i suppose even Jesus had to start somewhere

Earlier today, I was told I'm an inspiration to the older women in my water aerobics class. Did you catch that? I am an inspiration!

(tip - I find if you blink your eyes a few times to the blinding light you see emanating around me, they'll adjust and you'll be able to continue reading)

(I'll also type louder, too, so you can hear over the sound of angels singing)

I am an inspiration!

Sure, it's just for my stunning degree of flexibility that enables me to reach my hands backward until I can grab my ankles and then pull my legs toward my back, all while floating on my stomach rather than doing something amazing like brokering world peace or curing cancer, but baby steps!

"You give the older ladies hope that they, too, will one day be able to do that," my instructor cheered after class.

Come forward, true believers, and let me touch your head and cure you of whatever ails you!

I'll be honest, though. Baby steps are really all I can take when I'm back on land after pulling off that inspiring move because my flexibility really isn't all that stunning, but don't tell any of those older women in my water aerobics class who clearly need something far, far more incredible to be inspired by. I could use the ego boost!

'don't you neva, eva pull my leva...'

Act I

A quiet suburban family dwelling. It's Sunday morning. A mother, looking radiant upon emerging from a restful evening's sleep, descends the stairs and settles upon the couch among her two children and her husband and awaits the glory that is not typically heaped upon her on most Sunday mornings, but this one is different, for it is (cue the heavenly choir) Mother's Day.

Oldest child (a handsome, strapping, preteen type) - "I have made you this gift and this card." He smiles and hands her a carefully wrapped package and delicate envelope.

(the Mother smiles warmly at her son and remarks at how the perfumed magazine insert shoved inside the envelope makes the card smell of flowers. She glances around the house quickly, hoping to spy some actual flowers and finds none, but that's a small detail)

The mother (voice cracking at the sentiment) recites from the card - "Mom, I love you. You are the best mom in the entire world. There is no one who could ever replace you. Ever. I love you with all my heart. Happy Mother's Day!"

(the Mother then clutches the card to her chest, where her heart, the vessel that delivered life-giving magic in utero, beats purely for her angelic preteen child. She gives the preteen boy a look that seems to say "How did I ever get so lucky?" and "You are an amazing child. Mothers of daughters, please, consider how blessed you would be to have this kind, thoughtful, quiet boy as your future son-in-law and submit your inquiries now.")

Mother - "I love you, son!"

Preteen boy - "I love you more!"

The pair hug.

:: fade to black::

Act II

Tuesday evening in the suburban family dwelling. The quiet that typically permeates the environment has been compromised by loud voices which are later punctuated by the slamming of doors and the introduction of loud, dramatic sighs.

::lights go up::

Preteen boy (clutching cell phone to his chest so unsuspecting friend on the other end may bear witness to the drama about to be unleashed) - "Dylan wants to know...

Mother (busy doing many mother-like things that consume a great deal of her time every evening, does not look up at the boy) - "No."

Preteen boy - "...if I can come over and hang out."

Mother - "Not tonight."

Preteen boy - "Why?"

Mother - "Because I said no."

Preteen boy - "Later?"

Mother - "Is later still today?"

Preteen boy - "Wha?"

Mother (uncorking the first of many sighs that will be exhaled between the pair) - "If I said no now and later is still today, the answer is still no."

Preteen boy - "Why?"

(much discussion and sighing is exchanged between the two, and continues far, far, far longer than the Mother should even allow, but oddly, despite playing this role for nearly 13 years, the Mother always seems to forget the part of this job known as 'Picking One's Battles' and declaring herself the victor, and so the lights go back up on the pair, who have now raised their voices to one another)

Preteen boy - "YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING!!!"

Mother - "I guess you've already forgotten about last Friday night and how I gave you $20 and a short lecture on wearing your jacket because it was cold that night so you and Dylan could go to the baseball game?"

Preteen boy - "Yeah, well, whatever. That was last week!!"

Mother - "Perhaps all your memories of have been erased, which would explain why it is we now must work on a 3D model of a virus assigned to you LAST MONDAY that's due tomorrow in your science class, by the way, and thus, you don't recall me driving you to Dylan's house after school yesterday and two days before that and letting you stay there until after 9 p.m., because you were, and I quote, 'having fun.'"

Preteen boy - "Can't I just go over for a little bit?"

Mother - "No."

Preteen boy - "Well, then, can I get on the Wii..."

Mother - "No."

Preteen boy - "...and play 'Call of Duty' with Dylan?"

Mother - "Seriously?"

Preteen boy - "WWWWWWHHHHHHHHYYYYYY???"

Mother - "3D model of a damn virus due TOMORROW!!!"

Preteen boy - "WHY WON'T YOU EVER LET ME HAVE ANY FUN????"

Mother - "I'm sorry your life is so awful. I suggest you stop rolling your eyes at me. Ours is a people with weak optic nerves, and I don't want to be the one you blame for your poor eye sight when you're even older."

Preteen boy - "I don't even know what you're talking about!!!!! GOD!!!!"

Mother (muttering herself now) - "It's a damn good thing YOU'RE not supposed to make a 3D model of an eyeball...why, I oughtta..."

(the Mother looks to the Father, who makes his quiet entrance from stage left midway through the discussion between the mother and preteen boy. He ignores her glances and requests for backup, which eventually comes as no surprise to the Mother, for the Father gave her a Mother's Day card that read "Happy Mother's Day from the one who got you into this whole mess in the first place!")

Preteen boy - "I just wanna...."

Mother - "I. Said. NO!"

(preteen boy stomps around the house, muttering words of unknown origin. Many texts and phone calls are exchanged between him and Dylan, the offstage friend. The Mother imagines the preteen boy spewing vile words of how awful she is. She knows the boy's spelling is atrocious, and she shakes a bit thinking about how his texts likely read "I height her!" rather than the more widely allowed "I h8 her!!" She thinks of the Mother's Day card the boy gave her only two days ago and repeats the words to herself - all marvelously and properly spelled and written with care - and smiles fondly, if not a bit sadly. The greatest, most irreplaceable mother in the world hides her smile from the preteen boy so as not to make him think she is making fun of him and the potentially world ending catastrophe he feels he's now going through.)

Preteen boy - "I hate you!"

Mother - "I wouldn't have it any other way."

::fade to black::

we are golden

I went shopping earlier this week, hoping to find a card to give my husband. Today is our 15th wedding anniversary. Fifteen years ago this afternoon, my father flung the sanctuary doors open, revealing me to friends, family, and my soon-to-be husband, and even now, when I think about the way he looked at me in that moment, I tear up.

Happily.

Thankfully.

Blessed.

I've never been a great fan of mass produced greeting cards meant to mark off birthdays, sympathies, or anniversaries. Often I'll stand before the colorful, typically haphazard displays, and become overwhelmed. Other times I'll read each one in a desired category, sometimes more than once, hoping to find the card to best describe what my heart wishes to say to the intended recipient. Very rarely, though, does that seem to happen. Such was the case this week. How do you wrap 15 years of marriage up succinctly in four or five lines of flowery prose when there's so much I want to say to him? I could add my own words to Hallmark's efforts, but when I've done that, I fill the pleasing white space with my charms, causing my husband to twist and turn the card in an acrobatic attempt to read my writing, while I'll have long finished reading the one handed to me moments before. The one signed simply Love, Your Husband.

My husband is a man of few words and I am a woman of many. There are countless nights I lay my head down at the end of the day and wonder why it aches before I remember that it's filled with all the things I wanted to say that day but never got - or took - the chance to, whereas my husband barely gets the words "good night" out before plunging into a deep sleep. I see it as frustrating. He probably sees it as a gift.

This has not been the easiest year of our marriage. We've spent far more days and nights away from each other than I care to tally. For the first time in its (amazing, impressive) 15 year tenure, we raised our voices to each other, and word(s) we've never said to the other were lobbed like grenades across the length of our living room and left to lie there, waiting to see how the other might react. I'm not at all proud of that. I thank God every day the man who made me well up with tears of happiness 15 years ago today may have ducked and looked for cover, but never once ran away. I pray that he's happy I didn't either.

I can't imagine life without him, the same way I can't fathom how it is 15 years with him have sped by. When I joined him at the altar on our wedding day, I only saw that day in my mind. I knew we'd have many together. I simply couldn't picture them in that moment. I didn't see our two amazing sons in our future, or the daughter we'll one day reunite with on another realm. I couldn't envision how we'd lift each other out of the depths of depression each of us would go through, or how we'd celebrate that which we have (thankfully, far more often than we've had to mourn for that which we do not). There's not a greeting card for that.

As I write this, my husband is downstairs with our boys, each of them skimming their game pieces across the Sorry board. The man of few words tackles the things I don't particularly care to do while I, the woman with (too) many words, spills a few. I hope he's never been sorry of any of the time we've had together during this rapid-fire 15 years. I'm not. Even though I never truly pictured our life together beyond the moment we married, I'd rush through our courtship and engagement the same way we did then to marry him again today if we were granted a do-over.

I have too many words, and the greeting cards I looked at (and ultimately left without) while on my shopping excursion didn't have the ideal ones, but in this particular moment, I can think of only single words that best convey what I feel today on our anniversary and every day after.

Lucky.

Grateful.

Loved.

filed under: "things I wish even I didn't know about myself"

There are a few things about myself I'm not particularly proud of. I am by no means a pristine person. Oh, I may pretend to be untarnished, don't get me wrong, but when I confess the following to you, I need you to remember this about me. OK? Because you are special to me. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say we're connected (What's that? Did I just say that to that one over there, you ask? And that one? The one over in the corner? I did. OK? I did. But you? You are the mostest special!).

I feel like I'm taking a huge risk here, but I feel it binds us to each other when we share our innermost secrets, and I want to give you this gift today. You take this in your hands and treat it with love and respect, OK? Because to lose you would hurt me deeply. Underneath this tarnished shell beats the heart of a good and honest woman, so your tenure with me is strong.

---- deep breath ----

Here we go...

Monday afternoon I was sitting on the couch, catching up with some emails, chatting a bit with Nan, and half listening to the daily news. Because the news has essentially become an episode of Entertainment Tonight with a weather segment, I wasn't surprised to hear the anchors cut to a package about Britney Spears' custody hearing that day. Because I must know every aspect of every celebrity's life whether I like it or not, I glanced from the computer screen to the television, and caught this brief glimpse of Kevin Federline and immediately I thought, "Oh, Kevin...you sexaaay, sexaay beast!"

I know. Trust me. I know. I was all "Kevin Federline?! I think Kevin Federline is hot?!" But remember what I said up there at the beginning. I'm not a proud person. Here's a pen. Add this confession to the list.

Then look at him. I see that picture of him and I think, "Kevin (because I call him Kevin), if you were clean and had that longish hair and, um, maybe didn't talk, I would allow myself to do you (because he likes it when I say "do you." He likes it better when I say I would allow myself to gift him with the carnal delights)." Because you know, you JUST know, Kevin Federline is probably a fuh-fuh-fuhreak in the bed and I am not above some fuh-reak, especially in the pretend realm.

Bear in mind I'm not talking Cornrow Kevin, Do Rag Kevin (though here's a second "I am not proud" confession - I'd dilly dally with CK before I would DRK because seriously, no one, and I mean no one, looks hot in a do rag), or Droopy Drawer Kevin. I'm full on Frat boy Kevin. Or Accountant Kevin (even if he does look a bit like Weird Al in his White and Nerdy video).

I don't want to have his babies or gift him with cars or careers. I just want to popo a little zao with him and then kick him to the curb, and remember him fondly when I see his face pop up on the daily news.

---- and exhale ----

OK. So now you know one of my dirtiest little secrets. Believe me. I can see where knowing this can make things uncomfortable between us for awhile. I don't share this with you without some shame. Just remember, none of us are completely pristine, so it's not even worth pretending to be. If you feel my little confession here has released something in you that makes you want to spill something dark and twisted about yourself, feel free to do so in comments.

Because we're connected, you and me, and Kevin and I would never judge you.