Escorts

I love my nephews. I adore my nieces, too, but there is a special spot in me for my nephews. Today I held one for almost an hour while he banged his fist on the table (he was so very obliging, and did not bang in my food or spit up all over me, though he is a "drool-bot" and could win a contest with one gland tied, probably. (This is a joke.) He is almost three months old and is in a very smiley stage of life. He is so cute! His li'l eyebrows are so expressive, his eyes so blue, his eyelashes so long, his need to suck on things so great...he is a gift. Every new thing he does astonishes; he smells so sweet and his skin just shines with light. It made me think that even if I didn't believe in heaven, that I might believe that's where he came from anyway, because of how his whole being shines.

My other nephew is empathetic. He knows what I need and just how to touch my heart and make it tender again. Today, he told me that he hoped that I would be able to enjoy every day at work, that I could relax, that my friends would be nice to me, and that he wished I would call him on Friday afternoon so we could be in better contact. He gave me so many hugs and kisses today, freely, without prompting. He held my hand and squeezed it sweetly. He told me he loved me, and walked me to my car to say goodbye, before opening the door for me, and then, upon being told that I needed the drivers seat door open, promptly walked around the car and did it again, perfectly intent on helping me. I wanted to cry. It was so genuine, so caring, so unselfconcious, so freely given. And the tenderness with which he and my niece each kissed my cheek and hugged me, and the determination with which he ran after me yelling, "Goodbye! I love you! Goodbye!" until he couldn't see me anymore nearly broke my heart. I teared up and could barely drive away.

I feel so grateful for the love of these boys and their families. Being told repeatedly that I am "Best Auntie Ever" (a title for which there are unending "ties" in terms of number of places) makes me feel so popular, so wanted, so cared for. If, indeed, I am tied for "Best Ever," it's because I have the best nieces and nephews ever -- so easy to love, and some of that stems from the love my siblings have for me.

Thank you, siblings. Thank you, nieces and nephews. Thank you, everybody who loves me and makes me feel special, even on days when I'm just sure that all the special beans for the day got sown in someone else's field (forgive the reference, but I played Bohnanza today) and mine is all hopelessly dried up and there is no special crop to harvest.

burps and breakfast

A recent breakfast conversation:

Nephew: *burps loudly*
His mom: If you must do that, please do this. (Covers her face with a napkin.)
Nephew: You mean, covering it up?
His mom: Yes.
Nephew: But then no one will be able to HEAR IT!
*me shaking the table from silent laughter*
His mom: Yes, dear. That's the point.

I love family time. 

summary of sisterhood :: misplaced modifiers

Sisters are the best.

Sistern, sissies...sistahs...they're all little nicknames for marvelous people that have all the best ways to comfort you, the fastest ways to get under your skin, and the capacity give you tough but necessary love when you need it most.

Recently, I had a conversation with my li'l sis that went like this (via text):

Me: I got a message from so-and-so today. (So-and-So and I had been on a couple of dates.) He said he was sorry, the truth is that he "enjoyed getting to know me immensely" but that he was "focusing more on a girl he met in Utah" and that he would "appreciate any opportunity to remain friends and include me in social activities in the future."

[I should say that I was not surprised by what he had to say.  In fact, I gave him full points for actually letting me know, as most people don't even give that courtesy these days. The wording of his text seemed like he was...trying too hard to be nice. Perhaps I am extra critical of him, as being rejected, two dates or twenty, is not most people's idea of fun. I do believe he was trying to be kind, but it seemed a little over the top. Not that I'm really complaining, of course -- merely making an observation. I would much rather rejectors try too hard to be nice than to be jerkfaces.]

Her response came back almost immediately:

"Tell him he misplaces his modifiers. I doubt he knows you "immensely."

 I laughed and laughed, as the "immensely" was what caught my attention, as well.

Hip Hop Heat

It's been a crazy few weeks. I feel like I haven't gotten anything done...really, I have, but not the normal sorts of things that I usually do. I've been a little more social than usual and I have been listening to new music. A lot of music. And I've even gotten started on another song; when I have it done I'll put it up.

On Sunday I went south for my nephew's hip hop dance recital. He stole the show. He choregraphed his own solo and it got the loudest in-number applause of any dance recital. Perhaps he had the most people there representing him as well (he is well-loved: eleven people came to see him). It made me wish I had danced more as a child -- indeed, that I danced more now. There were some adult classes and the ladies were definitely getting up there. I liked the confidence with which they danced though. I wished there were more boys dancing, too. It seems in our culture we shame boys into thinking that dancing isn't cool. It IS cool. Very cool. I hope he continues, because he has such a talent, it would be so sad to see him not develop it.

It has been so hot. SO HOT. I get home and I roast. I can sweat by just standing still. It's ridiculous. Today I wore SHORTS to work. I have never done that in the history of ever. But I knew I had to stay at work all day (no escaping to the relative cool cave of the library) and so I just bit the bullet and did it.

And yesterday we had an outdoor chess tournament. I lost, as I always do, but I did it with a smile on my face.

If you're looking for some good songs to listen to, I recommend "You Don't Know Where Your Interests Lie" and "Punky's Dilemma" by Simon & Garfunkel. You who know me best know that it's hard to get me to laugh out loud -- I'm more of a smiler. I laughed out loud to BOTH of these. My favorite lines are "Obviously, you're going to blow it..." and when the English muffin makes the most of a toaster. Or perhaps "I'm a Citizens for Boysenberry Jam fan."  Either way, good stuff.

That's a lot of small almost-nothings that I hope turned into a something. In any case, life is going well. And that's something to write about.

Bits of Honey at Breakfast

A recent breakfast conversation:

K: "Mom, have I ever eaten any candy you didn't want me to eat?"
W (her mom): "You do that all the time."
K: "No, not like that! Candy that you think is super disgusting."
--pause--
W: "Bit o Honeys."
Me: *shudder of horror* "Yes! Bit o Honeys!"
K: "What are "Bit o Honeys?"
W: "They're candies that taste disgusting. When we were kids, nobody wanted to eat them at Halloween. All of us (her and her siblings) would eat everything else and then the icky Bit o Honeys would be all that was left."
K: "Why are they disgusting?"
A (her dad): Because they're made with only a little bit o honey!"
K: "Yeah"
--then, with all the derision a ten year old can muster--
"I bet they are made with PASTEURIZED honey!"
W, looking at A: "Wow, we have successfully raised food snobs, haven't we?" in between bursts of laughter. K looked extremely pleased with herself that she had managed to amuse the whole table so easily. 

Then, a couple of minutes later:

K: "Mom, what is pasteurization?"


---
Note: K had heard several times from her mom and other families of the health benefits of eating raw honey. She knew raw honey was superior, but hadn't yet picked up on all the nuances of exactly /why/ it is preferable. I am proud of her that she asked, later, why pasteurization is not preferable when choosing honey products, instead of just assuming that because someone said it is superior that it is, just because they said so.

Peachy Pearly Birthday Cake

Last weekend I went to a birthday party for one of my favorite people on the planet. We had mac n cheese, saw Big Hero 6, and I even had a piece of "black pearl" birthday cake. Although the pearls look pretty, eating pearls is kind of an unpleasant experience and I ended up focusing more on the frosting.

On the way to the movie, I took this picture. It was raining most of the weekend, but it cleared up for just long enough for me to get this shot of a beautiful tree and my beautiful people.

Spring has come early! And, despite the allergies that it I have had, and the drought we are in, I am grateful.

And I am grateful that  I have people -- pictured or not -- who love me and want me to have a peachy pearly life and yummy birthday cake.

Whaddaya bet?

I was at my sister's house. I was talking to her about something...I don't remember what. Seems like I talk a lot, so it's sometimes hard to remember exactly what I was saying. We were standing by the kitchen sink, and the kids were in the next room -- in eyesight, just a few feet away. I was getting passionate about something, and I said, "well, if it were me, I would do it. You bet your booty I would!"

IPGM piped up and said, "Auntie, you just said "bet your booty!" (He is rather fond of all things body and bodily, currently.) I said, "oops, sorry..." not sure that I had overstepped the line of propriety. My sis assured me that I had not.

The kids were playing Minecraft. I thought they would just ignore me and go back to their sheep-making, zombie-smashing ways immediately and forget about it. But then, after a few seconds, both kids softly started singing, "bet bet bet, bet bet bet, bet your booty, bet your booty!" IPGM has all the dance moves and he was grooving along while he was singing it. K was keeping it on key and at a good tempo. It was all their mom and I could do not to roll on the floor laughing.

The kids realized the adults were trying to hold the laughter in so they started singing louder and more exaggeratedly. It was hilarious. I had no idea they had ever heard the original, but I just thought to myself, "I love my family. I love that we do things like make song parodies. I love that we make time for each other. And I love that we aren't self-conscious about being silly!"

Fancy Amaryllis

There's a song that's been going around the radio waves that I really don't like. The problem is that it's very catchy. The lyrics don't really make sense all the time, and when they do, you wish they didn't.

For the longest time, I thought the first line of the song was "First things, first, Amaryllis." Like the singer was addressing her friend, whose parents were flowery and also maybe not very nice because they named their child Amaryllis.

Turns out, she's saying, "First things first, I'm a realist."

I was really disappointed when I found that out.

Just like I was really glad when I found out the lyrics to "All About that Bass" were really "no treble" instead of "no trouble" like she makes it sound on the recording.

*cough* Anyway.

I was talking with my sister about growing garlic the other day. I really want to grow it because I use it and because I'm trying to grow things I eat and be a little more self-sufficient in that way. I have very limited space with which to experiment, so I have to be kinda careful, but I'm really hoping that this winter's garlic experiment will turn out to be a rousing success.

I checked out a few different books about different kinds of garlic, when to plant, what they look like, etc. And that's when I found out that garlic and amaryllis are actually in the same family. Who knew that something so beautiful and something so smelly were so closely related?

I love garlic and I've always had a special spot in my heart for amaryllis, so I was pleasantly surprised to learn of their shared genetic traits.

I'm probably the last person to figure this out, but the point is the journey, right? Now I'll never forget!

Blood and Water -- Naturally

There's a saying that blood's thicker than water. I don't know if it actually is thicker, but I had an experience lately that made me think about it.

First, if you don't like blood, don't read this.

Second, I apologize in advance to the other party in this blog post. I hope she can forgive me for talking about something that is very personal, and not generally talked about in public. If she reads it and doesn't like it, I might take it down. But I believe the point will come clear, and perhaps she will not be mad.

Awhile ago I was visiting a sister of mine. (She's my blood. We used to tease her that her legs were painted on because she used to ask us to go get water for her when she was thirsty, instead of getting her water for herself:::Blood. Water. Blood was thicker, so we always ended up getting her water for her, even if sometimes it was with some grumbling.)

I was in the middle of my period. Sometimes, accidents happen, and things get bled on. I bled on her sheets. It's the kind of thing that if it has to happen away from home, I suppose it's best to have it happen at a sister's house, because hopefully, she's understanding, and it's slightly less embarrassing to go tell her, "Hey! I'm trying to take care of this problem, but we need to do laundry. Now." than it is to tell a stranger or an acquaintance.

I woke up and rolled over and realized what had happened and inwardly groaned. Great! How embarrassing. I went to tell her what had happened. She was very understanding and wasn't mad at all or impatient. I was really grateful, as I felt a little silly. I told her as much, and she told me a story I had completely forgotten about.

A long time ago, when I was a pretty young teenager, we went to visit somebody. I want to say Aunt M was part of it, but I don't remember that for sure. I do remember I had recently been through puberty, and I was having a rough go of it. (Most people do, so I don't really feel too sorry for myself about it.) My sister was sitting on my lap. My lap was bigger than her lap, and there weren't enough seats, and I was not yet old enough to care about having no leg circulation. She sat on my lap and I put my arms around her, and we chatted with our relatives (or whoever it was) for awhile. It was summertime, because I was wearing shorts.

When she stood up, I realized that she had bled through her clothes onto my lap, and there was a rusty stain on the fabric of my shorts. She must have been perched at the end of my lap, because even though my shorts were pretty long, it was close to the hemline. I remember thinking, "Oh no. How embarrassing for her!" and I wanted to let her know that she needed to change her clothes, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it and embarrass her any more than was absolutely necessary. Mentioning it in front of all our relatives (probably not everybody in the room was female, and it would have greatly mortified me to point it out in mixed company) would have been really rude, I felt, and embarrassed her.

It never occurred to me to get mad or cause a scene. I was just anxious for her to get full understanding of the situation so she could take steps accordingly. So when she stood up, I tugged on her hand to get her attention, pointed to the stain to let her know what had happened, and then rolled the hem of my shorts up in a little cuff in order to cover the stain. It wasn't a natural place for a bloodstain to be, and I didn't want anyone else to notice. For once in my life, I believe I actually acted nonchalant!

She said she was so grateful that I didn't make a big deal of it. I guess I could have squealed and been like, "Eeeew, she bled on me!" and made a fuss. But really...I just rationalized it: Everybody has things about their bodies they can't control. She couldn't control that, and besides, it's not like any damage was done, so I just went about my day and changed my shorts later.

She told me this story as she put hydrogen peroxide on the stain I had just made, and kind of made the point that I could bleed on anything I wanted, because she was really grateful that I hadn't freaked out on that day. It made me think. To me, it wasn't a big deal at all, but to her, she was grateful to be spared mortification.

We need both blood and water. We need people--our "blood"--to take care of us and get us out of sticky wickets, and we need water to get rid of the residue. When we have waterworks, it's our blood who take care of us. When we bleed, it's sometimes the water of acceptance -- which sometimes we do not offer freely enough to our blood -- that we need to flow around us and clean us up.

So, my dear sister, blood and water go together -- naturally. And so next time you ask me for a glass of water, I'll get it for you without complaining. Because I'm your sister -- your blood. And that's just one of the things sisters do for each other.

Good Love

I wanna know what love is / I want you to show me / 
I wanna feel what love is / I know you can show me / 
Here I go again / Here I go again 

I went to Texas for a glorious week and a half. I had such a good time. There was:

good food :: for Outings, the peach donut was probably my favorite, although the salted caramel shake at the Alamo Draft House is really hard to beat. For Innings, hands down, it was the Beef Book!! Sooooo yummy.
good movies :: I saw A Christmas Story for the first time, and although I'm not sure this can qualify as truly "good," I now get the leg lamp references. I also saw The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, Muppet Christmas Carol,  and Better Off Dead, as well as the Christmas episode of ISWAK. 
good games :: Whoowasit? was my favorite new game. I think I played it five times. (!) We had an entire game marathon, playing classics like Monopoly and Labyrinth, and oldies like Apples to Apples and Ticket to Ride: Europe. I also like Make n Break, and the addition of Enchanted Forest was good, too.
good conversations :: like only sisters can have. Of course, those devolved into random memory remembrances and also a lip sync contest. Which turned into a next-day karaoke contest. Apparently I have more rocker in me than W thought. Hehe. Just remember, W, that the louder I sing, the more comfy I am.
good books :: I read Murphy's Boy on the plane, and it was good. I also read the entirety of James and the Giant Peach to the kids in less than three days. There were also some forgettable books, but we won't mention them here (although one of them was a misbegotten choice of a Dan Brown book), so they will be forgotten.
good love :: I got hundreds of kisses, and hundreds of hugs, and hundreds of "I love you's."
Life really does not get much better than that.

When I was in the car, on the way to the airport, IGPM reached over and just held my hand. It almost made me cry. I thought to myself, "this is what love is. Love is reaching out for another person and knowing that they will welcome your touch...whether they need reassurance, or they are the one doing the reassuring."

He knew he could reach for my hand and that I would let him lace my fingers between my own. He didn't have to say anything. No explanations were necessary. My niece knows she can kiss my cheek any time and I will be happy to receive it. She is confident that if she extends her graceful neck toward me, I will meet her.

Love is mostly knowing that the other person will be there...that they'll meet you in the middle, that they'll reach out to you when you're scared or hurt, that they'll let you reach out to them when they're in a pickle or need some help.

My Christmas present was good love. Can't ask Santa Claus for a much better present than that!!