Smiling Mom

I am gra­te­ful for my hus­band for many rea­sons.  One thing in par­ti­cu­lar I appre­ciate is his honesty.  When I ask drea­ded ques­tions such as, “Do I look fat in this,” he knows that I actually want an honest ans­wer.  I’d rather he tell me that my muf­fin top is expo­sed than sport a dou­ble waist­line around town.

Most days anyway.

Years ago we were laying on our bed tal­king when he reached out, touched my upper lip and asked, “When are you going to take care of the mus­tache you’re sporting?”

Ahem. Excuse me??

Well, lucky for him, I knew he was swim­ming in an unchar­ted terri­tory and com­ple­tely ner­vous, which I found abso­lu­tely hilarious!

My res­ponse??  I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

And then I waxed.

For years I’ve given him no end of grief abut this, but sec­retly, was thri­lled that he felt it was safe enough to tell me!

From that day on, I’ve reli­giously waxed, not bleached, not igno­red, but waxed that per­sis­tent fuzz gro­wing on my upper lip.

Fast for­ward a few years to this Decem­ber, 2008.  My dear atten­tive hus­band star­ted a con­ver­sa­tion with me with the follo­wing words, “Pro­mise you won’t take what I say next personally?”

Um, NO!!  I can’t make that pro­mise.  I take a lot of things personally!!

As I was telling him that I, under no cir­cums­tan­ces, wan­ted to hear something that may hurt my fee­lings he blur­ted out, “You have really long nose hairs!  You need to trim them!”

????? Um OK?

Thank God for hus­bands like mine, huh?  Can you ima­gine what I’d look like without his help?

Shud­der!! It would not be pretty!!

Any­ways, imme­dia­tely after I was enligh­te­ned to the fact that my unu­sually large nos­trils had hair really long hair pro­tru­ding out of them, I got down to the busi­ness of trim­ming last damn hair I could find.

When I finished the exca­va­tion I sadly rea­li­zed that my nose now itched thanks to the small, stubby hairs that remained.

Now, when I say that I appre­ciate my husband’s honesty, I should also men­tion that this doesn’t give him a free pass.  Once he opens the door, I feel com­ple­tely free to walk through it and con­ti­nue to dis­cuss my imper­fec­tions with him at will.

So, later in the day I wal­ked up to Hub and part whi­ned, part infor­med him how itchy my nostr­les were.

His res­ponse?

“Bet­ter your nos­trils itching than your upper lip!”

Really, what else was there to say?

We’ve known since the begin­ning of Decem­ber that my grandma was living on borro­wed time.  She was diag­no­sed with ova­rian can­cer at that time and given 3 weeks to 6 months to live.  Seven and a half months later, she pas­sed away.

My mom was there, by her side as she pas­sed on.  For that I’m grateful.

The fune­ral is Satur­day, so we’re scram­bling to get everything together for the fune­ral and our next two vaca­tions… today.

We leave tomorrow.

And I had to sell my tic­ket to BlogHer.

Such a bum­mer.  This was to bet the first time I’d ever taken a wee­kend for myself to satisfy my guilty pleasures.

There’s always next year, right??

Sigh.

Prio­ri­ties.  Family always comes first.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So tomo­rrow, we leave to attend our final party for Grandma Bryan. And Satur­day, we say goodbye.

———

I’ve recently been hit with a steam of spam com­ments.  As a result I’ll be tur­ning off my com­ments for the days I’ll be gone from my computer.

So all hun­dreds of you coughO­NEof­You­cough don’t be alar­med when you are una­ble to leave your witty thoughts on my posts.

Peace, and if you’re atten­ding BlogHer, have a won­der­ful time.

My one year Blog­ging Anni­ver­sary just pas­sed. Um hello, where was I??

Oh and today is my birthday.

Yeay me!

Last year I was all , “oh look at me, I’m going to cele­brate the big 3–0. Why fight it…I’m going to grow old gracefully…yada yada yada.”

That was then. This is now. Last year I tur­ned thirty.

Thirty was a doa­ble number.

Thirty.

Just thirty

Like, I’m not old yet thirty.

Thirty.

Now I’m not thirty.

Oh no. Not thirty anymore.

I’m not just out of my twen­ties thirty

I’m in my thirties.

On my way to thirty five thirty.

Oy.

Where does time go?

Any­way…

Last year I gave myself a gift.

The gift of atten­tion. I took time to learn who I was, be who I am, and stand tall for things I believe in.

I’m proud to say that I think I’ve done just that.

This year, as I enter my thirty one-dom I’m more sett­led, con­fi­dent, and able to say what I mean and need.

Oh ya!!

So in kee­ping with this theme of growth, I’ve deci­ded to focus on another aspect of my life.

Giving atten­tion to others.

Like real attention.

Not lap­top on lap, remote con­trol in hand, phone on ear, “Yes dear, I’m lis­te­ning…” type attention.

Disc­lai­mer** I NEVER do that that, I’m just sayin’.…

Ahem.

But rather eye-contact, TV pau­sed off, lap­top clo­sed type atten­tion.

Like get on the floor and play with my kids more attention.

Like I hear what you are saying, Honey, and although I don’t agree, I still think your point is valid attention.

Whew. That’s going to be a toughie.

It will take some serious chan­ging of some really bad habits.

But I’m in need of a change.

Bring on the growth.

It’s time.

So happy birthday/blogging anni­ver­sary to me.

I hope this gift will serve my family and me well.

Wow, what an ama­zing wri­ter.  I wish I knew her per­so­nally!    (OK she’s not per­fect, but I hear she’s cute… and a good wri­ter… and well… you know.)