The main problem with working in the same office as your spouse is that you work in the same office with your spouse. Therefore, if (when?) you fight at home, you just can't. get. away from him. Too much togetherness.
My husband has started a job at my radio station. He is selling advertising and is doing a great job at it. He's got the exact right personality to do it. I would hate it with the hate of an opera singer and fat lady jokes. But he's good at it. The problem is that he keeps asking me questions. I don't do that. I don't train new employees. I don't have time for that. And I'm struggling. I want to go back into my coccoon in my corner and let the secretary train him. It is likely I'm going to kill him before it's over. My worlds have collided.
And on Mondays like yesterday, when we were fighting (over socks, no less) before we even got to work, it sucks even more. I like to watch him walk around in the office because it's great eye candy but he's so stubborn that he just drives me nuts. And we're together all the time. All. The. Time.
Hold me.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Love is a home
It was the home that my grandfather was raised in. It was the home that my mother was raised in, along with her 7 brothers and sisters. The front lawn boasted a giant tree where my dad proposed to my mom. It was built by my great-grandfather and kept so many secrets.
Every Christmas we would make the 1000 mile drive to South Dakota. We would usually get to the farm after dark. Driving down the dirt roads, through the corn fields, the smell of dust so thick in my throat. I was so excited to get there. We would walk in through the kitchen, where my Grandma would always be. My Gummy, so happy to see us. The house would be full of smells from her baking. And the front porch full of the fruits of her labor. She made Christmas wreaths out of Corn Flakes, marshmallows, butter, food coloring and red hots. My cousins and I would sneak out onto the porch to steal a few. What I recently found out is that she always made way more than she needed just for that reason.
The family would gather around the big piano in the dining room. My Aunt Gwen would being to play and we would all sing. Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright... We would instinctually split into harmonies. It was such a beautiful sound. Overwhelming.
I would wake up in my mother's childhood bedroom. Comb my hair in front of her mirror. Imagine what it was like for her when she was my age. I wanted to badly to impress my relatives. I was the girl from Montana that they really barely new and I wanted them to think I was special. My Gummy and Papa were so good to show all the grandkids how much they meant to them. That wasn't easy since there are 30 of us.
Taking walks in the snow, being pulled on a sled behind the snowmobiles, this house and it's land were everything. They were my grounding point. The spot where I would dream about when things got tough. When my parents divorced, I cried under "their" tree. And when my dad died in 2005, a picture of that tree was the start to his photo slide show.
The farm was sold a few years ago. But the memories live on. And whenever I go to South Dakota, that is the first drive I take. I take my children down the dirt roads, through the corn fields. I walk with them to the bridge and I sit with them under the tree. I pass along my memories of this house, this home. My central spot.
Happy Love Thursday.
Go here to read more!
Every Christmas we would make the 1000 mile drive to South Dakota. We would usually get to the farm after dark. Driving down the dirt roads, through the corn fields, the smell of dust so thick in my throat. I was so excited to get there. We would walk in through the kitchen, where my Grandma would always be. My Gummy, so happy to see us. The house would be full of smells from her baking. And the front porch full of the fruits of her labor. She made Christmas wreaths out of Corn Flakes, marshmallows, butter, food coloring and red hots. My cousins and I would sneak out onto the porch to steal a few. What I recently found out is that she always made way more than she needed just for that reason.
The family would gather around the big piano in the dining room. My Aunt Gwen would being to play and we would all sing. Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright... We would instinctually split into harmonies. It was such a beautiful sound. Overwhelming.
I would wake up in my mother's childhood bedroom. Comb my hair in front of her mirror. Imagine what it was like for her when she was my age. I wanted to badly to impress my relatives. I was the girl from Montana that they really barely new and I wanted them to think I was special. My Gummy and Papa were so good to show all the grandkids how much they meant to them. That wasn't easy since there are 30 of us.
Taking walks in the snow, being pulled on a sled behind the snowmobiles, this house and it's land were everything. They were my grounding point. The spot where I would dream about when things got tough. When my parents divorced, I cried under "their" tree. And when my dad died in 2005, a picture of that tree was the start to his photo slide show.
The farm was sold a few years ago. But the memories live on. And whenever I go to South Dakota, that is the first drive I take. I take my children down the dirt roads, through the corn fields. I walk with them to the bridge and I sit with them under the tree. I pass along my memories of this house, this home. My central spot.
Happy Love Thursday.
Go here to read more!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
SnarfleSniffleSnorf
That's the sound of me attempting to breathe. I've got the crud. My throat is sore, my body aches and I can't breathe with my mouth shut.
Yeah baby, I'm sexy.
Ooooh, I also lost my voice. Which is AWESOME for a d.j. I am surprised at the amount of comments that I've gotten this week on how quiet it is in the office. I guess if I'm not here or here but not speaking, the fun doesn't show up.
Woot.
Yeah baby, I'm sexy.
Ooooh, I also lost my voice. Which is AWESOME for a d.j. I am surprised at the amount of comments that I've gotten this week on how quiet it is in the office. I guess if I'm not here or here but not speaking, the fun doesn't show up.
Woot.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The troublemaker
Here he is. Teenage boy. I am in so much trouble with this kid. He's 13 and wants to make out with girls. He's cute enough that he probably could. He's testing for his 2nd degree black belt in Taekwondo this December so he's got the whole aloof athlete thing down.
Is it really THAT illegal to lock him in his room until he's 18?
Is it really THAT illegal to lock him in his room until he's 18?
Monday, October 16, 2006
How would you title this?
Teenage boy and I were hanging out in the family room last night. He had just gotten back from goofing off with his friends and some girls in their class. Their 8th grade class, mind you. We were talking about who is "dating" who and all the accompanying stuff. T.B. was telling me about one of his friends and how he has kissed girls.
Then he asked me if it would be ok if he were to make out with a girl.
Help me.
Then he asked me if it would be ok if he were to make out with a girl.
Help me.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Seriously?
Are you kidding me???
One more way that PCOS and being annovulatory screwed with me. I didn't get to show enough skin.
One more way that PCOS and being annovulatory screwed with me. I didn't get to show enough skin.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
It should be easier by now.
It really should have. Why is it that it still stings after all this time? I have a new doctor now and to make her life easier, I requested copies of my old records to give to her. Treating PCOS is not an easy thing to do and I've decided to try a naturopath who has prescriptive rights now. We'll see. Anyway...
I went and picked up my 6 inch thick envelope full of my records. Silly me, I decided to glance through them in the parking lot to see what they said. I really was curious to know if I had been labeled throughout the years. I was just going to take a quick look, just a peek...
An hour later I came up for air. I was crying. The notes were not just clinical. They talked alot about my state of mind...the doctors and NP's confusion as to why I wasn't ovulating, getting pregnant, staying pregnant, etc. Reading the words "non viable" was like getting kicked in the stomach. They spoke of how sorry they were for me. How it didn't just seem to be fair. And then they talked about how I decided to take a mental health break. And that they would miss me. But it felt like I was there again. Even though I've read the end of the book. I know how the story ends. I know that I get pregnant. Carry to term. Have a healthy boy who occupies my days.
Will it ever just be part of my life quilt instead of the fabric that makes it?
I went and picked up my 6 inch thick envelope full of my records. Silly me, I decided to glance through them in the parking lot to see what they said. I really was curious to know if I had been labeled throughout the years. I was just going to take a quick look, just a peek...
An hour later I came up for air. I was crying. The notes were not just clinical. They talked alot about my state of mind...the doctors and NP's confusion as to why I wasn't ovulating, getting pregnant, staying pregnant, etc. Reading the words "non viable" was like getting kicked in the stomach. They spoke of how sorry they were for me. How it didn't just seem to be fair. And then they talked about how I decided to take a mental health break. And that they would miss me. But it felt like I was there again. Even though I've read the end of the book. I know how the story ends. I know that I get pregnant. Carry to term. Have a healthy boy who occupies my days.
Will it ever just be part of my life quilt instead of the fabric that makes it?
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