| Forgive me readers, for I have sinned... |
[Nov. 30th, 2004|12:01 am] |
...it's been seven weeks since my last entry.
DAMN that's a long time. Nothing's been happening, except I've expanded considerably. My belly button has popped out now like the eyes and ears on those alien rubber thingees you squeeze to release stress.
I was sick, though. Still am - but I'm definitely on the upswing. My boss, who is sick now, told me today "as the title of one of my favorite hippie songs once said: i feel like homemade shit". I felt like that, homemade shit, for about 4 of those 7 weeks. I got a flu shot, but that apparently doesn't protect you from lung-hocking coughs and snot-filled colds. So that on top of all the pregnancy bullshit, let me tell you, I've been REALLY pleasant to be around. Just ask my husband.
So what has compelled me to write after such a long time. My realization that I have a pet peeve that I haven't disclosed to any of you yet.
Here it is.
Female newscasters should not, I repeat NEVER EVER EVER, wear leather, ESPECIALLY when on national news programs. This includes morning shows, which we all know isn't really news per se. Paula Zahn broke this rule tonight, but believe me, she is not alone. They all do it, mostly on Fridays, cuz I guess that's dress-down day. Like casual Fridays at most offices. But you are ON THE NEWS, LADIES. I cannot take you seriously if you're wearing leather. Period. End of story.
That's it. There's way more going on in my life, but nothing as important as sharing that thought. Hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving. Jase and I worked and in our hour off, drove around town looking for some restaurant that was open. It's amazing how desperate you feel when all the regular eating spots are closed. "WE'RE GONNA STARVE!" I shouted while Jase drove our covered wagon/Jeep Cherokee through the prairies.
But don't fear. Before the wolves got us, we stumbled across a man named Jack and his Box. Drive thru open 24 hours, even on Thanksgiving!!! I love you Jack!!!
xoxo A
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| I can't catch my breath! |
[Oct. 6th, 2004|12:39 am] |
No, not because I was running through the fallen leaves in the park, arms open, enjoying the brisk autumn afternoon.
And no, not because I just got back from my bellydancing class with hip-shaking goddesses also known as Peachy and Sundry.
I'm out of breath because this kid in my belly is squishing my lungs up into my throat.
He's also got one foot on my stomach, causing me to be full after three bites of food, and another on my bladder, forcing me to the loo every 3 and 1/2 minutes.
Everyone tells me how tiny I am, and I really am grateful for the comments, but I'm telling you I feel so crowded right now. And I'm convinced he's gonna be a figure skater cuz it feels as if he's doing triple sowcows in there.
Sowcows. Sister Anne and I had a joke about that...
I digress. So there's my pregnancy bitch for the day. Ah, I feel much better.
(With the exception of not being able to breathe or eat and having to pee every 3 and 1/2 minutes. Oh, and let's not even discuss the heartburn.)
Jase keeps telling me how awful my life could be right now. Like I could have a real job, like in an office, and have to drive to work and wear real clothes and imagine how uncomfortable I'd be then. Or he reminds me how badly I wanted to be pregnant and how long it took to get here and it's only a small little fragment of my entire life and really, I should be enjoying these moments and writing them all down.
He's lucky he's still alive.
Actually, he IS lucky he's still alive. He started choking yesterday. While Jase was eating a sandwich, we were watching this segment on the news about a dog in a London dog shelter who not only figured out how to get out of his cage after hours, but also learned how to let all the other dogs out as well so they could have an after-hours dog party. Next thing I know, Jase is standing up and his eyes start watering and he's making this weird noise.
Of course, I thought he was joking. I was close - it RHYMED with joking.
He starts making this awful wheezing noise. I, being the coolest cucumber under pressure, start slapping his chest and yelling, "Are you choking?! Are you fucking with me?!" Tears were now streaming down his face and I start really freaking out. But in the back of my mind, I knew that if he was making a wheezing sound, he was getting air. And he was. He managed to clear his throat and breathe again.
What do you think was the first thing he said to me?
"I almost went out like Mama Cass."
Well, I'm glad he didn't. That would have TOTALLY sucked.
xoxo A
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| It's been a while, but I promise there's been a lot going on |
[Sep. 26th, 2004|07:44 pm] |
I started an entry a couple of weeks ago about my brother's wedding. He got married to Heather on September 3rd. And I was going to talk about Jase's need to drink a double screwdriver before boarding the plane at 8:00 in the morning to address his fear of crashing.. I mean flying. I was going to talk about how wonderful it felt to be spotted by nephews Jack and Joey from across the park, who promptly charged us and jumped into our arms. I was going to talk about how happy my brother looked and how great it was that he found someone to share his life with. I was going to tell you how great it was to see so many friends, including Pavitt who talked to Romano in utero, Jeffanie and Stephanie who actually did the impossible - bought a house in Northern California, Aunts Marilyn and Gerri who were so awesome all weekend, Laura and Matty who celebrated one of their first grown-up nights after the birth of their new Luke.
Then I was going to segway into the unbelievable but true portion of the wedding night when my father's super-exclusive Lexus sportscar was stolen from the reception. The keys were on the table in the reception hall, in the idyllic suburban setting that is Plymouth, Michigan - and then they were gone. And so was the car. My poor brother, who loves cars as much as my dad, who actually found this particular one in Chicago and arranged to have my dad buy it, comes downstairs from his perfect reception to see my parents talking to the police. Tommy is a worrier - he felt awful and promised my dad he'd find another one for him after the honeymoon. Funny now that this was probably the worst event to happen to our family this year - a stolen car. Anyway, the police found it in downtown Detroit (natch) a few days later, unharmed. After thinking my dad had it stolen on purpose for the insurance money (the Plymouth police detective was channelling Sypowitz), they determined that someone, either a guest or an employee or someone unrelated to the wedding, traded the car for crack. It was quite dramatic and as I look back, really kind of fun to talk about every day. Especially now.
So then I was going to talk about how my brother and Heather had to scrap their honeymoon plans at the last minute - Marco Island, Florida was in the process of being destroyed by hurrincanes - and ended up in Vegas for an entire week. That's a little too much Vegas - but they had a great time, seeing lots of shows and peoplewatching and eating lots of food.
But then I got a call last Monday from my sister - who told me simply after I made a few comments about not being able to get out of bed cuz Boo was too warm and fat and snuggly and it was all his fault - that my parents were getting divorced.
My parents. Divorced. After all this time.
So that's been consuming me ever since. I'm not ready to write about it - I can barely comprehend it. What do you do with that, being 33 and grown and in Seattle? It's been a really strange week.
I've been late with emails, and I apologize. And I'm sorry I've been so delinquent with this journal. We're all going to be okay - it's just the most bizarre thing ever. I don't think I can dwell on it here, not now. Oversentimentality is kind of where I want to go but it just depresses me and I don't want to make any of you who read this who are directly involved upset, especially if you're at work or something. But Mom, you are kicking ASS and I'm so proud to have such a strong mother.
On the bright side, this week I get my root canal completed, so things are looking up!
xoxo A
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| The Kid Turned on Me |
[Aug. 11th, 2004|12:41 am] |
Things were going so well for us, baby boy Ritchie. Sure, we had a rough start. I may have referred to you as "the parasite" or "the demon sucking out my will to live." You forced me into a diet of saltines and watermelon. You made me feel like shit warmed over with a side of crap on my best days, for three months.
But we made it through. We did it together. And recently, things have been great between us. I rub lotion on my belly - you kick me "thanks" in return. We're sleeping good, we're eating good. No problems.
Until today. What was up with you today, kid? First, you wanted Fritos. Fine. I gave you some Fritos. Then you began to crowd me. Things felt tight, uncomfortable. No problem - nothing a Gas-X can't fix.
And then we went shopping.
Peachy and I went to Whole Foods. You were good. We went to Bartell Drugs. Again, no problems.
Then we went to Starbucks and I got a DECAF grande misto, because supposedly caffiene is bad for you. But you're my kid, so I make sacrifices. One of many - and you will hear about every single one.
Mid-grande, we're at Dania checking out the modern furniture, and you start. I begin to feel hot, queasy, dizzy. Peachy and I hightail it to the car, passing on Metropolitan Market to head straight for home.
We didn't make it. 10 blocks away from my house, Peachy pulls over as I hold my hand over my mouth, not wanting to get any throw-up in her car. Luckily, I'm skilled at puking by now, thanks to you, and I manage to barf entirely outside the car.
You subjected me AND your Aunt Peach to vomit. Girls don't like vomit. Boys think it's funny - ha ha I'm gonna PUKE! BLEEEEAAACCCCHHHH! Yeah, that's a boy thing. Not a girl thing.
Your Aunt Peach was such a good friend and got me home pronto. And then, as you know, we promptly fell asleep for 2 hours.
Now I've got massive heartburn and your father won't go to the market for Haagen-Daaz vanilla ice cream, even though that's the only thing I want right now. Instead, I've had a dinner that consisted of fresh French bread and Tums.
Yummy.
So kid, sorry. But you're on the list again. You better straighten up by Friday, cuz I'm going with Peach and Mrs. Roboto for dim sum - and I want it to be a puke-free experience.
But I still love you.
xoxo Mom
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| A Masculine Entry |
[Aug. 3rd, 2004|12:58 am] |
My brother Tommy, aka TT-Dog, im'ed me today telling me that while he enjoys reading my journal, could I please make my entries a little more masculine? He didn't appreciate feeling like a girl while reading it.
So here's my attempt at a masculine entry.
Hmmmm.
Masculine entry.....
Doesn't that sound, I don't know, sort of dirty?
All I can think of is to talk about boobs, beer and NASCAR. I know it's a stereotype, but still. That's all I can come up with. Sorry, TT. I AM a girl, after all.
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So today I called a housecleaning service, at my husband's insistance. It's not that our house is a total pit - really, I swear. I've put myself on a cleaning/straightening schedule that maintains the place - and Jase has his chores that he does regularly. But floors need washing. And my husband doesn't want to do them, and I'm just pregnant enough that the idea of me on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor is just offensive and wrong (though I'm sure there's a chat room devoted to just such activities somewhere - sickos).
So we didn't Rent Yentas this time, because the last time we did - they were on the expensive side and while they did an okay job - it just didn't seem quite worth the cash. So I had no idea who to call.
See, I have to be in the house the whole time the cleaning is taking place, because I'm working. And I am creeped out having strangers touching my shit when I'm not home. But Jase has to be elsewhere with the Booster Shot (my new nickname for him, which I think is awesome) because Boo and the vacuum do NOT get along. So I really need the cleaning to occur in as short of time as possible. So I need a team to come in, do their thang, and leave me with a bleachy pine scent.
So I called one of those companies - like Molly Maid but it's really not them. Anyway I made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon.
Here's where the problem comes in. Before I called, Jase specifically told me not to give them information like a credit card number or a soc number (or my blood type or my mother's maiden name). So in the middle of the call, she asked me for my credit card information.
And I gave it to her.
Not only did I give it to her, but I gave it to her to 'hold my spot' which was never even designated to me. I was given a 12-5 time slot, like the cable company does. If I call tomorrow at noon, I can get a more specific ETA.
Now, Jase was livid. He watched me do the whole thing. He was gesturing to me, by waving his hands like an umpire would if I just slid safely into home, to NOT, under any circumstances, give out that credit card number. "ABORT!! ABORT!!" his eyes were screaming at me!! I flat out ignored him, saying, "It's a Visa...???"
So I got off the phone and Jase was so pissed - there was a little white spittle collecting in the corner of his lip as he proceeded to lecture me of the art of fraud. It was kind of funny - one of those where we were both smiling while we tried to plead our cases.
But come on - I had no case. He specifically asked me not to do it. I did it anyway. And totally right in front of him. And he totally called me out - he said, "I know why you did it. You did it because you didn't want to make the high-school dropout data-entry appointment setter uncomfortable. I guess it's better to make your husband, who you live with and spend 24 hours a day with, uncomfortable. Aren't you comfortable NOW??"
He was right, of course. My need-to-please put me on automatic, giving the nice lady whatever information she needs - not wanting to cause waves or make her job difficult. So now this company has my credit card information and can do whatever it wants with it.
I pleaded my case to Matt, who at first agreed that Jase was making way to big of a deal - that a credit card number is the safest thing to give out, all things considered, and the most I'll be liable if any fraud occurs is $50.
But then Jase gave him the little bit of info I omitted in my case. The fact that Jase specifically asked me not to disclose such information.
My case was shot. GUILTY.
Ah well. At least tomorrow I'll be able to see my guilty, need-to-please face in my kitchen floor. |
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| Sad Friends |
[Jul. 28th, 2004|12:33 am] |
I don't know what it is, but lately my friends have been sad. All for very different reasons, but still - they are hurting. To protect their privacy, I will call them Friend 1, 2, and 3.
Friend 1 has decided, for various reasons, to stop taking her anti-anxiety medicine. Now, faithful readers of the Ritchiewoman know that I sympathize with this immensely, seeing that I tried (unsuccessfully, I may add) to get off the Paxil. It's definitely no fun. She has lots and lots of other stresses in her life right now, and sort of no one around her to help her. She has lots of people who love her - but we all live in far away lands. Of course I'm worried - worried that this is the right decision, worried that she is going to have as hard of a time with it as I did. But she is a grown up, and she knows what's best. I'm thinking of you, Friend 1. And I'm sending good thoughts.
Friend 2 is going through a breakup. A 5-year relationship breakup. A "I thought I was getting a ring at the end but instead I didn't" breakup. She sees all of her friends married and together and feels even worse. Not that she wants all of us to dump our husbands. At least I don't think so. No, she doesn't. I'm sure of it. I think. Anyway, breakups are the worst. Especially when you break up with a person you were so sure you would never have a breakup with. It's been a while, but I remember that feeling in the days and weeks following - you are just stunned. Life has the gall to continue around you, and you are expected by society to function in it. But you are just so sad, mourning not just the relationship, but even more so the idea of what the relationship could have been. There's no way around it, Friend 2, this is going to hurt. And you may fall into full collapse more than once. But it will get better. I'm thinking of you, Friend 2. And I'm sending good thoughts.
Friend 3 isn't really sure about what is going on, except she feels bad. She goes through her day, performing well at work, dressed and alert, polite and appropriate. But she then comes home and becomes sad, and mad, which makes her feel bad. The thing about this that she absolutely cannot stand is she is on her best behavior in front of strangers, co-workers - people who in the big picture do not count. But she is her worst in front of those she loves. And I don't think she understands exactly why she is this way. Oh, has this happened to me - I behave a certain way and I have no clue why. I react to something strange and I'm shocked by my reaction. I've known you for a number of years, Friend 3, and I have to assure you that these mood swings are temporary. This is not you. This is an anomaly. We'll figure out what's going on. But remember this - we are often our worst in front of those we love because we know they will not reject us. We just love you right back. By showing your bad side, you're telling the person you love and trust them. They may not see that right away, but it's really true. We'll get to the bottom of this. But don't be hard on yourself while we do so. You're allowed to have a crabby phase. I'm thinking of you, Friend 3. And I'm sending good thoughts.
It's good to be sad sometimes. It balances out the happy. If we were just happy all the time, then we would be manic, and that would be really really irritating. So brace down through the sadness. And know the glad is coming. And know I'm thinking of you. And I'm sending good thoughts.
xoxo A
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| I'm BAAACK! |
[Jul. 26th, 2004|12:34 am] |
Just like the Gropenator, I am BACK.
I cannot believe how long it's been since I've written. I was so so sick for the first 3 months of this pregnancy. I still had to be on the computer for work, so the minute I wasn't working, I shoved my laptop under my couch and headed straight for the toilet.
But now, I'm so much better - and yes! I am still pregnant! That was a concern with the former miscarriage and all. But this one is holdin' on. I'm 19 weeks into it and we found out definitely last week that it's a boy, which is extremely cool, especially after seeing all the barely-clothed teenage girls walking around my local mall. My GOD - I SO didn't look like that when I was 16! Dude, these girls are STACKED. I can't deal with that. Give me a pimply goofy boy any day.
Jase and I have talked a lot about how teenage girls seem more, um, mature these days. Jase has decided that it is hormones in meat and milk that are making these girls "blossom". But when I shared this theory with someone, probably Peachy, or possibly my mom, I was posed the question, "So why don't the boys look any older?" Good question, isn't it? The boys look exactly the same as they did when I was in school.
Anyway, so I'm glad I can put off that whole girl-growing-up-too-fast afterschool special off for a couple of years. We don't have a name yet, except the one Pavitt and I came up with when I first learned I was knocked up - Romano Ritchie, after Robert Romano on ER. Which I really do like, actually! But there are two celebrities, Debra Messing and Cate Blanchett, who have had baby boys this year and named them Roman. I hate the name Roman. It reminds me of a character on Days of Our Lives. But I really do like Romano.
Not that it matters what I like. See, I made this stupid arrangement with Jase that if it was a boy, he could name it and if it were a girl, I could. It's a similar arrangement to John Travolta and Kelly Preston. I have no idea why I read this and thought, "Hey! What a great idea!", especially since their son's name is Jet. As in Plane.
But I think I can reneg on this when in the delivery room. I mean, it's coming out of MY vagina. As boss Peggy said to me, I have "pass-thru" rights that trump any stupid celebrity tradition I read about in People magazine.
So I'm back. And the baby is back. And hopefully I'm setting up the Notify List thingee right so y'all don't have to guess when I write again.
Why now, you may ask? Well, I had a "loverly linner" tonight with my journaling friends Peachy (of course), Chiara and Sundry. And we had the BEST time being loud and obnoxious and so Sex and the City sans Manolos. Peach turned on our waiter by ordering not just a Dirty Martini, but an even more delicious Filthy one. Well, this made the waiter our new best friend/stalker. All these beautiful women write journals, and I realized I missed writing in mine.
It's nice to be back, folks! When I get really savvy, and when I bring my pics over to Peach's house for scanning, I'll even post the baby pictures/blobs. He's an adorable blob!!! I love him already!
But I am worried about Boo and how he will cope. Alas, this is too distressing to dwell upon. Seriously - it keeps me up at night. My mother-in-law asked what we would do if Boo doesn't get along with the baby. I answered matter-of-factly that we would, of course, get rid of the baby. Oh, I laughed along with her, letting her think it was all in fun. But we know better.
xoxo A
let's try this:
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| Update on the Barfing |
[May. 7th, 2004|12:16 am] |
That's all I've been doing since the last posting - barfing. Feeling sub-human. The simple act of walking brought out the demons inside.
So I haven't felt like journaling.
But okay, then today - something changed. I felt better. Really better. I spoke to the doctor yesterday begging them to give me drugs - I didn't even really care if they made the kid come out with 3 arms - just stop the puking!!! So they said they wanted me to try some things before they put me on the drugs.
Nazis.
First, they wanted me to keep using the Sea-Bands I bought. You know what those are - those little wristbands you wear on a cruise to avoid getting seasick. I said with clenched teeth, "Those. Don't. Work."
She said sweetly and somehow without condescension, "Did you put them on BEFORE you started feeling sick this morning?"
"Uh, no.." I said softly, unclenching my jaw.
"Well try that, and take 25mg of vitamin B6 every 4 hours. Then if that doesn't work, add 1/4 of a tablet of Unisom to the B6."
"Uh, Unisom? The sleeping pill?" I asked.
"Yep. Try that and if those don't work we'll have you come in and we'll get you a prescription."
So I had Jason get me the B6. And this morning, I put the bands on first thing, before the vomit came. And I've been taking the B6 religiously. And now I feel awesome.
So awesome, that I sort of convinced myself that I felt better because the pregnancy was going away. Here comes the miscarriage. Then I thought how hard it would be to tell you all that I wasn't going to have a baby.
It was THEN I realized why people don't tell anyone about their pregnancies until after the 1st trimester. ("Oh, thaaaaaat's why! Duh!)
But screw it. I wouldn't have been able to share all these wonderful puking stories with you!! Or my neuroses about having miscarriages! Lucky lucky you!!!
So I'm getting my haircut tomorrow, and I'm just being grateful I feel better and hope it lasts for a while. And that's where I draw the thinking line - No. More. Thinking.
Thinking. Bad.
Oh, and I need to thank Anne, who called me at 11:05p her time to tell me, under NO circumstances, was I to watch E.R. tonight. I asked her what happened, and she said, "No! No watching, no talking." I said, "Dead baby?" and she said, "No talking - and do not watch it, I'm telling you." So I didn't watch it. That's a big sis watching out for me, huh?
xoxo A |
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| I know it's been ages, but I'm PREGNANT |
[Apr. 28th, 2004|08:21 pm] |
The best excuse in the world. It's even better than, "... but I just had jaw surgery!" Well, maybe that one didn't work because I used it 5 years post-operation.
So here's how my mornings have been playing out:
8:00am: Wake up to pee, return to bed.
10:00am: Wake up to pee, return to bed.
11:30am: Wake up to pee, remain awake to begin work in 1/2 hour.
11:35am: Enter shower with SoniCare toothbrush to kill two birds with one clean stone.
11:37am: Dry heave for 1 minute while trying to get the back teeth.
11:39am: Turn water off, disgusted that I can't even enjoy my morning shower without retching.
11:41am: Walk Boo with Jase, so he can pick up dog poo, thus saving me from another bout of retching.
12:00pm: Begin work.
[END SCENE]
After my evening shift, I collapse into bed and fail to keep up my journal. But I have been writing it in my head. Maybe I'll get it all down one day.
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So Jase had his first anxiety dream last night. He dreamt I gave birth to a goat baby. It had a mane and hooves and a tail and everything. He woke me up at 5am to tell me that I had to insist that I get as much testing as I could, including all genetic testing. Did I ask him why he woke me up in the early hours of the morning, insisting that I get genetic testing? Nooooo. I simply muttered, "mmmkay" and went back to sleep. I found out about GoatBoy this morning.
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So my dad called me the other day on my cell. Here's a transcript:
Ritchiewoman: Hello?
Father of Ritchiewoman: Did you just call me?
RW: Uh, noooooo....
FORW: Oh. Are you sure?
RW: Yeah, I'm pretty sure.
FORW: Hmmph. How's your pregnancy going?
RW: It's going okay.
FORW: You get sick today?
RW: Yep.
FORW: (laughing) Really?
RW: Yeah, Daaaaad. Really.
FORW: Hmmph. Well, I was just calling to say hi.
RW: No you weren't! You were calling because you thought I called you!
FORW: Yeah, hmmph. Kay talk to you later.
RW: Bye, Dad. I love yo...
FORW: [Click!]
[END SCENE]
~~~
Kay I'm off - got some good tv tonight. The spy gets revealed on the Bachelor, and there's some bioterrorism thing going down in the West Wing. Thank GOD for TiVo.
xoxo A |
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| Being pregnant is tiring.. |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|01:07 am] |
And I'm barely pregnant. This better not get worse.
My head's not here - I'm off in blahblah land - not even thinking about babies and nurseries. I'm just not thinking of anything at all. Not good when you have to work. Or write a journal entry.
I'm not even gonna try to be witty. I spoke to Jen tonight and I can barely remember what we spoke about. Blech. Nighttime sucks. The mornings seem to be better.
That's it - I'm crawling into bed and gonna hump up with my dog, and try to let all this blechiness go.
And dude - don't EVEN get me started about what pregnancy does to your hair. It's out of CONTROL. I'm a giant, human mushroom.
xoxo A. |
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| Well, here's the news..... |
[Apr. 19th, 2004|12:59 am] |
I haven't written in a while. You may think I'm lazy. Or forgetful.
You're right.
But I'm also pregnant.
My official announcement to the world - I'm carrying Jase's seed.
We found out last week, but both of us didn't really believe it until we went to the doctor on Friday. We went to Planned Parenthood. Before we went, I talked to Jase's mom who told me, "Don't get in the wrong line!!!"
I signed in, filled out a small form saying what my intentions would be if my test was positive (parenting, I selected), paid my $10 and then took the little dixie cup the 17 year old clerk handed me and went into the bathroom. Ahh - peeing into a dixie cup. There's no way to do it in a ladylike fashion.
I placed it in the little hole in the wall, washed my hands and went back to the waiting room to, well, wait.
Of course, Ithen did what everyone does when at a Planned Parenthood. I eavesdropped. Jase began talking to be but I shushed him, explaining I was trying to hear what that guy was talking about with the clerk who had a voice more suitable for the stage than behind the desk at Planned Parenthood.
There were two guys there by themselves. Usually, you don't see the men in there alone. So I was intrigued. I never could find out what one of them was in for - he spoke to the quiet clerk. But the other was trying to pick up the morning after pill for his girlfriend. I know this because the loud clerk called the girlfriend at home to confirm that this guy was her boyfriend and she needed the pill. That's devotion. She should keep that one. That takes some balls.
Finally, they called my name. Jase and I got up and went into this tiny room. And the 20-year-old clinic employee told us the test was positive. We all smiled and laughed. I realized it was probably a rare occurance for people to be happy to hear they are pregnant at Planned Parenthood. She pulled out the little wheel to figure out my due date and how long I've been pregnant.
Now I know this wheel is a fallacy - that it's based upon a 28-day cycle and there's no way in hell my cycle is 28 days. But I have nothing else to base it on - I never got around to charting my cycles so this is the best thing I've got.
I'm barely pregnant, folks. This may not even be a keeper. But if it is, then I'll give birth mid-December - December 16, in fact. I'm 5 weeks and 3 days. A LOT can happen in the next 7 weeks.
But it doesn't feel right not to tell everyone. So I may miscarry again - I understand that. But why should I hide it? Because it makes it hard on me, or on everyone else? I don't know - it just doesn't feel honest. So I'm blabbing. And if I miscarry, I'll blab that too.
But for some reason, I think this one is hanging on. I had my first serious bout of morning sickness today. It was a mess. Boo got sick. Jase wasn't home, so I had to clean it up, and before I knew it, I was puking in the garbage bag I just threw his puke into. And then I couldn't stop. Oh god this is gross.
I'm also psychotic. I like to get mad at Jase cuz he's a man and therefore can't get pregnant so fuck him. I cry a lot. Dude, whoever classified About Schmidt as a comedy has a sick, sick sense of humor. Bastard. I was a fucking wreck. And my boobs - oh my god, are they sore. A mild breeze sends me into a demented wailing. And I'm so tired. I slept 2 hours during my break and I'm ready to pass out again. I also tend to babble on and on and make no sense, so good luck with this and future entries.
But I'm happy. Really happy. Freaked out, but happy.
xoxo A. |
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| Girls Weekend in Vancouver |
[Apr. 6th, 2004|12:40 am] |
This weekend, I went to Vancouver with Jen and our friend Kris. Left the boys at home so we could relax and shop in peace. I am so in love with Canada. Jase and I will be going back on a monthly basis, because I found the best masseuse. Oh man - it was the best massage in my life. The masseuse was this interesting woman - the kind that likes to talk about how interesting she is, which was a little obnoxious - but to be honest, it was hard to concentrate while she turned my muscles into buttah.
[BEGIN SCENE]
Masseuse: "And during the week I work on costuming for films."
Me: "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"
Masseuse: "I worked on the sequel to X-Men - X2?"
Me: "mmmmmmuuuuurrrffff"
Masseuse: "I saw Hugh Jackman naked."
Me (jerking my face out of the doughnut-shaped face rest): "WHAT?? Was it big?"
Masseuse: "Well, he was underwater"
Me (settling my face into the doughnut): "So shrinkage then, huh?"
Masseuse: "Yeah, shrinkage."
[After popping some major knots out of my upper back]
Masseuse: "I used to be a professional figure skater"
Me: "Did you see a famous figure skater naked?"
Masseuse: "No, can't say I did."
Me: "muuuuurrrrffffftttt"
[While giving me the best scalp massage of my life]
Masseuse: "I've met lots of famous people, but the most important meeting was when I met my idol, Sophia Loren."
Me: "aaaaaaaahhhhh hhheeeeeemmmmmm"
Masseuse: "She took to me. She told me I was beautiful every day of the shoot."
Me: "nniiiiiice" (thinking to myself, "Say whatever you want, crazy lady. Just please, please do not stop.)
[END SCENE]
So you get the gist. My masseuse was a shameless namedropper, but damn, she had a pair of strong hands. She could spew right-wing politics or the benefits of fundamentalist Christianity and I'd be all, "Oh you are sooo right - can you work the shoulder a bit more?"
So though I had the best massage of my life, and had a wonderful time with my friends, I missed my husband and my dog. I slept soundly last night, sandwiched between the two, passing into deep, peaceful sleep in a matter of minutes.
xoxo A. |
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| I've been reading too much! |
[Mar. 26th, 2004|01:25 am] |
That is why I haven't written all week. See, Jase got Richard Clarke's book the first day it was available, and though I am supposed to be reading Under the Banner of Heaven, I am instead addicted to Against All Enemies.
Throughout the last 3 years, I have had a feeling that I have never experienced before - and I've had it many many times. It's best described as what Jase and I refer to as WTF - a What the Fuck? moment. This administration have lied to us, in several different ways, on several different issues, and then they think we're stupid enough to believe them. I spent my evening break not working on my novel or doing yoga. Instead I spent it trolling through Factiva - a news database we use for work - looking at all news articles written from 1/20/2001 to 9/10/2001 looking for any mention of President Bush acknowledging terrorism. I haven't found any yet. I'm pretty sure I won't.
Another WTF - Fox News. I cannot understand why sane individuals choose to go on that network. We watch it a lot in our house, because Jase likes to check out the enemy. And here's my conclusion on Fox - people need to stop treating them as if they are a viable news agency. They need to treat them like most people treat the National Enquirer. Don't humor them, people. This isn't real news. This is total propaganda. Dude - what country is this? When Fox News is leaked a confidential news briefing of Richard Clarke speaking on behalf of his boss, the President, and the same network that takes the White House leak and broadcasts it, then accuses Clarke of lying - dude, this is a definite WTF. The White House gave it to Fox and told them who the anonymous source was. Fair and balanced? I'd say Unfair and Compromised up the Ass. Clarke was asked by the Bush administration to spin the story to the reporter. He did his job, and now the White House who asked him to spin it are slipping it to Fox as proof that he's a liar. Only Fox grabbed it because no reputable news source would.
Richard Clarke is a hero. He is the first person who had the balls to apologize to the families of September 11. He isn't speaking out because he wants a job with the next administration or wants to sell his books. He's speaking out - he wrote this book - because he couldn't sleep at night knowing that President Bush was running on an anti-terrorism message. He is doing the right thing. It's rare. It's history. |
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| God, I am so competitive |
[Mar. 19th, 2004|01:01 am] |
I've gone through my whole life now - 33 years - believing I wasn't a competitive person. I really thought I didn't care about winning, only that I did my best and others' performances were not a reflection of my character.
As my dear dad would say, that's a bunch of bullshit.
I am in a pool for the NCAA basketball tournament with a bunch of men. All friends from college, including Jase. Matt is also in this league. I am convinced that Matt is my arch enemy, but more on this in a moment.
So I researched. I haven't watched college basketball all year, but damn it, I was not going into this blind. When I was supposed to be working on my novel, I was reading articles on ESPN.com. Finally, last night, I committed my picks to Yahoo.
I contemplated waking up early - at 10:00am - so I wouldn't miss a game, but I haven't split my ENTIRE personality yet, so I woke at my regular time, 11:30. I immediately turned on the game.
All day, I was in great shape. My prediction that 12 seed Manhattan would overtake 5 seed Florida proved to be correct. I should correct that - Dick Vitale's prediction proved to be correct. By the midway point, I was 10 for 11 - and would have had a perfect record if Alabama didn't beat Seton Hall by ONE POINT. (That's all it takes, said my arch enemy, but more on that in a moment).
I call brother Tommy, or as I call him, TT-Dog, and am SHOCKED he is not watching Michigan State get crushed by Nevada. I was freaking and wanted someone with whom to commiserate, but he was watching the Pistons, having flipped the channel when the godforsaken Spartans were leading by 8,000 points or something like that. Can you guess I picked Michigan State? It was all for my nephew Jack. Anyone who knows me knows I would never pick that sub-par Michigan college otherwise.
Then it all fell apart. I'm not in horrible shape - I missed 4 picks. I'm tied for second with Jase and a couple other people. But it is Matt, MATT, who is leading with 13. Yes, he is also tied with a bunch of other people. But see, my ego cannot take another loss to Matthew Owen Breed.
It started with an innocent game of poker. We were the final two and he trumped me, winning the entire pot. Fine. One loss isn't the end of the world, right?
Then we played again. And again, he trumped me. This makes two losses. I'm getting red-faced now, but I manage to keep it under control. He didn't make it easy, though, saying, "We're going to end up hating each other, aren't we?" as he moved MY chips toward his pile. No, WE aren't going to end up hating EACH OTHER. No. But I am going to end up hating YOU, M.O.B.
The straw that broke it all was the Oscars. I never lose the Oscar pool. Never. But Matt sees one FRICKIN nominated movie and he whoops my ass. Of course, that movie was The Lord of the Rings. Still, though. He pulled the best short documentary pick out of his ASS.
And now this. This is my time to finally squash him. And he's up by one. If I do win, my reward is this: Matt has to make me a gold crown and call me Your Highness for the remainer of the calendar year. He hasn't told me what he gets if he loses yet. It won't be pretty. But that is neither here nor there. My ego can't TAKE this. We live too close, we spend too much time together. This is quickly becoming a life-time quest - I. Must. Beat. Matt.
Jase and I had all these plans for our Friday. I have now scrapped them all and we are watching basketball all day long.
Competitive? Nah. But I may just reconsider law school. |
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| He Saved the Day |
[Mar. 17th, 2004|12:35 am] |
I talked to my nephew Jack today, for the first time since his out-of-town hockey tournament. Here's how it went down:
"Hi, Amy."
"Hi, Jack! I heard a story, and I wanted to tell you it."
"Oh, okay, alright. Go."
"It's about a hockey game. The score was 3-2, and 40 seconds before the game was ending, a player..."
"Actually, it was 30 seconds. 30 seconds. And the player was ME!!"
"The player shot the tying goal, keeping them from a loss!"
"Yeah, that was ME! And I SAVED the DAY!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There aren't many moments in one life where one can say, "I saved the day." I've been trying to think of the last time I saved the day, and I just draw a blank. I have no recollection of ever saving a day.
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So Jenny pointed out, that sometimes, I can be a brat. She said this after Jase and I had a big argument this weekend. We really haven't argued since moving to Seattle, but this weekend just blew up. Jen reminded me that Jase wouldn't be the Jase we know and love if he wasn't a stubborn jackass sometimes. And I wouldn't be the Amy we know and love if I wasn't a brat sometimes. My bratiness is definitely something I am working on.
Working together, living together, playing together. Most of the time it's great. Who wouldn't want to be with their best friend all day? But there are other days when he turns into the evil older brother, and he throws dimes at me, or pours coke on my head. And there are times I become the lecturing school marm, barking out orders and sighing LOUDLY when he doesn't complete them quickly enough. I realize that I would have made a horrible teacher - I have no patience at all, and I really get pissed off when Jase doesn't read my mind. Then I have to verbalize, which isn't any good at all. I got bratty and bitchy tonight. I feel bad now and though I have apologized, I will do so again here in public for all to hear. I'm sorry, Jase, that you are a stubborn jackass. Damn! there I go again with my brattiness! Really, Jase, I'm sorry.
Maybe tomorrow, I will save the day.
xoxo A. |
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| Too tired to rant |
[Mar. 12th, 2004|12:51 am] |
You all get a pass on my health care rant. It's just too depressing to go into, and frankly the whole thing bores the shit out of me. I am starting my weekend - and that rant isn't the most positive of first steps.
So let me share this funny cartoon my boss sent me today: http://flash.bushrecall.org/
Loved it. It was Matty's birthday today. He came over to get Dixie and I gave him my cherished pint of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream. Many years ago, when he was visiting us, we made Jase go out and get us Chubby Hubby. Well, Jase came back with Chunky Monkey, which is SO NOT Chubby Hubby. Chubby Hubby is vanilla with chocolate-covered, peanut-butter stuffed pretzels in it. Chunky Monkey has bananas and some sort of nut. Jase then told us that they discontinued the flavor. We were crushed.
Well, after my haircut I had Jase pick me up in front of the Ben & Jerry store at the mall. I was getting him a shake and looked in the freezer section and LO - thereth be Chubby Hubby! The clouds parted, the angels sang.
I generously gave this pint of gold to Matt for his birthday. I probably wouldn't have been so generous if I didn't see 6 more in the freezer!
Happy B-Day Matty! Our party is gonna kick ass. And everyone has to buy us tokens!!! YES!!!
xoxo A |
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| I'm worth $1,964,694.00 |
[Mar. 11th, 2004|12:23 am] |
Cousin Barbara emailed me this website while she was trolling the superhighway at 2:30am e.s.t. She knew I'd be working so we chatted on IM.
lonebuffalob: How fucked up is this: http://www.humanforsale.com
ritchiewoman: Dude! You must get some sleep. I'm not even going to ask what you were searching for when you found that.
lonebuffalob: Seriously, I'm going to be a zombie tomorrow - just a warning.
(Cousin Barbara and I work together).
So after work, I went to the site and filled out the questionnaire. Just a warning - I don't know how much spam this little entertainment is going to cost me. I don't know if it's tied to viruses or porn. I don't endorse this site in any way except to say it's great fun. You have to give them an email address and then they send you a link to your results. I recommend setting up a free, fake email without any personal information tied to it. I've had one for years and enter it every time a site asks for an email. I just checked it and I had 578 messages - all spam.
So anyway, I'm worth $1.9M. I'm worth more than the average female. I was walking around all proud and shit. But then I had Jase take it. Bastard.
He's worth: $2,250,370.00.
Dude, it's because he's a man. The white man gets all the breaks and we women are continually bumping our pretty heads on the glass ceiling. That sucks. Or does it????
This means, if something unfortunate was to happen to my beloved Jase, I could collect $2,250,370.00 in my Loss of Consortium case. Hmmmmmm........
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boo escaped from Dogster!!! All dogs who were posted between mid February and early March broke free and ran for the hills. I have to create another one. This means all his buddies are GONE. He worked so hard to get popular. I will post the link after I put it up there again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have a huge rant about health insurance and anti-depressants, but unfortunately (or fortunately for you guys) I have to walk this Boo creature. So wait with bated breath until tomorrow. All I'll say is, Canada is looking better than ever. If Bush gets re-selected, it's a no-brainer.
xoxo A. |
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| Ah, what a day. |
[Mar. 10th, 2004|12:37 am] |
I had a wonderful day. Worked. Got lots and lots of calls and cards and emails. My darling friend Jen dropped off a gift for me - a bronze figure called Benzaiten - one of the seven lucky deities of Japan. Jen says she's the patroness of artists, musicians and writers. She thought it would give me inspiration. It is the most thoughtful gift. She warms my heart, that girl. She's good with the gifts.
I also received a huge basket of spring flowers from my bosses. You can't help but smile when you look at a huge backet of spring flowers. Tulips, daisies, and a bunch of other stuff I've seen before but don't know the names. That was nice.
I got myself a massage, which was only OK. I'm kind of a massage snob now, cuz I am an expert masseuse. So I know what's good and what's not. I've also had LOTS of massages. So I'd just give this one a 5. Got the caterpillars, I mean eyebrows, waxed. Then off to hair.
My hairdresser just cracked me up the whole time. I told her I was 33 today, and she said, "Girl, I'm 41 in a couple weeks, and I'm still looking for a man, okay? So don't you even talk to me about your 33 - now, let's make you SASSY!" We laughed and talked the whole time. I forgot I was getting my hair cut. Luckily she knows what she's doing and I left looking 10 times better.
Then back to work, and now to bed. Normally, I would be experiencing post-birthday depression, but since I've implemented Birthday Week a few years ago, it's not that bad. See - I celebrate my birthday for an entire week - which means that I don't have to do any chore in the house I don't want to do. Basically, it just removes the guilt factor. So I have 5 more days of pampering. You should implement it in your house! It's great (when it's your birthday, that is - when it's his, then not so great - then you're dragging out garbage pails in the rain)
Gonna go listen to the new IPod now. Later.
xoxo A. |
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| AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHH |
[Mar. 9th, 2004|12:00 am] |
I'm 33!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
33.
three-three.
33.
thirty and three.
My joke is usually "(insert age) and barren" It was really funny when I turned 30. Still kinda funny at 31. Then around 32 people got that kind-of funny-uncomfortable laugh thing going.
This year, it's just going to be sad. People will sigh and shake their heads. The ones with kids will place their hands on my shoulder and say, "It will happen... someday." Then they will return to their homes talking about how sad it is that Amy is so old and still doesn't have kids. "Aren't we lucky, honey, that I am so fertile?" the woman will say.
Well, I'm not gonna say it this year. This year, instead of feeling bad, I will revel in all that I can do: I can sleep until noon. Every day. I can drink champagne. When I'm done with my Asian shift, I can play Sim City 4 for the full 5 hours before I begin my European shift. Then I can play again, until 4 in the morning. I can go to Lucky and still buy jeans in size 0. My husband buys me fun gadgets for my birthday, like a mini Ipod. I can spend my break tomorrow getting a massage. And an eyebrow waxing. And a haircut! I am going out with all of my wonderful friends to eat chicken wings and pizza and drink beer while we play video games. And I have these wonderful people in my life who have said the following to me, all within the past 24 hours:
Peggy, bosswoman: I am so happy you were born. I ADORE YOU!!!
Andie, MIL: We couldn't have picked a more perfect daughter!
Joan, Mom and head decorator: You're one of the best parts of our family.
Jason, husband and partner in crime: I love being us, with u.
Boo, dog-child: *snort* *snort* lick lick right on the lips.
I've got it really good. I'm really happy to be here to see this day.
xoxo A. |
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| Breakthrough |
[Mar. 3rd, 2004|01:59 am] |
First, before I detail my exciting breakthrough, let me tell you about book club last night.
Five of the women came - Jenny (of course), Amy, Judy, Chiara and Gael. We ate quiche and drank wine and only spoke briefly about the book, which is how a great book club meeting should be. We instead spoke about religion and growing up and how we all detested pretty boys. We talked about parents and spouses and Burning Man. This is a great grouping of intelligent, funny funny women. I am so grateful to Jen for bringing me into the group. It has been so long since I've spent time with a group of girlfriends. It reminded me of the late nights at Helen Newberry, sitting at the tables in front of the library, our books unopened before us as we talked until dawn. There was a space inside me that was craving that. I didn't realize it until it was filled.
My dear friend Jen, how happy I am to be living near you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tonight, I missed the second hair appointment in a row because some hackers got into our server again. The bossman, whom I call Sensei, called and gave me the back door entrance to our publishing tool. This meant that I had to sit around and enter stories for anyone who couldn't get into the tool. It also meant that my hair was going to be ignored, yet again.
My writing class, too, was a no-go. But at around 7pm, the server began functioning again. I decided to treat myself to one of my Netflixs. So we watched Meeting People is Easy, a documentary about the band Radiohead and the year following the release of their off-the-charts album, OK Computer. Thom Yorke, first of all, is sort of a god to me. Radiohead is extremely important to my creative life, as I listen to it whenever I am writing. It never fails to inspire me. I am listening right now, in fact, and have been ever since watching the film tonight.
I was listening to a song called No Surprises, and thinking about my book. And that's when the breakthrough occured. I realized that the fact that Marlowe's brother was dead was really stagnating everything for me. I mean, when the 2nd most important character is dead, she could only learn about him in the third person, from people who don't know her, don't love her. It seemed really disjointed and as you all know, it kept me from writing. That and the fact that I didn't know what she looked like.
But then I thought - what if her brother wasn't dead. What if he's not dead, but he's dying. Of AIDS. Which is why he was estranged from his family - being gay did not comport with his parents' religious beliefs. So they shunned him. So he reaches out, now, to his estranged sister to commission her to write his eulogy. So Marlowe leaves her small town and her conservatively religious upbringing behind, and goes to San Francisco, and meets this gay, dying brother. And they get to know each other, under the context of her writing his eulogy. And he dies. But it's good, because getting to know this unknown brother, the first gay man she's ever met, the first eulogy subject she's met before they died, opens her up to this entirely new life - one where love is just love - and God must be okay with it. At least the God she believes in is okay with it. It's as much about finding out who she is as it is about finding out who the brother is.
This gave me a much-needed kick in the ass. I rewrote the beginning of the book again and include it here. Read if you like. Now that I know where I'm going, I'm just so excited about it. I can't even tell you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Final Words
Marlowe slipped through the door at the side of the church just as the funeral began. She stayed behind the rough marble wall, hidden from the handful of mourners clustered in front of the altar. There she stood, concealed like a spy, waiting to hear her words out loud.
She peeked around the wall, getting a glance at the altar. Mrs. Ida Lister lay still in the open casket - the ivory silk lining gleaming in an otherwise gray cold church on a gray cold day. Marlowe half expected it to be lined in crimson red. She smiled to herself. Now that would be something.
As the priest spoke about life and death and better places, Marlowe slipped behind the wall again and thought back to when she first met Mrs. Lister. It was three days after her death, when her daughter Patricia called. She was given Marlowe's name by Walter Cayton, owner and operator of Cayton's Funeral Home.
She spoke her words tenatively at first, turning statements into questions. "Mr. Cayton gave me your number? He said you could help me write a eulogy?" She sighed, then softly stated, "See, my mother just died."
Thirty minutes later, Marlowe and Patricia met over coffee and that is when Marlowe was introducted to Mrs. Lister. Patricia was nervous, clutching at the delicate chain around her neck, sliding the gold cross back and forth, back and forth. "This is just so strange," she said to Marlowe, who just nodded. "I am so bad with words - and I want her to be remembered right."
Marlowe put down her coffee cup, picked up her pen and notebook, and asked, "What made your mother happy, Mrs. Armando?"
Patricia stopped fiddling with her necklace then, and folded both hands in her lap. She began to smile as tears welled up in her eyes. She then began to talk about her mother.
Marlowe stole another glance, and watched her new client approached the pulpit and read the words she hired Marlowe to write.
"My mother was a woman of simple joys. She loved the autumn, and waited in anticipation all year for the colors to change. She loved her crossword puzzles, insisting on completing them in pen up until the week before she died. But the thing she loved the most was watching the Cincinnati Reds every baseball season."
Patricia took a deep breath, just as Marlowe instructed her. "One thing to remember, Mrs. Armando," she said when giving her the final draft, "there is no need to rush. Speak slowly, and clearly. Don't forget to breathe. And don't be nervous. You're just sharing some thoughts with friends."
Patricia continued. "Her hearing had deteriorated, so the baseball games were a pure delight to her: no complicated plot to follow, no heavy dialogue to hear. She could just watch the action unfold, and cheer with the rest of the fans when a ball was hit over the fence.
"Every morning she would putter down her driveway in her housecoat and slippers to get the newspaper. She always read the sports page first, drinking her morning tea and eating her cinnamon toast. She knew the players better than some of her oldest friends - not only their statistics, but also their personal lives. Those times we watched the games together, she would point to a player approaching the plate, readying himself to hit the ball. 'See this one?' she would say to me, 'This one has five children - all in Catholic school. Can you imagine the expense?' She'd laugh and reach for another peppermint starlight, her favorite candy she kept in a china dish next to her easy chair.
"Last Christmas, after all of the presents were opened and all of the kids had scattered to play with their new toys, it was just me and Mom then, sitting on the couch admiring the fire crackling and popping in the fireplace, watching the Christmas lights twinkle on the Christmas tree. It was finally peaceful in a day full of shouts of joy and excitement. I asked my mom if there was anything in life she wanted to do, anything in life she hadn't gotten to yet. She smiled, and softly told me, 'What I really want to do, before I die, is go to an opening game. This year would be heavenly, what with the new stadium and all.'
"We took her to that opening day, the first game at the new Great American Ball Park. She wore a giant Reds t-shirt over her blouse, and her favorite Reds baseball cap over her tight, grey curls. Though she half-heartedly protested, we bought every souvenier we could, every pennant, miniature bat and baseball. We even got her a giant foam hand, which she wore throughout the game, raising it high and saying, 'We're number one!'"
The guests laughed out loud at the image of tiny Mrs. Lister waving her giant red foam hand. She was fully alive again, in their minds. The piece was definitely working. Patricia smiled, and then began to laugh. Her eyes were sparkling, for just a moment. She took another deep breath, and continued.
"The look on my mother's face that day reminded me of a black and white photo of her I have tucked in the corner of my mirror. It was of when she was a little girl, in front of her childhood home, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, swinging on a tire."
Marlowe smiled. This was not in the original eulogy. Patricia was better with words than she believed.
"A couple of days before her passing, she waved me over to her bedside. She said to me, 'I'm ready to go see heaven now.' Through my tears, I asked if she was scared. 'Scared? No,' she said. 'I'm excited to see it. It will be just lovely.' She didn't say much after that, and two days later, she fell asleep and drifted to heaven.
"I imagine her in a place where all sounds are clear and bright, where peppermint starlights hang from the trees, and where baseball season doesn't end.
"I end with a qoute from a baseball player from another team, Jackie Robinson, who said, 'A life is not important except in the impact it had on other lives.'
"Well, Mom, you must be one of the most important people in the world, because you have impacted my life, my family's life, and the lives of everyone here, so greatly. We will all miss you so much."
The guests were quiet now, hopefully remembering their own stories with Mrs. Lister. Marlowe smiled. Mrs. Lister was brought back to life, for only a few moments. It was the best a eulogy writer could hope for.
xoxo A. |
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