Because I can't resist sharing

Me (in response to overheard WoW chat): So you know that sucking dick is boring, apparently?

C: It's boring for you.

Expression

I often theorize. I'm the Queen of "What If". In retrospect and imaginings of the future.

With the present, I'm almost superstitious about even considering hypothetical situations. As if, should my mind dwell on a bad one, quantum entanglement or existentialism or some other potential reality of "mind over matter" will assert itself, and I will inadvertently cause that idea to manifest itself.

Part of this was recently explained/validated for me in one of the later Dark Tower books by Stephen King; I don't remember which. In it, he was discussing love. Romantic love, between adults. And he described something to the effect of how if you find it, you can't believe the universe would have allowed you to be so fortunate and that it could be yanked away at any minute. Sorry for the sappiness, but that's how I feel about Chris. Every single day, I am struck - usually in small ways - by the fact that I somehow found the perfect person for me, someone I love and like and can't imagine not living with for the rest of my life. Even after all these years, it doesn't seem quite real.

And that part of me that doesn't believe I have found and could keep something so wonderful insists (constantly) that he could be gone in a moment. The news - now on 24/7 on tv and the internet and magazines and newspapers - only reinforces the voice screaming at me that it's all terribly fleeting and unsafe and unpredictable. So I tell him I love him. A LOT. Like if I go upstairs, or out to the kitchen, or out to check the mail, or to the grocery store or to fill up my gas. I say it multiple times a day. And I mean it.

But on the flip side, there are a lot of people in my life with whom I find myself vocally paralyzed when it comes to expressing my love for them. I love them. SO much. And the same worries about losing them apply equally. I always feel the love. Sometimes - rarely - I verbalize it. But (I think) because I didn't have such a hurdle to overcome with them like I did with Chris, saying it that first and hardest time, when it was so terribly fraught with meaning and fear and confusion, it's more like love is the status quo and should be understood. And so my general Failure To Communicate, combined with the lack of urgency/deadline/expectation to make the declaration by some finite point in time has rendered it nearly impossible for me to say to almost every other human I know.

And it drives me crazy and hurts and makes me feel awful that I can say, "I love you," 20 times a day or more to Chris and the kitties and Sam (and - because I made a concerted effort to make it a habit - to Liam and Rebecca). But I just can't seem to do it with anyone else, even the people I wish it was the same kind of habit with.

So if you're reading this, I love you. Even if you are a stranger and have no idea who I am. I love you and think you are special and important, and I am glad our lives have intersected however they may have done; I wish you all the best.

And if you are personally known to me and part of my "real" life, I'd like you to know that I'm working on actually saying these things to you out loud, hopefully on a regular basis. I wish I could better explain why it is that I can't do it now. And in the meantime, please accept this as my expression of the things I feel and cannot say.

Culture

More specifically: appreciation vs. co-opting.

How do you know which side of the line you're on? Lately, I am completely enamored of Indian cuisine. I've stocked up on a myriad of spices, beans, and other ingredients. I'm cooking from highly-rated recipes and books (I'm all about reviews!). I love "restaurant" Indian food, and I'm also increasingly addicted to the "authentic" dishes I prepare.

But in all the books, every recipe is given it's English/American name, with the "real" name in italics and smaller print below. I feel like a giant asshole using the Anglicized terms for things, but I also feel incredibly uncomfortable with using the Indian names for everything. It smacks too much of trying too hard, and of pretending I'm part of a culture I have no claim on.

I've always thought it was weird that once a country/area is "discovered", we don't call that land what the people who live there call it. Why do we insist on "Spain" and "Germany" etc. when the natives have their own word for their homeland? It has always felt incredibly disrespectful.

The same holds true for foods. Granted, a lot of plants have traveled around the world over the past few millennia, and have many names in many cultures. But if I'm cooking the particular cuisine of a specific region, and I know what they call a certain dish, why on earth would I give that dish my own name, that basically just gives a description of the main ingredients? If I went overseas and visited an English-friendly restaurant or family, it would feel weird to have deviled eggs referred to as "hard-boiled eggs stuffed with yolks mashed with mayonnaise and mustard." And what would they call hot dogs or scrapple? But that's what we do with a lot of foods.

My current solution is to use the "popular" names for things most people are familiar with, and "proper" names for things I haven't seen elsewhere. I'm not sure what else to do, or how else to think about proceeding. I know it isn't a life-or-death issue, but it's something I have control over and I want to get it right. If anyone has any thoughts, I'm all oídos.

"Growing Up"

Although I'm sure it started much earlier, my grasp on the concept of growing up really started to take hold and crystallize in 2005, when that hurricane came and stole my name.

A lot of things had happened beforehand, and they had a dramatic impact on my life. But I still held onto the belief that I could hope for some time in the future - however brief - during which I could take a breather and get some relief from the overwhelming sadness and pain. And while there have been weeks (maybe even entire months!) of respite during the intervening years, there was always something that came up and brought the pain back, and something beforehand that left a lingering pain that obscured those periods of peace.

Following a number of smaller losses, I have recently experienced the slow death of a near and dear relative - my PopPop (that's "grandfather" for those of you living elsewhere who may have never heard this term). I've only ever dealt with quick/unexpected human losses in the past (as an adult, and one not so great at keeping in touch with people), so this situation was very different and very affecting. Now that he is finally at peace, I am infinitely grateful to have had the time to spend a few more days with him and several chances to tell him how much I loved him. But the past week was one of the most wrenching, confusing, and gutting of my life. It also came during a time where it seems like ALL of my friends are going through terrible experiences of their own, and it has really felt like the universe was giving us all the finger.

And it made me realize something about "growing up" that I probably should have understood years ago. As much as I have (and want to maintain) a carefree attitude about life, and as much as I want to keep hoping for that "someday" in which I'll have a decent stretch of time that isn't punctuated by pain and loss, it isn't realistic. Part of living a life connected to friends and family and animals I care deeply about means that there will always be a source of pain or loss not too far around the corner. If I'm not hurting, someone I love probably is and should know that they can come to me. If I haven't lost someone (or had a bad scare), someone I know has and needs comfort. I also can't just blithely expect everyone I care about to live forever just because I can't imagine life without them. And the fact is that the longer I live, the more this will be true.

Childhood and childishness are, if nothing else, marked by an assumption that the skies will always clear and everything will get better. And that's not wrong. Growing up just means recognizing the hurts that were going on this whole time, acknowledging them, and doing our best to alleviate them if and when we can. I think I have officially reached the "acceptance" stage in realizing what kinds of pain I should expect for the rest of my life. I'll take and cherish all the good times that come my way, but I can no longer treat the bad/sad times as tremendous aberrations that need to be avoided and waited out. I think this may officially make me the Grownup I never thought I'd be, and that's ok.

As an aside - one consolation this past week came in a rather roundabout way. While PopPop was sleeping one day, the minister who was visiting asked me what my favorite story about PopPop was, and I drew a total blank. At the time, I felt terrible that I couldn't think of anything. But sitting there, angst-ing over this deficiency, I realized: I don't have stories about PopPop - I have memories of him. I got to spend so much time with him and MomMom growing up that when I think of them, that's what comes to mind. I know I've heard stories, but I can't recall them. I would like to learn some stories, of course, so I can have them as well and share them with family in the future, but I feel so much better having a lifetime of lovely memories than I would be if I just had a few "good stories".

I remember walks in the woods, where he pointed out wild-growing things as well as plants he had cultivated. I remember those walks ending at the stream, and wading in the ice-cold water there, hoping to see fish but being just as happy to settle for glimpses of water-strider bugs. I remember climbing in his fruit trees, and catching birds that had invaded the blueberry patch and releasing them. I remember picking berries and veggies (especially the silver queen corn) from their gardens. I remember watching The Sound of Music for the first time with him and MomMom. I remember riding with him in his pickup truck. I remember eating my first bagels at their house, and thinking how cool it was that my grandparents drank milk with their meals, just like us kids. I remember annual Memorial Day picnics and Christmas dinners. I remember the beautiful pictures he took of plants and butterflies. I remember that he made wine when I was a little girl; and I remember what a special day it was when Chris and my brother bottled the last two carboys of wine he had put up in the 80's (it was pretty much hard liquor when they bottled it) in bottles with a label made from a picture of him back when he was a pilot in World War II, and how happy he was that they were bottling that wine and carrying on the brewing/wine-making tradition in our family.

I could fill pages with these memories. And maybe I should, for the children who are small now and those presumably coming in the future. Because another part of being a grownup is sharing how things used to be, and who the people who are no longer with us were.

Sometimes

Ok, ALL the time... I want to whine. I have a lengthy list of things I want to gripe about. And then I read the news, check out some blogs on issues near and dear to my heart, and am once again reminded that my problems are First World Problems. Hell, more than half of the things I've written about here with sincerity and pain are nothing compared to the suffering going on daily (hourly! minute-ly!) around the globe. And I know it's all relative and we only know our own personal pain, but I still feel like a shit. So I don't post. Because why post about the idiosyncrasies of my self-perception when there are people literally living in slavery and pain and degradation?

This, of course, puts me on the path of questioning why I should publicize my self-examination at all. And I'm not certain I should. A big part of me feels like I ought to pick an external subject that speaks to me and dissect it when the mood strikes, and leave the navel-gazing to private ruminations. But that doesn't feel real. And while I'm not the best at being completely honest in my real-world dealing, I am also not about to start down the path of being anything that feels deliberately dishonest to me.

Grrr.

Sharing

I feel like I'm on the other end of the spectrum from where I was a few years ago: then, I was suffering loss after loss after disaster, with no end in sight. It was truly horrendous.

Now, things are (knock on wood) going pretty well here, but a LOT of dear friends are going through experiences similar to mine of not so long ago. And while at the time I thought I'd have given anything to make the pain stop, I'm now in the position of wishing I could lift at least some of the burden of that same pain from the hearts of my friends and carry it myself, even if it means more of that pain I was so desperate to get through.

I realize that while I might not have noticed my load lightening back then, it most certainly was relieved by the love and caring of these friends. And all I can really do now is hope that they know how much I appreciated the support they gave me when I needed it, and that I'm here to share their burden as they shared mine.

Still here!

Thanks to a very thought-provoking (in a good way!) comment, I was reminded that I do have a blog and am once again neglecting it.

We're making excellent progress on squaring away our finances in order to get out of this house, and we have a contractor coming on Monday to get started on a few small-ish projects that are necessary for selling. I'm re-acclimating to having a husband after losing Chris to a never-to-be-repeated (AKA Trina will get her passport) 3 week stint in Australia.

A good bit of our free weekend time is tied up with soccer - we have season tickets to the Philadelphia Union again this year, and it's a TON of fun!

Currently, we're both anxiously awaiting the release of A Dance With Dragons. It's due on the 12^th, and we pre-ordered the hardback AND kindle editions. Our 10-year wedding anniversary is the 14^th and I have a feeling we'll be at the restaurant waiting for our food, both madly reading away on our kindles. Not that I object to this,I just hope Morimoto doesn't take offense to an apparent disinterest in his cuisine. I'm psyched to be going back for the awesomeness served there, I just can't say that it's more exciting than a return to Westeros.

Speaking of Westeros, I don't often plug other blogs, but I'm making an exception. I don't know the wonderful people behind this blog, but we've cooked a bunch of their recipes (all awesome) and enjoyed the food and also its tie to Martin's universe. If you want to cook Ice & Fire-inspired foods, or amazing cuisine based on foods of eras long gone (or just fabulous food you haven't seen recipes for because it's esoteric), please check out innatthecrossroads.com. I could vouch for individual recipes, but at this point now there are so many and I'm so picky that it would be kinda weird. Unlike many "celebrity" chefs with cookbooks, these folks have tested their recipes and found them delicious, and I can only co-sign.

I've been testing new perfumes, but mostly settling into a few that I know and love, and I'm ok with that. I'd rather love and test than be constantly hunting for new loves. I've latched onto several HG's, and am roaming around them, versus wandering far afield to sniff every new thing. I have never been more content in the perfume department.

I haven't left, and I'm sorry I'm not better about posting. But I'm here, alive, happy, and enjoying my NOW. And it is good.

Not Necessarily Deep

Sometimes I have stray thoughts that I feel compelled to record, with no idea where to do so. There's not necessarily much history behind them; they aren't particularly humorous (except to me, in some cases, but I crack myself up all the time with things that are just weird to other people); and they certainly aren't going to change the world for the better. But they're in my head and must come out. Today's installment:

- If Chris and I do, as we hope/plan, have a child and then end up splitting up, it will be the kid's fault. We've been married almost 10 years now, and have been together for over 14 years. Most of them have been happy. I'm still very much in love with him and could spend the rest of my life with only his company and be content. Part of me still wants him all to myself, and worries that a permanent change to our dynamic might be a harmful one.

- My eating disorder will be old enough to vote in the next election. And I have a feeling that, in terms of healthcare at least (I'm sure it wants to deny me any coverage that might help me kill it), it is a Republican.

- I wonder what percentage of our landfills is occupied by issues of The Watchtower. I read the copies our local Witnesses bring by because I find them genuinely fascinating. I have read large portions of the Bible and am familiar with even more, and never came to the conclusions/realizations that the Jehovah's Witnesses do. I don't agree with much of it, but it gives me food for thought. In the end, though, I don't keep them. And I'm sure most people don't, and I know not everyone recycles. So my weird brain is currently occupied with wondering if more space in landfills is taken up by diapers, "sanitary items", or Watchtowers. I'm sure any of it is enough to make SOME number of people feel guilty. Or is that just me?

Familiarity...

has been said to breed contempt. I think the longer we stay in this house, the more true this becomes for me.

Right now, I'm in the grips of a paralyzing fear that no matter what we do to fix this place up, or how low our initial sale price is, NOBODY will want it. This is mostly due to the fact that we live in a neighborhood that once held a bit of promise, but got caught up in the housing bubble to a ridiculous extent. It has one of the highest rates of foreclosures in this state because prices swelled FAR beyond what these houses could ever be worth. We have a LOT of equity in the place, so we can sell lower than a lot of other folks in the development, but then it becomes a dangerous game.

We can afford to sell lower than what most folks are asking, but if we price too low initially, buyers will assume there's something wrong with our house (it's fine, probably better than most since we've owned it since it was built, but too low a price might make people think otherwise, even though a low number would just be a way to try to get out faster). And I'm so sick and tired of this house, and SO familiar with all the ways it is lacking that I have a hard time imagining anyone else could possibly want to buy it.

I have this sick, sad premonition that we will be in a financial position to move and get out of here, but no one will buy our house, and we'll be stuck here for years. And while I'm glad we didn't buy into the bubble, I'm sad we didn't position ourselves to at least get out of here while the getting was good. I don't mind not making as much as we could have, but I'm terrified of not being able to get away at ALL.

I don't worry that we won't get enough for the house, I worry we won't get ANY offer. This market scares me, and our location in this market scares me even more. I just want to be gone, and it frightens me how little I'm willing to accept to get away from this place.

Broken Promises

The closer we draw to the goals we decided that we have to meet in order to get out of this house and move (at this point preferentially to Roswell), the more I feel like I'm breaking a promise. To myself, yes, but also to family members I never really declared my intentions to.

I'm resigned to not making my grandparents' house our "family home" (for me and Chris and the theoretical future progeny), but I'm not giving up on keeping their house in the family. It still KILLS me that Gramma's house went to auction and sold for what it did. If Chris and I had had ANY inclination that such would be the case, things would have gone very differently. I am resolved that this will not happen again. I feel this way about MomMom and PopPop's house, and also about Aunt Gerry and Uncle Ed's house. These are two that have "historical" significance and really shouldn't leave the family.

But this doesn't mean a change to our current plans/aspirations. There is SO much in Georgia that I look forward to! Fantastic houses on nice properties (with MATURE trees!) at amazingly reasonable prices, my sister and her family nearby, an amazing city and outlying area that we love, and parenting resources that can't be found around here. I'm approaching the age where (assuming it's even possible) bearing children is increasingly dangerous for me and said children. I want to be out of this house and neighborhood as soon as possible, and I really want to be in the Roswell area if/when the fruit of my loins spring forth to unleash their mayhem upon the earth.

Recap (more "Common Sense")

I've been thinking about revisiting the food/ED stuff for a while. It's not like I ran out of things to say, more like I was worried it would take over here when that hadn't been my original purpose. But a family member recently started a blog on food issues, which reminded me that I might want to think about this issue again in light of our impending planned move and family expansion. And re-reading those old posts, I'll admit that they make me sad because I fell off the proverbial wagon in times of pain and loss, and am now back at square one. But I do want to get better and plan to do so, especially if we have a child. I will NOT model my current eating on a child. ANY child.

And then today Jezebel posted an article that highlighted a lot of my points on correlation vs. causation: Things that supposedly cause eating disorders. I know what Jez was trying to do, and I salute the effort, but they missed a big opportunity to embark on a serious discussion.

So now I have several reasons to get everything I've written together in one place, and straight in my head. Without further ado, here are my former posts on this subject:

Here's Hoping

Dr. Phil

Common Sense (Part 1 of ?)

Common Sense (Part 2 of ?)

Common Sense (Part 3 of ?)l

Common Sense (Part 4 of ?)

There may well be more to come on this topic. Part of me wants it, part of me dreads it. I know friendship issues are something I never explored and now I feel motivated to do so. Hopefully I won't drop that ball. It's a painful subject for me, but what isn't? And given that the subject played a major role in the eating issues of a family member, I would be remiss in ignoring it. Please let me be better than that.

"Miracles"

I don't profess to know everything (or anything even close) about the body or the spirit. I don't claim to have even the barest grasp on the nature of miracles. I believe in them as a concept, if only as the manifestation of extremely unlikely statistical outcomes; but I can't declare any personal experience of divinity or claim a belief that such events are the result of intervention from a higher power.

I do know this: two people who mean a LOT to me in different ways are alive today, despite many indicators proclaiming that they would/should have been gone more than 6 months ago. I can't label it and don't want to. I just want - and plan - to celebrate the fact that they are still here. And no matter the cause/reason, it feels like a miracle to me.

Unsubscribe

We've dealt with a lot of loss over the years with our animal friends. And this issue has come up for me before, but not so painfully or notably, for a number of reasons.

The first week or so, it didn't really register. But more and more, reality intrudes: I am subscribed to a LOT of emails - many shopping-oriented, for coupon codes - that are ferret-centered and from which I need to unsubscribe.

I think I've been able to be in denial about others: we could start another aquarium at any time, and the fact is that we WILL have birds again (like it or not?) because we're the appointed guardians of two for sure, and two more in all probabilty (and I really need to nail that down one way or another, if only for planning). So I could easily/happily just delete and ignore emails from companies/groups regarding avian and aquatic companions.

Ferrets are a whole different ballgame. They are SO easy to keep accumulating, and SO hard to say no to once you know and love them. And you never want to just have one last and lonely ferret. It feels just awful. But at the same time, we made the decision not to take in any more several years ago, because we DID have to make a decision. The pain of losing them is hard to describe or explain. It's similar to losing a cat or a dog, but worse because the life was shortened and condensed and so much more potent and vibrant. Some people can accept that and deal with it; Chris and I aren't such people. It hurts too much, and we just couldn't take it any more.

I'm not saying we've taken a stance of never ever again living with ferrets, because I could never say that (and I don't think he could either), but it will be a good 20 years until we try again, should we choose to. So as the emails come in, I've been unsubscribing. And it's like salt in a wound. It stings, and in a place I wasn't expecting.

Dilemma

So, we're drawing down to the wire we set up (from a financial perspective) that we have to cross before moving. And moving is the wire for procreating (I do NOT want to have a baby in this house/neighborhood). And, being me, I'm considering a billion things in terms of moving and procreation and parenting, none of which I can really focus on since they aren't immediate.

But a question occurred to me today: being half of a white, heterosexual couple who plan on doing things the old-fashoined way barring complications, what specific things should I say/do/consider in order to raise an un-bigoted child? I have general ideas about the principles I want to pass on and demonstrate, and a genuine dislike for closed-mindedness. But I'm already embodying (or planning to embody - unless there are surprises/setbacks *knock on wood*, our plan is for me to be a SAHM) a lot of normative traits.

And those aren't *wrong*, but I'm not sure the best way to teach our child(ren) that other lives/choices (regarding work allocation, not sexuality - that is not a choice and I don't mean to suggest otherwise) are also wonderful and healthy and happy and attainable, if not aspirational. I've tried online searches and book searches on amazon, to no avail. I think I'll be ok, but it would be so much easier to have some sort of guide so I'm not flailing around blindly. I'm already hampered and blinded by more privilege than I can ever understand; and while I know it's there, I also know that living in it prevents me from seeing or identifying all of it.

So if anyone out there has reading suggestions, I'm open. More than open, I'm bordering on desperate.

Sad day

In a little over 12 hours, I'll be attending the memorial service for one of my cousins. He had a gentle nature, a kind spirit, and a genuine love of animals. The world has lost a good human being.

Can it be said enough?

I don't think so. I've written about this before, and in the wake of recent tragedies, I'm revisiting it.

From how the media is portraying recent events, one would think that we're in the middle of a wave of suicides by LGBT teens and young adults. I have a feeling that this isn't the case, but rather that social media is finally shining a spotlight on something that has been going on for centuries (if not millenia), but was always swept under the rug or politely overlooked. Bullying is real. Teen suicide is real. And the sad fact is that for far longer than I've been alive, bullying of LGBT and any kids deemed as "different" has been given a bit of a pass. It's ok, because what they feel and what they do and who they want to love is "wrong" to many people.

No, it isn't. God is love, right? So how can love for anyone be anything other than godly? We're taught "judge not, lest ye be judged", but apparently that isn't true for LGBT people. I guess I missed Jesus giving us that little caveat. And hello: Jesus chose to hang out with lepers and prostitutes - WHO would be their social equivalent in this day and age? People really think Jesus would have a problem with the LGBT community?

And on a slightly divergent note, I love the "It Gets Better" campaign. And I love that we live in a world of what many people consider "over sharing". Because 20 - 30 years ago, people didn't discuss these things. It wasn't "seemly". And people suffered in silence, not knowing that there were MILLIONS of other people going through what they were, some right down the street. As much as our voyeuristic culture often disgusts me, I can't help but be grateful for the fact that the idea of "normal" has been blasted to smithereens, and that people can share their most horrific experiences and find others like them who can help them cope, grieve, and heal.

It's a slow process. And it's far from easy or pretty. But I'd honestly rather live in a nation filled with Snookis than Betty Drapers.

New Criteria

My parents might or might not be thrilled to learn that I'm getting over my tv addiction. I still blame them for the fact that depriving me in my childhood left me susceptible in my adult years to all the garbage most people with functioning brains are able to dismiss.

I think burnout + my recent forays into new areas of literature (including making my way back to good YA fiction) = lack of patience for sub-par programming.

As I was catching up on my tv tonight (following a lovely but busy weekend visiting with my family AND Chris's), I realized that some shows just aren't measuring up and I was actually getting frustrated with them. And then I found my new boundary.

Chris hates many of the shows I watch, chiefly among them: what I call "judge shows". I like a LOT of those, and try to reserve them for when he's sleeping, but they're the sort of show I only half-watch and don't get upset if I miss something. I have plenty of others I like that don't bother him, so I watch them when he's up. Tonight, some of those he also isn't a fan of were bad enough that I'd rather watch a judge show than them. I'd rather watch a show I half ignore than Show X? Why bother?

And so, I'm not. If I'd rather pop on Judge Judy or The People's Court, then a show has failed the basic requirement of engaging my interest and attention. My DVR has a much higher free percentage, my Season Pass list is shorter, and I feel like a free woman!

...

I don't know what to call this one.

As much as I wish it were otherwise, I'm not really a "good" person. I try my best to do what's right for me and my family, but I often fall short. My shortcomings - and awareness thereof - only help shine a light on my failures both in living my life and in exercising empathy. I cut no slack for myself or anyone else. I'm a judgemental bitch, and I give no one any quarter.

I'm in a bit of a crisis right now because I'm dealing with someone who is seriously neglecting the non-humans who depend on her. I want to whine and detail what is so upsetting me, but one of the things that's angering me the most is something other people I know (and love) have done with their own fur-babies. And while some of them did it long ago before vets and other pros in that arena finally spoke up and started saying why it was horriffic, others have done it more recently. So I don't feel like I can run to them and cry like I want to about what she's planning. And it's not even the worst of what has gone on and is going on in her house. If anything, it's the least of her crimes. But because it's still in the "contemplation" phase, it's what's upsetting me the most.

I've presented alternatives. I begged her to reconsider. I begged her to re-home the animals (the ones in this scenario AND the rest for several reasons).

I'm not a perfect mama when it comes to animals, and have never claimed to be. I've made so many mistakes that haunt me still. But I have never turned a blind eye to clear suffering and parasitic infestation. And I have never contemplated maiming my babies for our convenience. I would buy new furniture every year before mutilating an animal, or I would sit on the fucking floor and feel joy in knowing that I love my babies more than I do a sofa or a table.

And so now I'm in a corner I painted myself into and I'm whining to the internets. Because I don't know how to turn to the people I know and love without making them feel like this upset would be a judgement against them. And I honestly don't know that it wouldn't be, deep down.

I will always take the side of those who can't speak for themselves and who are denied self-determination. So in a human-"pet" situation, I will never be on the side of the human, even (or especially) when that human is me. We ALWAYS have a choice; they are forced to live with the decisions we make. And since that is the case, I can't, in good conscience, side with anyone but them. And when the decision isn't mine, and the outcome is out of my hands, and I've argued to the best of my ability, all I can do is scream. Silently. And hope against hope that I was heard and she does the right thing.

Somebody

(yes, this title is a Depeche Mode reference)

I know I've been lame and sappy before. And I know I've whined at the other end of the spectrum too. But there are times - sometimes weeks on end, like lately - when almost every single moment of observing/contemplating my husband is one of extreme gratitude and appreciation.

He is no saint. I will not go into all the small, hilarious ways in which he makes it clear just how human he is. He's aware of this blog and has read it, but we haven't discussed my writing about him here to the point where I can be that specific, even though I'm sure he'd be fine and I'd love to share the hilarity. But I digress (so shocking!). My point is that I could elaborate ad infinitum on the myriad behaviors/incidents/tendencies that illustrate exactly why rose-colored glasses would never suit my vision prescription in terms of my darling dearest. It wouldn't pertain.

We've had difficult times and blissful times. But sometimes, like lately, we synch up so much that we complete what would be a sickening number of each others' sentences if someone else were present. Our views line up. Our plans line up. Our dirty thoughts line up. What we want for the future is close enough to identical that it validates all the decisions that led up to me deciding he really was the one I wanted, and all the decisions since then.

And I see him in a light that allows those small flaws to show, but at the same time illuminates all that is smart and funny and awesome and right for me, and he fucking glows. GLOWS! For days or weeks on end.

Though things like this
make me sick,
in a case like this
I'll get away with it...

Milestone!

Tonight, for the first time since her diagnosis, Garlic required a dose of ZERO units of insulin!!!

I have skipped doses in the past when her glucose was super-low and she was symptomatic, but that's different. This afternoon, based on dosing trends and her sugar reading, she needed just 0.5 units. Tonight her sugar was low enough that the next dose would have to be decreased by a half unit. Thus: zero!

After the recent losses we've suffered, and with Garlic's current unpleasant health situation, this was a much-needed little victory. Yay, Garlic!