And She's Back

When I first heard about "blogging" about 5 years ago, I instantly fell in love. Ever since I was a little girl I had kept diaries and journals and "happy books" (photo albums I filled with pictures from magazines and leaves that were pretty and notes) but as I got older I found I was finding less and less time to just sit and write out what I was feeling. Inevitably I would gravitate back to the journal in times of crisis (most recent heart break!) or excitement (moving out of Mom's house!) but all the "in between" parts of my life went largely undocumented. So then I found the blogging community, and for almost 5 years I blogged pretty much daily. I shared my life with hundreds of strangers, and for a girl who has never made a lot of "real life" friends, it felt amazing to have people communicating with me and sharing stories. I blogged my entire pregnancy and bared my swelling belly to the world.

Then, I had to shut down and delete my blog. Not by choice, but in an attempt to keep food on the table, I had to delete 5 years of my documented life. I cried. All the words of love about my husband, my new baby, the trials of my early 20s...all gone with the click of a button. I hated it. It felt like someone had broken into my house and stolen everything about me -- or worse yet, they walked up to my porch and I handed them all of my most precious memories and let them walk away uncontested.

So, I've been trying to tell myself it's ok to get back out there. People probably won't like me as much as they did before. My life is much less provocative now. I'm married, have a one year old and a steady job. I read and take pictures for fun. I'm boring. So I'll share that boring-ness with the world, and hope it receives me well.

Army Crawl - Accomplished

Last night, Charlotte did her first official "crawl" across the floor. At 6 moths old, it was less crawl-ee and more paraplegic-dragging-himself-to-watering-hole -- but she moved allll the way across the living room by herself! Wiggling that little butt, stretching her chunky little arms...it was adorable. I found myself calling to her like a puppy -- "c'mon, you can do it! come to Mommy! Get your toy, get your toy! Gooood girl!" I don't know if she'll remember that, but I think it's on video, so she'll surely look at me with the stink eye when she's older.

Somehow, my Jew is the only one that can make her laugh now. It used to be me, blowing on her tummy or burying my head in her ribs to tickle her. But now she just smiles at me when I do it -- kind of like I'm a moron who's trying way too hard to make a baby giggle. Abram does the exact same things I do and she cracks the hell up. Crazy screeches, baby giggles, kicks and grabs -- it makes me want to kick him. Does she not like me anymore? What am I doing wrong? Grrr!

I'll get over it. She's just as adorable when she's stoic and not giggling too....

None of that mushy stuff...

There is something to be said for praising relationships that are really just, happy. While I've been through my fair share of crappy relationships and bad break-ups, I really am quite excited about who I've ended up with.

Like last night -- we are in the shower and my Jew puts soap in my mouth while my eyes are closed and covered with shampoo. He's laughing uncontrollably as I flail around blindly trying to hit him. Spitting soap. Smiling. Then, farther into the shower, I'm rinsing my body and feel something cold -- I'm in front of my Jew, closest to the shower head -- and then I see his devious grin. I turn around and realize that he had turned the automatic shower cleaner thingie on with me standing right in front of it. So, my back, hair, and even a little of my mouth was Scrubbing Bubbles clean.

Then I used his tongue scraper when he wasn't looking.

Kidding. That would be gross for me too. However I did dry off with his towel, taking special care to dry my sunburn-peeling back and shoulders really well before he got out and used the same towel.

That's love eh?

Relativity

This man used to scare the bejeezus out of me when I was growing up. He is my grandfather. He was strict and tidy and every ounce the Captain his career had made him. I was never all that comfoprtable around him, as I was used to my grandmother's laid-back, liberal humor and demeanor. I remember thinking I would never live up to his expectations. He would hang his head in shame when people looked at my pierced and tattooed family photos on his walls. That was then....

This is now. He is the most loving, generous and helpful man I know. He's completely self-made -- which I now understand is why he was so tough. He's is active, involved, and intelligent. He has a lot of money, but hangs out to talk with every Average Joe he comes across. But most importantly, he loves me, and he loves my daughter.....

Geographical Pride

I grew up in Norfolk, Virginia. I lived two blocks from the beach for the majority of my life. I have sat on a boardwalk banister and watched some of the most amazing storms roll in off the ocean. I feed seagulls and walk my dogs on the beach. I've watched fireworks exploding in a millions colors over the water....from my roof. I've walked to the "candy store" for sugar "cigarettes" with my best friend when I was 10. I've stolen ornamental cabbage from a yard around the block because it would make a wonderful "potion". I've fallen asleep on the deck of the USS Briscoe while it pulled out of the largest Naval Base in the world.

I can honestly say that I love my hometown. Lately, I've been more and more sensitive when I hear people say "I hate Norfolk, what a dump!" And I've heard it tons. I moved away, to what many people consider to be a much nicer place to live, Charleston, South Carolina. Obviously, it never felt like "home" to me. But beyond that, I never really liked the atmosphere. There was such a division of wealth and the entire "downtown" area felt like one big high school. The cliques were obvious. It wasn't comfortable. It was a beautiful place, no doubt about it. But I found the people to be pretentious and shallow. I missed home.
Now, back in my "dumpy" Norfolk, I feel a sense of pride and passion for a place I never thought I would care too much about. The history is rich and quirky, and in my neighborhood specifically, I find myself wishing I could go back in time to when it was a booming and respected destination.
I don't think I've ever been anywhere that I absolutley hated enough to tell someone who is from there how crappy I thought their town was. Maybe, it's a matter of class. Maybe some people just don't have an attachment to their own cities so they assume no one else does either. Whatever the motivation, I find it pretty offensive.

Am I the only one that feels defensive of their hometown/city? Maybe I'm just lucky enough to be from a place that so many people dislike -- more Norfolk for me then.

Mortality

I almost cried at my desk a little while ago. I ran across this photo essay and it was so sad and beautiful that I started thinking about dying and leaving Bum-Bum and my Jew and I just about lost it. I don't do well with the whole mortality thing. I'm sure that's why I'm so obsessed with vampire lore and everything. I would jump at the opportunity to be immortal. I just don't want to stop being. And I sure as hell don't want to have to say goodbye to my baby and husband. Shit, the thought of my cat dying crushes me. How am I going to deal when humans around me die?

My grandfather died in '93. We were very close, but I was also pretty young, so as sad as it was, I don't think it affected me as much as it will when someone dies and I'm an adult. Unfortunately, my grandmother is getting really frail and has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's so I think she's not far from dying soon. I feel cold saying that, like we are just watching her waste away. It numbs you -- just waiting for someone to die. Knowing it's right there, but it's just. not. happening. And you want it to happen, just to have it over with. But you don't because you love her. You'll miss her.

So we wait. And worry. And love her while we can. But after that I know my other grandparents will die, then my parents....and it just keeps going on. I don't want to feel that! I don't want to experience it. I want to go into a coccon and wait out the sickness, the hurt, the loss, the grief. Then, when it's passed, I cut myself out and carry on living. I don't want to lose the people I love. Ever.

Drunk

Being a parent is not easy. Nor did I think it would be. However, what surprises me most is that caring for Bum-Bum is not the most difficult part at all. It's the internal stuff that messes with me. I now put all my actions on this "good mommy" gauge to see if what I'm doing really is what a "good mommy" does. Lately, I've been gauging how much I drink alcohol. I already know that my Jew and I drink more than we should. Alcoholism runs in my family, and I know I have to be careful. We don't drink to excess around Bum -- usually we drink after she's gone to sleep for the night -- but still, I don't like it. My internal gauge goes into alarm mode every time I wake up feeling like shit from the night before. I look at her perfect, innocent face and I want to punch myself for even risking, for one second, anything happening to her or me (or my Jew) because of alcohol.

So, this is my little resolution. Putting it out here where no one will, yet everyone can, see it makes me feel more commited to it. I can't promise to not drink at all. Maybe I'm weak. Stupid? A horrible person? Whatever. At least I'm making an effort. I won't drink during the week at all. Fridays and Saturdays only, if at all. In addition, I need to get off my ass and start exercising. I'm going to aim to take Bum-Bum for walks in her stroller over to my mom's as often as the weather will allow. That's about 2 miles total. So, maybe my ass will shrink a little. That would be nice.

I feel really optomistic about life recently and I don't want to screw it up. We have this amazing new house, amazing jobs, a beautiful, healthy daughter and so much love for each other that I just can't justify or rationalize wasting the majority of my free time being inebriated.