Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

Posts tagged ‘Anniversary’

One Complaint and our Happy Anniversary.

You know I don’t like to be mean, right? I hate hurt feelings. I avoid hurt feelings almost always.  Except sometimes.  Like now.  I can’t help it.  I just wanted to say this one thing, and then I’m done.  I’m sorry if it hurts feelings, but sometimes there are things begging to be said.

This one thing I wanted to say was about politics and Facebook.  Right, I know.  You’re already annoyed.  Just hold on a sec.  I’ll be quick about it.  I just wanted to gently point out that there a few things on the interwebs that aren’t actually true.  I’m sorry if you didn’t know it.

Be careful, okay?

There’s more.  The thing is this.  Sometimes, I see viral political posts with inflammatory titles.  Sometimes I click on these posts; usually for entertainment.  Once you are somewhat fluent in interweb-speak, you can identify real news from propaganda.  I worry for folks who can’t tell the difference.

The other day, there was this really outrageous political story posted; the poster was very mad about this political thing.  I looked up the website from where the story originated; it is a fake news website, and I don’t mean “The Onion” either.  Most people know “The Onion” is satirical.   I mean a website that was created to make you think it was a real news website. Only, it isn’t  It’s fake news, written by people who are fake reporters who have the job of coming up with fake stories.  Yep. Real job.

For further entertainment, I looked at the comments below the story.  People were really mad about this thing that never happened.  Some people devoted entire paragraphs loaded with misspelled words and grammatical errors, expressing their anger over this thing that never happened.  It made me feel sorry for humans.  We’re so easily manipulated.

I have to admit, some of the angriest posts with the poorest English had me clicking on the author to get a better look.  Outspoken, angry people with poor grammar intrigue me.  Those kind of people should teach classes on how to improve your self esteem.  I mean, good for them.  They’ve never spent a minute of their lives doubting themselves.

I’m done with that subject.

This week Scott and I celebrate 22 years of freakin’ wedded bliss, baby!  Every day is a honeymoon in our house.  Every day I’m surprised with another love sonnet, a bedroom covered in rose petals, or a lovely serenade.  Wait.  That isn’t what your marriage is like?  Gosh.  Sorry about that.   Maybe you should take some marriage classes or something.

Well.  I might be misrepresenting things just a little.  Things might possibly be a bit less romantic than I described.  But, still, pretty good.  I mean, Scott and I texted each other about a half dozen times this week.   All the texts were about our schedules, but, I think that counts.  AND…we both know our anniversary is this week.  That is also something kind of unusual. We usually remember our anniversary AFTER it happens.  That’s kind of dreamy, right?

Did I tell you that Reggie had surgery this week?  He did.  He had surgery, and he also had 4 teeth pulled.  Reggie has to wear the Elizabethan Collar for the next two weeks.  Otherwise known as the dog cone of shame.

cone of shame

One night this week, Scott mentioned how busy we’ve been; he said he might like to talk to me again some time this summer.  I told him I was thinking the same thing.  I miss him.  I feel like we are living parallel lives that rarely intersect.  We are using all of our mental and physical resources to manage our careers, children and home.  We wouldn’t dream of making ourselves, or our relationship a priority. That would be selfish, right?

Scott and I got into bed that night.   I strained my head to look at Scott over Reggie’s cone of shame as Reggie laid in the middle of the bed; I thought, I just don’t know what comes between us.  How does it happen?

I have been thinking that there are other married people with relatively happy marriages, and busy teenagers, who are like us.  Couples who take their obligations seriously, who are happy to devote their days to serving all the people in their lives. It wouldn’t occur to these couples to schedule their lives around their relationship with their spouse, because they know that is the one relationship that will always be there.  Because all marriages last forever, right?

Maybe some of us need to rethink how we do things?

I don’t know about rose petals, sonnets and serenades, but I’m going to try to turn this ship around.  Here’s my love poem to Scott.  Happy 22nd Anniversary, my love!

I Like You

I like your hair.  I like your eyes.

I like your jokes, and how you’re a cute guy.

I like the way you try your best.

I like the way you rarely rest.

I like knowing you cannot lie.

But when my butt looks big, I’d like you to try.

I like the gentle way you are a Dad.

I like knowing our kids’ pain makes you sad.

I like the way you never brag.

I like when you deny I look like an ol’ hag.

I like the way you like to have fun.

Baseball, ping pong, or going for a run.

I like that you are kind and not angry.

But, mostly, I like that you chose me.

And THAT, my friends, is how you make Emily Dickinson look like an amateur.

scott and miki


Learning to Work and Fashion

I don’t have anything to change your life today.  I’m tired.  Can I interest you in some inconsequential conversation?  Good.  Keep reading.

What did you do for Memorial Day?  I didn’t go to any memorial services.  I did take some to think about and appreciate those who have passed, and those who have given their lives for our country.   Not much, but more than I’ve done in the past. I think I might go to a Memorial service next year.

I will admit that I have usually spent my Memorial Day weekends selfishly. Facebook changed that.

Did you see any Memorial Day messages on Facebook?  The ones with a little boy crying, holding an American flag?  His dad died in service to our country.  The message would read something like, “In case you thought Memorial Day was about barbecues or planting flowers.”  They could have added in  parentheses (you selfish, greedy, monster). That’s how those messages make you feel.  They work.

In addition to taking time to appreciate those we’ve lost, we decided we’d also spend the long weekend being grown ups.  Acting like grown ups is a departure from our typical  routine.  Scott and I were going to go to Chicago to celebrate our anniversary early.   Then we started talking about how you can’t really go to Chicago for a weekend without spending at least 84 thousand dollars.   We’re fresh out of all those dollars.

Instead, we decided to work on the house.   If that isn’t the most boring sentence I’ve ever written, I don’t know what is.   At least Scott and I are in agreement.  House stuff is boring.  We’d rather play games.

When Scott was a young teacher, I remember him telling me that he had decided to eat lunch in his classroom rather than the teachers’ lounge.  I asked him why.  He said it was because in the teacher’s lounge they talked about things like lawn mowers, electric bills and property taxes.  He told me that he didn’t feel like  he had a single intelligent comment to contribute; all those words made Scott feel like weeping from boredom.  Amen to that, Husband!  I agreed.

His teacher friends would say, “Hey Scott, what’s your opinion of the tax levy they’re proposing in our community?”

Everyone would turn to Scott and wait for his reply. Scott would look around at all the adults and answer, “Touch Down?”

That was 20 years ago.  Not THAT much has changed.  We still don’t like talking about boring stuff, but at least we now know that sometimes we have to DO boring stuff.   We decided to repaint some of our home’s interior.  It’s been 10 years. It’s time.

Scott and I like fun so much, that we’ve probably goofed up our kids.  We have played with them a lot.  When they’re grown ups, they may not realize that sometimes you have to do boring stuff.  That will be our fault.  I decided I’d try to teach them this lesson over the weekend.

It isn’t that I’m afraid to work.  In fact, I grew up in a  weird tourist community. All my friends and I started working at an early age.  I was selling  fruit drinks at a water park when I was in 5th grade.  I started working full-time in the summer between my 6th and 7th grade years of school.  My children are beyond that age; they’ve never held a real job.

I told them on Saturday that they needed to learn how to work.   When a parent says that, their kids magically disappear.

I was sticking to my guns this time.  I gave them the whole long and sad story about my slave labor as a child.  I said I had to help them understand that life is equal parts work and fun.  Today was the work part.  I asked them to put in a full day.

Zeke helped me paint.  Olivia cleaned and cooked.  Eddie was sick. Not the get-out-of-work kind of sick.  The real kind.

They did well.  I was impressed.  There was only one moment where I remember Olivia laying on the kitchen floor.  She looked pretty spent.  Her hair was crazy and her hand was to her forehead.  She was negotiating with me for an hour lunch rather than a half hour.  I caved.  I’m the world’s best boss.

Zeke and I killed the painting project.  We painted a bathroom, living room and dining room in one day.


The next day we took the kids to get a treat to reward them for all their hard work.  See?  Best boss.

In the car I was telling Scott that manual labor was kind of fun.  I LOVE my career, but sometimes I feel a little low on the mental energy it requires.  Plus, like many other jobs, it’s difficult to completely check out.

I told Scott that if I became a house painter for a living I could just do my work until I was finished.  You listen to the radio while you work, and you don’t have to think.  Scott said he totally agreed.

Zeke overheard this conversation.  He leaned forward and asked, “Did you just say that you think what we did yesterday was fun?”

I said, “Yes.”

Zeke leaned back hard.  He announced, “I am going to HATE being adult so much!  That is terrible news!”

I guess my plan worked.

I don’t have anything more to say about working, but I did want to get very serious now.  Go ahead and grab some tissues.  This may get emotional.

I would like to try to bring something out in the open.  This is a little touchy.  I’m sorry for that.  It’s only because I care.  Sometimes I care too much.

It’s flowers.  It’s flowers on clothing.  It’s floral prints. I’m seeing them everywhere.   Oh man, why can’t humanity learn from its mistakes?  We’ve done this before.  Don’t do it again. Please. Don’t.  The results were disastrous the first time.  I suppose you think she looks cute:


Every morning my favorite news lady is wearing a dress that looks like a picture of her flower garden.  And she’s PREGNANT?

I don’t know how to convince you people to stop.   You just should. Because this.  Click on it:



I told you.  You’re not going to believe me when I tell you this, but those bridesmaid dresses were homemade. You probably thought they were right off the Paris runway.  Oh no.  Hand stitched, with love.

I had the 6 women I care most about in this world, wrap themselves in flowered table clothes, and stand by my side on the most important day of my life.  I look at those dresses and I wonder why.  Those women were never anything but kind to me.

So, I’m just saying, if you refuse to  listen to me, remember that you’ve been warned. Go ahead and wear your flower prints.  Just remember, people like taking pictures.  You won’t be able to forget.




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