literally the three days before the wedding. I was slowly getting stuff done, but I only had six weeks.
Then, two weeks and two days before we were supposed to get married, my Papaw who had agreed to make his gumbo for us called to say that because of the trouble he was having healing from his bypass surgery, he wasn't going to be able to make it. It sucked, but at the same time I was ok with it. I saw him the previous Sunday for Easter and he still had his leg wrapped up more than I expected. Then, that Friday, even though it was just a routine surgery to clean up the infection, he died.
My mom called me from school to meet her and she told me. Well I'm one of those people who handles stuff first and then panics/freaks out later. (I get that from my Mama. We're level headed while everyone else needs comforting so we can make sure everyone else is ok. Then once we know they are and all the important stuff has been handled, it is okay to let it sink in and start the motions of our own healing.) So I left Mama and went to get my sister from school. Took her to the orthodontist, then got my brother and got them food and then went home so mom could tell them. It was a pretty terrible weekend. Very nearly everyone on that side of the family sat at Granny's house for days. We cleaned, brought food, went through stuff, whatever. But we were basically always there.
Sunday was the wake. Monday was the funeral. The whole weekend my family went about trying to handle arrangements and stuff. Dad asked me if it would be okay if he tried to get Papaw's arrangements done with the cemetery we were getting married at. Then we found out there were two old family plots belonging to my great-grandparents that never got used somewhere in town. Turns out they were in fact at that very cemetery. I had debated about doing the wedding at all anymore. I didn't know how everyone else, let alone I would feel about being back there so soon. But I when the mysterious family plots appeared from nowhere and just happened to be in that very spot, it kinda seemed like this was how it was supposed to be. We asked Granny what she thought and she said Papaw had been looking forward to it and that was reason enough not to change anything. So we continued.
I didn't cry too much during those few days. Most of it hit the next weekend after I had had time to stop. Luckily I had my love there by then. It was a pretty dramatic breakdown at a pretty ridiculous time. I wish it hadn't been there... but oh well. It was bound to hit eventually.
Then Friday the 13th came. I did my own makeup, curled my own hair, which lost all sense of curl within a few minutes, sadly. And I drove our beautiful beast of a truck to the cemetery by myself. Family assembled, new photographer started snapping pictures, last minute, but very kind and thoughtful pastor showed up to do our traditional ceremony. I'll admit. It wasn't what I pictured. Quite frankly, with the exception of a select few small things, it wasn't what we wanted. But at the end of the day, it was a beautiful day full of beautiful people with me smiling and giggling like a little girl the whole time. It was a lovely morning. Then me and my new hubby went to lunch with my parents, two siblings, an aunt, and my sister's boyfriend at my favorite restaurant and the very one D asked my parents for permission to marry me in. Once we finished eating, we went, still in wedding garb, to see D's grandparents who couldn't come.
Like I said, unconventional, but great day. And I most definitely "remembered whose granddaughter I was." <3
Now. I have had dozens of people ask why we got married in a cemetery. Especially why we did this on Friday the 13th. Well. Part of it was because I wanted him to remember the date. Part of it was because he said he wanted to get married under an oak tree, and the cemetery has a bunch of gorgeous ones. Part of it was because I wanted to get married by water and the cemetery has gorgeous oak trees surrounding a little lake. And it so happened that when I was trying to think of a place with gorgeous oak trees not next to a street, that maybe just maybe happened to also be near water, my lovely mother suggested the cemetery where her parents are buried. She mainly meant it as a joke.
But it stuck.
I went to look at the area again. Just to make sure I thought it would really work. I took a couple pictures, sent them to my hubby-to-be, and he really liked it. I thought it would be awesome to get the two things we wanted, at a spot where my PawPaw and MawMaw would be there.
I was worried, however, that the cemetery owners would laugh at me outright when I asked if we could have it there. After much working myself up to it, I made the call. The woman I first talked to sounded surprised, but connected me to who I actually needed to talk to. He asked first, what time we were having it and how many people we expected. I answered all his questions and he said quite pleasantly that it would be fine. I was thrilled.
See, in the planning of our wedding, we hit a number of snags. I can't even begin to tell you. It was bad enough I had to wait around till my love could get enough leave to come home. Every time we came up with a date we liked we had to change it (a grand total of about 3 times. Finally we said to heck with it. I told him to let me know when he could get off and we would get ready on short notice.) So I waited over a year after our engagement for him to finally say "ok. I've got leave these dates." We whipped out calenders and decided Friday the 13th. Done. Finished. That's the date. It's official.
Well then more problems arose. We knew it was actually gonna happen and he was actually coming home for sure at the beginning of April. Which meant I had six weeks to plan a shindig. Ho boy.
Like I said, we had a slew of problems after that. In the months leading up to the us picking a date, I had gotten a lot of amazing people offering their services and help when it came. But because of the short notice, many of those people could no longer help. I lost a photographer, some family who offered to make the food, people who had offered to help decorate, a planner, and most upsetting of all, my brother-in-law, who we wanted to marry us, we found out couldn't in the state of Alabama. There were also some other things I have since forgotten in all the madness. But all the stuff that had previously fallen into place so randomly and wonderfully was quickly falling apart. And I was losing it. It was the end of the semester and my exams were literally the three days before the wedding. I was slowly getting stuff done, but I only had six weeks.
Then, two weeks and two days before we were supposed to get married, my Papaw who had agreed to make his gumbo for us called to say that because of the trouble he was having healing from his bypass surgery, he wasn't going to be able to make it. It sucked, but at the same time I was ok with it. I saw him the previous Sunday for Easter and he still had his leg wrapped up more than I expected. Then, that Friday, even though it was just a routine surgery to clean up the infection, he died.
My mom called me from school to meet her and she told me. Well I'm one of those people who handles stuff first and then panics/freaks out later. (I get that from my Mama. We're level headed while everyone else needs comforting so we can make sure everyone else is ok. Then once we know they are and all the important stuff has been handled, it is okay to let it sink in and start the motions of our own healing.) So I left Mama and went to get my sister from school. Took her to the orthodontist, then got my brother and got them food and then went home so mom could tell them. It was a pretty terrible weekend. Very nearly everyone on that side of the family sat at Granny's house for days. We cleaned, brought food, went through stuff, whatever. But we were basically always there.
Sunday was the wake. Monday was the funeral. The whole weekend my family went about trying to handle arrangements and stuff. Dad asked me if it would be okay if he tried to get Papaw's arrangements done with the cemetery we were getting married at. Then we found out there were two old family plots belonging to my great-grandparents that never got used somewhere in town. Turns out they were in fact at that very cemetery. I had debated about doing the wedding at all anymore. I didn't know how everyone else, let alone I would feel about being back there so soon. But I when the mysterious family plots appeared from nowhere and just happened to be in that very spot, it kinda seemed like this was how it was supposed to be. We asked Granny what she thought and she said Papaw had been looking forward to it and that was reason enough not to change anything. So we continued.
I didn't cry too much during those few days. Most of it hit the next weekend after I had had time to stop. Luckily I had my love there by then. It was a pretty dramatic breakdown at a pretty ridiculous time. I wish it hadn't been there... but oh well. It was bound to hit eventually.
Then Friday the 13th came. I did my own makeup, curled my own hair, which lost all sense of curl within a few minutes, sadly. And I drove our beautiful beast of a truck to the cemetery by myself. Family assembled, new photographer started snapping pictures, last minute, but very kind and thoughtful pastor showed up to do our traditional ceremony. I'll admit. It wasn't what I pictured. Quite frankly, with the exception of a select few small things, it wasn't what we wanted. But at the end of the day, it was a beautiful day full of beautiful people with me smiling and giggling like a little girl the whole time. It was a lovely morning. Then me and my new hubby went to lunch with my parents, two siblings, an aunt, and my sister's boyfriend at my favorite restaurant and the very one D asked my parents for permission to marry me in. Once we finished eating, we went, still in wedding garb, to see D's grandparents who couldn't come.
Like I said, unconventional, but great day. And I most definitely "remembered whose granddaughter I was." <3
Thursday, June 16, 2011
A Fresh Start
I haven't written on here for a long time. This is because, quite frankly, I wrote a few pieces I felt I couldn't actually put up. So they stayed saved on my blog, but never got posted. I haven't deleted them yet, but I plan to once this one is done. In addition to typing thoughts I probably shouldn't share with the world, I have been really really busy with stuff. I last posted on Thanksgiving. It's now June.
Let's see, I spent Christmas in Bama. The 26th, I flew up to New Hampshire to see my love. I was supposed to leave the 6th or 7th, but my flight got cancelled thanks to snow. So I actually got to stay an extra week:). It was an awesome accident.
I finished my 6th semester. Spring Break was uneventful. Easter passed. My grandfather died April 29th. I went to get my love (for the first time since January) a week later. We got back to Bama on May 9th. I had exams the 10th and 11th. On Friday the 13th, we were married at a pond, under a gorgeous oak tree in the cemetery I buried my grandfather in less than two weeks prior. (I'll tell you more about that later.) But now it is June, and we are back in Virginia. My darling is off leave, and I am job less for the summer:/ (that part is already starting to bug me)
For this mini-post, I wanted to explain why I named this blog "A Blink of an Eye and the Sound of a Sigh." I don't think I ever actually did that before. And now more than ever, it seems appropriate. I've been married a month now, and it has seemed so fast. But we've done sooooo much. It's crazy. It's quite literally like I blinked and landed here.
As for the sound of a sigh... well. I sigh a lot. A frustrated, why do I put up with you people, "ughhh." An exhausted, but relieved, thank God that paper is finally done, "phewww." A happy, I'm so glad to see you, "Ahh." (that one is similar to the very much underestimated, "Ahhhh" that goes with the first swallow of a Coca-Cola.)
I do a lot of sighing. A lot of the time. People don't think about how good a sigh feels. It's a fresh breath your lungs appreciate after a stressful, emotional, or just regualar day. It's refreshing. And even though it doesn't solve anything, it offers a small bit of comfort for your overworked body.
My body needs that tiny comfort sometimes. It is a small reward for a bigger issue, but it feels good. It really does. And that's all I can really ask for in those situations that escape my comprehension. Those times when things are tough and there's no one around to help. It is nice. And in a world full of moments that are gone in a blink, it's nice to have the relief of a sigh. So that's the name. I think it fits in my ever-changing life.
Later daze
Let's see, I spent Christmas in Bama. The 26th, I flew up to New Hampshire to see my love. I was supposed to leave the 6th or 7th, but my flight got cancelled thanks to snow. So I actually got to stay an extra week:). It was an awesome accident.
I finished my 6th semester. Spring Break was uneventful. Easter passed. My grandfather died April 29th. I went to get my love (for the first time since January) a week later. We got back to Bama on May 9th. I had exams the 10th and 11th. On Friday the 13th, we were married at a pond, under a gorgeous oak tree in the cemetery I buried my grandfather in less than two weeks prior. (I'll tell you more about that later.) But now it is June, and we are back in Virginia. My darling is off leave, and I am job less for the summer:/ (that part is already starting to bug me)
For this mini-post, I wanted to explain why I named this blog "A Blink of an Eye and the Sound of a Sigh." I don't think I ever actually did that before. And now more than ever, it seems appropriate. I've been married a month now, and it has seemed so fast. But we've done sooooo much. It's crazy. It's quite literally like I blinked and landed here.
As for the sound of a sigh... well. I sigh a lot. A frustrated, why do I put up with you people, "ughhh." An exhausted, but relieved, thank God that paper is finally done, "phewww." A happy, I'm so glad to see you, "Ahh." (that one is similar to the very much underestimated, "Ahhhh" that goes with the first swallow of a Coca-Cola.)
I do a lot of sighing. A lot of the time. People don't think about how good a sigh feels. It's a fresh breath your lungs appreciate after a stressful, emotional, or just regualar day. It's refreshing. And even though it doesn't solve anything, it offers a small bit of comfort for your overworked body.
My body needs that tiny comfort sometimes. It is a small reward for a bigger issue, but it feels good. It really does. And that's all I can really ask for in those situations that escape my comprehension. Those times when things are tough and there's no one around to help. It is nice. And in a world full of moments that are gone in a blink, it's nice to have the relief of a sigh. So that's the name. I think it fits in my ever-changing life.
Later daze
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