I thought about you today, again.  I was discussing the delivery of an item to Mom and Dad’s house this morning that could potentially arrive while no one is home.  “I can’t even have Poppop keep an eye out for it”, I’d thought.  Just one of the many things you did for me and our family- keep an eye out for our packages and bring them inside for us.  …Just another daily reminder of the void that your leaving has left behind. 

And last night I fell asleep thinking of you, as I often do, having to silently wipe away tears from my eyes until gratefully, sleep finds me.  And you appeared in my dreams, as you’ve appeared several times since you left.  I’m grateful for these dreams.  Although, I awaken more saddened by them most times, and later become angry at myself for forgetting the details.

I do recall, however, one specific detail about my dream of you a few nights ago.  As I’d often done when you were here in the past, I’d held your hand in this dream.  Only this time was different.  I’d held onto it so tightly, with such bittersweet urgency and angst in my heart, wishing all the while to feel our fingers interlaced this way forever.  I’d squeezed your hand, and stared down at it.  Your long fingertips reaching the middle of the top of my hand.   Studying your large strong hands that had done such miraculous things throughout your lifetime, I can recall with crystal clarity the feeling of never wanting to let go.  Those hands saved people from burning buildings…  They held your infant children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren tightly.  Yours are hands that held onto steering wheels for hours on countless drives to the beach for years and years to vacation with your most prized possession- your family.  They are hands that held wiffle bats and pitched baseballs, and created, built, tinkered and worked, that softly patted the tops of my children’s heads when we’d visit your sick bedside; hands I held onto until you took your dying breath.  Holding your hand is something I miss so terribly.  But, certainly, it isn’t the only thing I miss.  My dreams of you are bittersweet. But I never want you to stop appearing in my dreams, so that I may again look into your crystal blue eyes, and hear your distinctive voice and boisterous laughter dance through the air like music in my ears. 

I miss everything about you, Poppop.  I guess that will never stop.  Even though I’ve become used to your absence from my life- now nearing two full months since you passed on.  The normalcy is settling in, unwelcome as that notion is.  I’ve accepted the sorrow that creeps into bed with me each night as the house is silent and dark, and my thoughts drift to memories of you.    I expect the empty feeling left over after my dreams spent with you have ended.  And, I’m a pro at shaking off that morning sadness as I hop out of bed to prepare the kids’ breakfast and move forward with my day. But it’s the unsuspecting socks to the gut which I’m not so good at.  The ones that take place in the middle of a Verizon store on a weekday morning, reminding me of the fact that I don’t have you in my life anymore for even the smallest of things that somehow hurt the most.  That I haven’t yet gotten “used to”.  That I maybe never will.  That, actually, I may never want to….

Even now, there’s no mail carrier to bring you this letter I’ve written, as they have in the past.  So, I’ll be sure to try my very best to remember to tell you in my dreams, Poppop.  To let you know over and over how much you still mean to me, and how much you’ll always be missed and thought of.  And until then, rest easy… I’ll see you in my dreams.

What is this thing called love....

~~

What is this thing called love. . .

His voice wraps you in velvet sheets.

Two lovers meet at dusk in the Sicilian streets.

The newness and excitement of the old familiarity-

Like blossoms budding on an ever alive spring tree.

Settles in, romantic and comfortable, with unabridged ease-

Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me…

Sway softly in your mate’s arms and sip that sweet red wine-

While the pot of sauce boils over with scents of garlic and thyme.

As many that came before you have, let his music lead the way to romance-

No matter what you’re doing, his serenade commands a dance.

Surroundings seem all the more vibrant, with each fine croon and trumpet note-

Rock hearts soften gladly, flat feet begin to float.

Smile though your heart is aching, smile even though it’s breaking…

Each phrase conveys a message, each our own for the taking.

Wisdom in his words, soul in his heart, and a smile in his “old blue eyes”-

Each time the record plays, seems he’s got a new surprise.

Endearing laughter mixed into timeless melodies, again-

He’s a master of the lyrics… an idol of musical men.

Come fly with me, around the town-

Whether in boots ‘n jeans or in satin gown

Red brick walls in cigar smoke-filled rooms

The cello strings and trombone booms

As music filled with his magic, turn lovers into brides and grooms.



Uncertainty, Short Sales, and Stress... Oh My!

The only thing certain is uncertainty.  And uncertainty sucks.

The unknown blows.  And it’s especially unnerving when so much is on the line.  Such is the life of a home seller of a short sale in this market.  It’s crappy enough trying to sell a home right now.  With the plethora of choices out there, and less buyers than ever before since everyone and their mom is unemployed, selling in this market now is frustrating as hell. Trying to sell when you weren’t intending to sell, with a quick approaching deadline of foreclosure hanging over your head, and knowing you won’t see a dime from it, but will instead take a pretty hefty blow on your credit report:  Way suckier. 

Such is OUR life right now. . . .

Even though I started out on a really sour note, to your surprise perhaps, I’m not even that bitter about it.  Coming to terms with moving on from the house in this way has settled in and I’m at peace with our circumstances.  I’m confident that we made the best choice for us right now.  I’m sure that helps with the ‘at peace’ part.  We are grossly underwater in our mortgage and paying a far higher price for this house than anyone ever should have.  Short selling is the best course of action for us.  Cutting your losses in a situation where you purchased at the height of the market, and your property is appraised at a whopping $94,000 less just five and a half years later:  staying would be beyond idiotic.

Thus, here we are, short selling this thing.  We can walk away from here without being penalized or taxed and that bank can have borrowers in the property paying fair market price for it.  (Just in case you weren’t sure of what a short sale actually meant.)  I just wish the goddamn thing would sell!  I’d gladly pack up all of our crap, and move on.  It’s the stagnant feeling of imprisonment and uncertainty that drives me bonkers.  The when, when, when, and even if it will sell before foreclosure happens... but most over-the-top, bonkers-driving, annoying of all, is showing your home over and over and over again.  It’s as if the home already isn’t “yours” any longer, in a way.   The inconvenience, lack of privacy, inability to truly plan anything, unforeseen costs, and impairment of truly living in your home, is enough to make you just want to hand the mortgage company over the deed and dip.



So, here’s the lowdown on our personal experience of short selling our home so far…..



We’ve switched realtors.  Added advertisements.  Reduced the price, twice five times.  Dug a hole, and placed a small plastic statue of St Joseph upside down in our front yard, near the ‘for sale’ sign, and facing the street just as all of the realty web sites told us to do.  Yet, house showing upon house showing, and three five open houses later- still nothing. We’ve had two promises of offers, yet for separate reasons no offers could be made.  Another lady said the place needed to house both of her tables: dining room and kitchen.  But, alas, there is no formal dining room in our quaint rancher.  So off she went.   

Another couple said the back screen door, that our wonderful yet overly hyper adopted pup destroyed, must be replaced before they’d make an offer.  I can’t see someone being serious about purchasing a home yet walking away over a fifty dollar storm door?  But, we told our realtor we’d replace it if they like.  I’m not holding my breath that anyone nitpicking over something so insignificant and un costly is authentically serious about purchasing this house in the first place, though, obviously.  (Our hunch was correct, as it turns out, since we never did hear back from them even though we agreed to meet their demands.)

We have a doctor interested in purchasing our home, who said we needed to wait for something negative to fall off from his credit report and then we’d see his offer at the end of January.  He was so in love with the house that he returned several times, actually.  Well, nearing the half way point of February, I’m beginning to think that ship has sailed.  Disappointing, it is.  Time and again, getting your hopes up, as one must know, is not so much fun.  :-/

Then, finally, there was the Halleluiah moment that took place in a Wawa, of all places, after my normal Monday morning workout at the gym.  As I was awaiting the creation of my specially ordered Vegetarian breakfast sandwich, (which, by the way:  Seriously, Wawa?  I cannot possibly be the Only Vegetarian around here that frequents your stores and would like a darn breakfast sandwich in the morning with my cup of joe.  Would it kill ya to put out a few of those bagel sandwiches sans the sausage patties or the bacon?   Really!??? Urr. But, I digress.  As you probably realize by now I’ve got a bad habit of doing.)  So, here I am in the Wawa and my cell phone alerts me that I’ve received an email from my realtor.  The agent’s message says we have an offer on the house, exclamation point.  “Yes”, escapes my mouth, while I think my mom is still next to me. (She’s got a terrible tendency of wandering off like a young child when out at stores together.)  I soon come to realize everyone around me just assumes I’m talking to myself, probably.  Not that I cared.  I’m too ecstatic to care at this point.  (The nightmare of showing our house is O V E R. Over!  Is that the angels I hear singing, or just Michael Buble’s crooning over the radio system? It’s all over, over, over, over!!! Ahhh!)  I’m over too- I’m over the moon, that is.  I feel an almost physical relief in my shoulders and neck, as though a literal weight’s been lifted from my body.  Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t spill my hazelnut coffee as I skipped through the parking lot back to my truck. 

Two days later, my phone alerts me again of an email from my realtor.  The woman pulled her offer.  Back to square one.  I can’t say that I was crushed.  I knew full well not to count those chicks before they hatched.  But damn.  She’d offered full asking price.  Filled out all the paperwork, submitted it to us, and we filled it out and sent it back.  Things were looking pretty good….  Her agents, in short, explained to my agent that the lady second guessed herself, had doubts, and changed her mind.  And that’s the way that cookie crumbled. 

More hassle of people trampling through our home, finding places to take the boys, wasting gas and money on eating out, not cooking meals at home because we’re trying to avoid the mess of pots and pans that need to be hastily cleaned up at the drop of a hat if that telephone should ring and another agent wants to come show the property within ten minutes or within the hour.  I’ve become so obsessed over keeping the house sparkling, that I fear I’ve morphed into a “Mommy Dearest” with the kids.  I don’t even want them to take out their finger paints, play dough, puzzles or board games.  All because of the mess I’ll have to hurry and clean up in between showings.  In and out we go… Back inside, we look at the clock:  two hours until the next showing.  What should we do?  Hmm, sit down and watch tv and do NOTHING.  Touch NOTHING.  That’s what we’ll do.  We don’t want to clean up behind those messy boys any more.  I don’t want to wipe one more counter, vacuum one more carpet, or remake one more bed.  We’re lounging on the sofa, and people show up a half hour early, so we rush back out.  The next morning the telephone rings at 8:30, it’s the appointment scheduling center asking if so-and-so agent can come with his client in an hour to see the place.  We clean the house, the boys, dress them, dress ourselves, leash the dog up out back with his bowls, leave no surface un-wiped, (yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda), get into the Jeep, take off for an hour, find breakfast to feed those hungry kids of ours, and return home in about an hour only to find out that the appointment was (yet again) another no-show.  (That one really gets our goat.  And it happens A Lot.) 

Two weeks ago we had a man and his realtor show up unexpectedly claiming they honestly did have an appointment.  My dear, and way more patient and understanding than me, husband allows them to come on in.  The man loves the home so much, that he schedules a time the following weekend to bring his girlfriend back to get her input on it.  Their realtor emails us after that visit to say they both like the house, only one wants it while the other wants another home they viewed.  Soooo, they decide to keep looking.  (Another one down.) 

Presently, we’ve got a lady interested in purchasing our home after walking through it last weekend. She wants another appointment now, to bring her son with her whom she’s purchasing with.  Waiting to hear how that one turns out, yet it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hang on to the very little optimism we’ve got left. 

There’s also (sigh) another open house scheduled for this coming Sunday, and we’ve just today dropped our home price by a whopping thirty seven thousand dollars since it first went on the market.  The last price reduction merited a ton of new showing appointments.  Our phone’s been ringing off the hook, and we’ve been ingesting more fast food, and hitting the local libraries more often, and dropping in on family to “visit” more times than I can even count any longer.  I acknowledge this is all good, and I’m happy there’s interest in the house.  It’s great, yet extremely tiring.



The cake topper of frustrations occurred tonight, though, when my realtor popped up out of the clear blue and frantically told me I must clean my disaster of a house for a woman who will be here in ten minutes to look at my home. In fact, the house has never been a “disaster” since we put the sucker on the market.  But today I had a very good excuse for it being so disastrous.  While I won’t get into too much detail, the gist is that my bitchy monthly visitor is here for a truly horrific visit, which is the reason for doing Z E R O cleaning for the past forty eight hours except for some laundry).  So in a whirlwind, I’m informed that a woman saw the house today from her car and needs to see it tonight.  My agent lady is like the Tasmanian Devil, whizzing from room to room, breathlessly straightening up the items that lay strewn about my tables, sofas and floors as I stand there in pain and serious confusion. Tonight, as in “right now”, my agent informs me as she hastily runs around the place putting toys away in the play room and asking me where the sheets are to the boys’ beds that I’d just washed and dried.  I didn’t quite understand why it was this woman was exempt from scheduling an appointment like every other person.  Or why it was that she couldn’t make it here during the four hours of open house taking place this coming Sunday.  I asked questions, like, “Does she live out of state and is only here today?  Why in the world must she come now!?”  But, no, that didn’t appear to be the case.  It appears all my agent knew was that another agent she knows well and trusts a whole bunch had told her that this buyer of hers simply HAD to view the property tonight.  She tells me impulse buyers are great, and this potential buyer was one.  The boys and I had just been ordering dinner online when my realtor manifested, as the killer cramps and debilitating lower back pain was too much for me to even imagine standing long enough to heat up frozen fish sticks and french fries in the oven for them to eat.  Yet here I was washing dishes, making my bed, hiding the dirty laundry, and emptying bathroom waste baskets.  We were in our pajamas still from the morning, and I’d been counting down the minutes until I could put them to bed and hit the sack myself when all of this just happened.  In short, I was completely caught off guard by what seemed like a really unorthodox way of doing business when selling a house. 

I get the sense of urgency in wanting to get this place sold.  Boy, do I ever!  But this fiasco actually dizzied me, and left me bewildered.  Who does this?!!??!!??  And to be honest- it quite irritated me.  It’s enough that I feel my home isn’t my own already, with all of the running off so that strangers can go through my personal belongings and underwear drawer any ole time they desire.  (We’ve noticed things like rummaging around in our CLOSED UP television armoire in the living room, and our bed comforter being messed up as though people actually got on top of our bed!)  If that’s not bad enough, I can’t even get a heads up now?  I mean, it’s not a vacant property….  A family friggin’ lives here!  Our family!  I can’t wallow in the misery of my menstrual cycle, laid up on the couch while wearing no bra and put off dishes for the night in my own home without folks barging in on me?  Seriously now, am I overreacting?  Because in hindsight, I almost can’t even believe what just happened here. 

So I schlepped my hurtin’ behind around the house cleaning, with the help of my realtor and the boys.  Rushing, and sweating, and cursing this wretched period of mine every step of the way.  Then off my agent runs to a Girl Scout obligation for her sweet little daughter, and the boys and I open our door a good ten minutes later for a young Spanish couple.  They arrived alone, with no agent.  They spoke very low, and in all Spanish from what I did catch, and the male looked so disinterested that he appeared to be text messaging on his cellular device the whole time.  In two minutes flat, they said a bland, “thanks”, and off they went.  Sure glad I didn’t shuffle mine and the boys’ butts into the Jeep, and around the corner in the dark cold for that one! 

………………………….  ???  Are any of you thinking what I’m thinkin’?  What the hell was all that!!??  And if I’m wrong, somebody for friggs sakes please enlighten me. 

 

In closing:  I’m not a bitter, “Boo Hoo, I feel so sorry for me.  Life is abysmal.  The government sucks, my life sucks.  Kill me now.”, type of person.  I hate to complain right now, too.  I truly do.  Being an optimistic Positive Polly sure makes getting through sucky stuff like this a whole lot easier.  In fact, I’d be willing to bet that not many other people short selling their home have put the effort, time and money into trying to get it sold that my hubs and I have.  (Just to name a few things: we patched, sanded and painted a ceiling, painted doors and woodwork, purchased items to “stage” then actually spent a good chunk of time putting all of those items up, de-cluttered, rearranged rooms several times over, hung curtains, added a light fixture, landscaped some of the back yard, packed up a good amount of boxes, borrowed trucks and time from our family and friends to move things around, omitted several pieces of furniture that we’d prior used on a daily basis, cleaned out the garage, made about a dozen trips to Good Will donating items and we leave on our electric base board heating in the den much of the time for the potential buyers- which it just so turns out has quite dramatically increased our electric bill… And all for the sake of making the home appear cleaner and more spacious and more appealing in general.)  We’ve gone balls to the wall.  As have the realtors working for us.  And we honestly appreciate their efforts very, very much.  But I can’t help but wonder where does one selling their home draw the line?



With the huge sense of urgency in getting this house tidied up, and shown to that couple this evening, it’s quite strange that I haven’t heard a word back from anyone.  I contacted my realtor twice, but she never responded.  The people who came to look at the house didn’t strike me as serious buyers, or even as being all that into my house at all.  But, hey, what do I know?  Maybe the inconsiderate people who demand to see your home at the drop of a hat could be “the ones”, and make it all worth it in the end. 

But I can’t help but wonder, is this normal protocol when selling a home?

All I know is this home selling hasn’t just inconvenienced me and my family, it’s flipped our world pretty much upside down.  Even the boys have been acting out in a very noticeable and negative way and none of us have been ourselves since this process began.  I think it’s high time to set some very necessary boundaries in order to reestablish even the smallest bit of structure for these children and our family unit. 

The uncertainty of whether the home will sell or not will still be there, but not the uncertainty of whether or not I’m going to be dropped in on while bra-less, cramping, and about to eat dinner with my kids.  If somebody’s serious enough about wanting to see your home, and possibly making an offer on it:  they’ll make the appointment to see it or they'll get their behinds to one of the frequent weekend open houses. 

And that’s my take on it…

.



2012

Two Thousand and Twelve, what have you got in store?

Will you bring riches to my door?

Can I expect happiness, fortune and health?

For my friends, my family, and myself?

Or will you welcome death into my life-

Take away loved ones, and leave me in strife?

Will you inspire me to hit the gym more and bring sexy back?

I wouldn’t mind losing a few dress sizes; slimming down my tummy, bum and rack!

How many inches tall, will my little men this year gain?

Can you provide them with more happiness, and very little pain?

I wonder if Julian will be accepted into our school of choice…

Because if he did, we would truly rejoice!

I also sure hope you bring about a buyer for this home-

So that for seven long years we don’t have to roam.

Will the challenges facing us, break us or make us stronger?

Can you tell me if we'll be living in limbo for much longer?

Sooner would be better than later, for sure-

We’re ready to move on, and be out the door!

Will our family stay on good terms, as times changes and it grows?

And will you introduce us to new friends, keeping away foes?

May I have more time to enjoy your seasons in all of their wonder-

Instead of rushing about, missing the sunrises and thunder?

Will your flowers be brighter, your ocean waves more majestic and strong?

Should I expect the birds in 2012 to sing a more lovely song?

Whatever you shall bring about, this winter, spring, summer and fall…

As long as I’ve got my family to love- I’ll more than have it all!



There’s a poem I came across quite a long while ago that seemed to really resonate with the people I’d shared it with.  I don’t know where it originated, or who wrote it- but it’s lovely and uplifting.  I’m choosing to share it here now, because times are tough for a lot of folks.  Lives are ending, marriages dissolving, homes foreclosing, jobs being lost, and many other trials in between.  It’s important not to lose hope, because it will pass.  Just as other difficult times have.  So this post is for everyone going through something difficult, including myself and my family.

As many times as you’ve been down and out, tears falling from your eyes, and grappling with the harsh realities that have befallen you with heart heavy in chest, you made it through.  Recall the occasions that came next.  After the tears have dried, and the pain diminished, came laughter, smiles and hope.  Brighter days followed, whether it was soon after, or a long time coming.  It got better. 

No matter what sadness, hurt, disappointment, anguish, anxiety, or stress you felt- none of it lasted.  Time moves on, and with it comes light and happiness.  The birth of children, the mending of relations, and opportunity of new jobs, new loves, new friends, new homes, new happy experiences and memories…

New lives evolve out of the situations we endure and conquer.

You grow from the adversity you experience.  Insight is gained, maturity honed, lessons learned.  In the end, everything is A. Okay. Even if it's difficult to believe right now at this moment you find yourself in. 

Here’s a lovely, rhyming reminder of just that:

Don't You Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit-

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a fellow turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out.

Don't give up though the pace seems slow -

You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the struggler has given up

When he might have captured the victor's cup;

And he learned too late when the night came down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -

The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It might be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -

It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

Me and my Three Pairs of Blue

Today I'm posting a Poem about the three loves of my life: My husband and our two sons.

I wrote this quite a while back- (Friday, January 30, 2009 at 1:50am to be exact).

 

I've been especially sentimental and emotional lately.  My youngest just turned the ripe old age of four.  His bother, also four, will be the Big 5 Years Old next month.  I can remember things about my own fifth birthday.  That means, he's most definitely not a baby any longer.  He'll have actual, legitimate memories of this time in his life now.  He's a full fledged, impressively functioning, human being (as is his wiser-than-his-years little bro). 

 

With the changing of Summer to Fall, I always feel a bittersweet ache in my heart.  It's the time of year that brings with it the most family-centered holidays, and it's also the time of year my first niece was born.  A year later, my own first child was born, and the following year- my second.  To sum it up:  I turn into one big emotional mush ball each Autumn.

 

It's a reminder of such truly magnificent times in my life.  But it's also a very pivotal reminder of how quickly time is passing by.  A part of me wishes time would slow, just a bit.  There are all of these mini-milestones taking place nowadays that are proving much harder to accept than I would have thought.  Just yesterday, I gave myself a minor heart attack when my firstborn rode on a school bus for the very first to his very first field trip.  It was so fascinating and wonderful for him to experience.  I was ecstatic for him.  Truly.  But for me, it involved a sleepless night before, and terrible chest and stomach pains the day of.  I tortured myself with visions of him wondering off in a pumpkin patch somewhere and not making it back, or of an accident happening in the extreme fog we experienced yesterday morning with this stranger school bus driver and the dimwits on the road without headlights on.  The worry was so physically exhausting that I felt fatigued in a way I was not accustomed to.  Afterwards I couldn't squeeze and kiss the boy enough.  The relief that washed over me cannot be described in words, the moment I saw his bright smiling face come around that corner at Pre-K yesterday afternoon.  No one drives my babies.  No one baby sits my babies (other than my mom, really...).  It's me and them.  For all of their lives.  Things like this field trip are all foreshadowing what's to come.  The boys will continue to take more and more steps away from me, with their own two feet.  I'm so proud of them, and their independent nature.  But I cannot help my need to be there with them... for them....  It's such a struggle to put my trust in others that they're looking out for my children when I'm not there.  I'm now understanding why so many mothers opt to go on Xanex.

 

Another reason I become so emotional (and sad) is that I desire incredibly to have more children, although like many others in our current economy, our situation doesn't allow for it.  And the older the boys get, the further away we get from the idea of adding more siblings to our brood.  I do not wish to have children eight or ten years apart.  The family I envisioned would be close, and "grow up" together in the same household.  If money were no issue, I'd have had another child by now.  It saddens me.  I wonder when that will end.

 

Don't get me wrong, I'm more than content with these two angels.  I simply just love being a mom, and I want for them to have a large support system of siblings to share their lives with.  I dream of being surrounded by all of my children and grandchildren in my senior years, with a home filled with love constantly multiplying and laughter pouring out through the windows.  I struggle with "quality over quantity" in terms of what we can afford to give them in life, and what they'll have to sacrafice if we were to add another child to the family.  Afterall, there are already tons of experiences John and I wish to provide them with that we're unable to.  Private school being number one on our list.

 

For now, it's just me, my beloved John and our two perfect boys.  And today, I'm counting every single blessing they continue to bring me.  I just adore the hell out of them!

 

 

Three Pairs of Blue

Three pairs of two
The most beautiful I’ve ever seen
Each a different shade of blue
Not brown, hazel, or green

The windows to each one’s soul
So I’ve heard my whole life
Two pairs to mother and mold
To the third, a supportive wife

The depth and the beauty of each pair’s hue
One tip of the iceberg to what lies inside
Of each magnificently unique pair of blue
For which I hold the utmost of pride

All six eyes of blue twinkle, dance and shine
I’m so fortunate to look into them each day
Beyond lucky am I that those blue eyes are mine
Making life more spectacular in every way

Those three pairs of blue make each smile more bright
And each teardrop more deeply felt
They brighten up a dreary day, and light up the darkest night
And with just a mere glance from them, I melt

The first pair grabbed me at my first look
With intensity and flirtatiousness I won’t soon forget
First my attention, then my heart those eyes took
Giving me a feeling of intrigue the moment we met

The second pair came on a December afternoon
And was like seeing love for the very first time
My joyful emotions filled up the room
His blurry, blue newborn eyes seemed to chime

In the middle of the night last Autumn
I met the third pair so big and brand new
Glaring up at me, yet another blue-eyed son
Speaking to me, “Mama, I love you.”

Three pairs of blue to cherish and love
They give me hope, strength and meaning so true
Together our family fits like a glove
Me, and my three pairs of blue.

 

 

Female Bonding over Self-Berating

During a phone call with a gal pal of mine, she said these very words:  “I’m beautiful.  I’m gorgeous, and I know I’m f*cking gorgeous.”  I laughed hysterically!  I couldn't even stop myself.  For the longest time I just laughed and laughed.  Then I quickly explained that I wasn’t laughing because I disagreed and thought that she’s truly buttass fugly.  Rather, I explained, that I laughed because I was just so completely caught off guard.  I never hear women talk themselves up in this way.  The way she said it, with such assuredness, and so candidly and straightforward as if she were stating that the sky is blue or was speaking of the weather outside, was really… truly….something.  It just doesn’t happen.  Here in the real world, I mean.  I'm not talking on reality TV or anything, with those girls who dramatically talk to the camera about how jealous their frenemies are of their beauty, their money, their men. 

I’ve written before about the things I’m learning along the way in this silly thing called life.  Well, one of those things I’ve learned is that it is very uncommon for the female community to actively compliment ourselves, or to easily accept compliments from our counterparts.  On the other hand, I’ve become increasingly aware of the fact that men DO.  My guy will be the first person to tell you all about his latest accomplishment.  I've seen him in action.  And I've seen many other men act the same.  So this clearly is a female issue. 

I do it all the time.  Like many other females, I’m my own worst critic.  And I can dish it out, but I can’t take it: Compliments, that is.  “You look like great!  Looks like you’ve lost weight, too”, someone will say.  My likely response: “Oh, no I don’t.  I haven’t washed my hair in two days, I’ve got a new zit on my chin, and I just downed four cookies before you got here.”  OK.  First lesson, not everyone needs to know EVERYTHING.  (Whoops- Wait, why am I blogging again, then?)  And second, yeah I actually have been eating better in general and hitting the gym.  So why couldn’t I just take the damn compliment and been proud of my minor accomplishment.  In trying to dissect why it is I don’t just accept the kind words with humble open arms, I’ve come up with a few reasons why this scenario typically goes down the way it does.

I somehow twistedly believe that in agreeing with the individual doing the complimenting, I’m being self involved and narcissistic.  As in, “Yes, I DO look awesome.  Thank you so much for noticing!”  Ick.  Secondly, I’d feel obligated to give a “thank you compliment”, as in “Why, thank you.  You look great, too!”  Two problemos with this reaction: First, it seems entirely insincere to give a compliment after someone else has given you one.  It comes across as what it is: a compliment only garnered by having received one.  And that seems terribly inauthentic.  I don’t like fake.  So coming off as a fake isn’t a trait I’d like to portray.  But, alright, say that a little white lie to be cordial and make the chick feel good isn’t such a bad thing.  I guess it’s not so terrible.  However, what if that person quite literally looks like crap?  Then I’d not only be a fake with my false nicey-nice “thank you compliment”, but I’d be a flat out liar.  It’d be incredibly difficult for me to accept a compliment without feeling a responsibility to return the kindness, and if the person’s gained 15 pounds, has dandruff flakes showing in her hair, spinach in her teeth, and frumpy clothing on during this “Compliment Encounter”, how in the world could I find one flattering thing to say to her?  It’s then that I’d grasp for straws, and hope to god that she’d at least had some nice smelling perfume spray that she’d thought to spritz on.  Then I could say, “And what about you, lady?  You smell lovely.”  But that’s certainly a stretch, of course.

More seriously, this mingling and unifying over our insecurities and downfalls is actually quite disturbing.  It’s far more common to hear us putting our negatives on display when in the presence of other females than it ever is to hear us bragging about our accolades.  There are a million and one situations I can recall in which my visits with fellow women consisted of a comparison of negatives in our lives.  We quite literally bond over them.  “My husband never puts his dirty clothes in the Hamper!”  (Mine, either!)  “Oh, my hair is so horrible I can’t do a thing with it, ever!” (Same here!  Look at this frizz, and these roots.  They’re a stylist’s worst nightmare.)  There’s not much off limits.  I hear the comparison of how wretched the children can be, how hefty the bills are, how argumentative the marriages are, how dire the struggles with weight are.  It’s pretty endless.  And on the rare occasion that a female does like to talk about the positives in her life, we other gals label her as a “bragger”.  What a completely twisted point of view the majority of us females tend to share. 

This self berating appears to begin at a very early age for females.  School girls quickly discover that by sharing our downfalls with others in our class, we form friendships.  We’re sympathetic to one another.  That nurturer in us feeds into the whole “You’re not alone” idea, and we demonstrate our loyalty partially through empathy for one another.  It’s a trait that binds.  Of course, I’m certain it’s not all conjured up.  Girls naturally have many issues with acceptance of themselves and their bodies, due largely in part to overwhelming media images.  But that’s a blog of a different sort.

If you’re a female, you’ve likely experienced these interactions yourself.  It’s almost as if we’re afraid to sound braggy and bitchy if we exclaim how happy we are with ourselves in one way or another.  Not only is this unquestionably unhealthy for female kind to continue on with the self defamation, but we’re teaching the up and coming female generations our ghastly ways as well. 

I often hear other women speak of how we should be lifting one another up instead of attempting to tear one another down.  But how can we do that, when we rarely work to lift ourselves up?  If we’re not thinking highly enough of ourselves to accept just compliments where compliments are due, share our happiness and good fortunes, and to proudly wear our accomplishments and strengths on our sleeves with each other, why in the world would we sincerely do as much for a fellow femme?

So, I’ll vow now to make a change. 

I’ll put out there that things are going pretty great around my way.  (BTW, this is a good reminder for me to be grateful, because today was kind of rough up until a little bit ago- with me losing sight of all I’ve got and focusing on the negatives.) 

Some good stuff I'd normally not broadcast:  My husband received a substantial raise and promotion recently, and is furthering his education once more in a career he’s desired to be in for some time.  Great news for him and especially for our family!  And this job switch is all at the expense of his employer.  Sure he’s a little grumpier and more tired at times with all he’s taken on at work, and I miss him lots, but it’s a true blue blessing of pretty epic proportions in our eyes.  Also, both of our boys are striving in their first year of preschool and pre-k, and the blessings of finding this wonderful school they’re in is not lost on me.  Each and every time I walk through those doors to drop them off, or pick them up, I’m reminded of how fortunate we are to be able to afford this great and loving environment that nurtures and educates our children.  I've joined a gym, and have been getting healthier and feeling better.  The hubs just signed up himself last night too.  A definite positive.  Some other stuff.... Since beginning couples therapy a year ago this month, John and I are the closest and most communicative we’ve ever been with one another.  Extended family issues are mended and progressing, and the time we spend with our loved ones is priceless.  Both of our children will be four years old soon.  Our youngest boy will celebrate his fourth birthday this Sunday.  And next month, just before Christmas, his older brother will turn five.  The holidays are upon us, and we’re looking forward to celebrating with all of the people we hold dearest.  All good things!  Sure there are a number of things that could always be better…. But they can always be far, far worse too.  I’m lucky, and pretty darn happy, I don’t feel the need to pretend otherwise.

So go ahead, compliment me the next time I see you.  ;-)   I’m ready for it!