I came out of our bedroom the other day after folding a load of laundry only to hear the sweet sounds of Brahm’s Lullaby coming from Ocean’s nursery. I walked into her fabulously pink room to see John standing with one hand on the edge of her crib and the other petting the scrumptiously soft pink ballerina sheets covering her mattress. Her mobile was twirling away and John had a distant look in his eyes.
I walked in and put my hand on his shoulder. He looked at me and said, “I can’t believe that I’m an adult now, I still feel like a big kid. “I can’t believe that I’m going to be responsible, entirely responsible for another life, how did I become so grown up?” I hugged him and we finished listening to the lullaby. Much was discussed that night regarding how quickly things have progressed to this point. It’s been something that both of us wanted, yet never really believed that we could achieve.
We’ve been together since June 16th of 2006. The day I left my ex-husband was the day I began a new life with John. I knew from the moment I met him at work that there was something about him, I was immediately head over heels for him and spent quite a bit of time irrationally irritated at him because I was still married and couldn’t get him out of my mind. He made me weigh my options, and I knew that the life I had been living was not even a shell of the life I wanted for myself—so I left it behind and never looked back.
I wasn’t sure if John would be there like I hoped he would, but I knew that leaving was the only thing I could do to save the remnants of myself. John was more than there and within a month I was wearing the most amazing engagement ring on my finger and living a fairytale life that I thought would only be mine in dreams. We spent many lazy afternoons lying in bed, looking out the window and talking about what we wanted in life.
John said that he wanted children. I had never wanted to be a mom when I was with my ex, but with John, all I could think about was how great of a father he would be and how complete my life would feel being a mother. We talked about backyard barbeques, and white picket fences, big gardens full of flowers, and football games, cheer meets and birthday parties… I couldn’t believe that all of this could be mine, much less, that I was with someone who I honestly believe was reading my mind. I know we were seeing the same images in our imaginations.
John’s first gift to me was a card and an African Violet, his card apologized for the fact that he couldn’t get me a garden right now, but that he would in the future. He hoped that his flower would hold me over till then. We moved into an apartment together two months after Chapter One of my fairytale. I planted our patio area with some variegated ginger, Impatiens, and a few other odds and ends. Friends would stop by for bbq’s and we would inevitably end up outside on the patio chatting and enjoying a couple beers. I fell even more in love with John the day he fiercely defended my flowers from an ill placed foot. I couldn’t believe that he paid that much attention to my little garden and was willing to go to battle for it.
Fast forward to the first days in our home—our very own home—we have a white picket fence now, a lot of nice toys, the start of a garden, and a daughter on the way. John looked at me one night and took my hands in his. He asked me what else I wanted in life, saying “well May, we have our white picket fence, we’ve got our garden, our dogs and our baby on the way… I’m a cop, doing what I’ve always wanted to do, and I can hardly believe we’ve made it here. I think that we can do anything.”
We’ve spent hours laying next to each other propped up on pillows and dreaming big dreams about the future. Who knows which ones we’ll choose to pursue. Some have come in delirious states, like the ones that may have been overheard by nurses in the halls of UCLA shortly after we were engaged. John had a stroke and amidst tears of pain and fear we talked about what our future held. When he was conscious, he spent his time telling me that everything was going to be ok, petting my hair and singing to me. He asked me to marry him yet again during one of those sleepless nights spent in a hospital bed.
Nothing stopped or even really slowed our progress towards what we wanted, and now, well, now we have it. Granted, we are in Southern Georgia, but our life is beautiful, and we’re all grown up. Ha, yeah, well, as grown up as two scared 20 something-year-olds can be. I can’t believe how quickly this has all happened, and it scares me that the rest of my life will come in a flash. I don’t want to miss anything, for everything is exactly as I dreamed it would be. I don’t want to blink for fear that Ocean will be walking down the aisle with her very own prince charming before I know it. I want nothing more than for her to feel as fortunate and lucky in life as I do—my heart hurts with the tremendous amount of gratitude I carry in it and I spend my days eternally grateful for all that I have.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Nostalgia
I out-waited the gnats tonight. I went outside at 8:30PM and commenced pulling weeds and deadheading my gigantically overgrown rose bushes. I found myself thinking about a conversation I had with Lindy this afternoon as I drove her to the airport. She helped me tremendously, I mean, help doesn’t even really qualify as an appropriate word for what she did for me—she actually unpacked my entire house and put together the most incredible nursery. Ocean’s room really does look like something out of a magazine; it’s beyond anything I could have dreamed of.
Lindy and I talked about a lot of things in the ten days that she was here, many of them old subjects which had been graced numerous times, yet which we are reluctant to give up, for there may be a new way of approaching them if we keep at it. Out of this bunch of topics, being a new home owner and an expectant mother came to the forefront. She mentioned how this—my life—would seem surreal; almost as if I am living someone else’s for some time to come… I was unaware how obvious it was that I am still floored by the path my life has taken.
Perhaps all these new things in my life, and the easing in that I am doing to the realization that these things are indeed pieces of my own life, not someone else’s, are causing me to become rather nostalgic. I found myself at my rosebushes tonight—as I had mentioned earlier—really giving it to them good with my handy dandy clippers. It seemed like they had never seen a pair of clippers in their lives; but that is all beside the point. For a minute, I felt that I was in my parent’s garden at our Malibu house. I can remember the long days of weed pulling culminating with my mother watering her gigantic birds nest ferns which had been strategically placed in front of the “real” front door, to usher approaching visitors to the left and in through the sliding glass doors.
My father made the planters these ferns inhabited, and I did not realize how lucky my mother was to have someone with the ability to go to his little shop in downtown Inglewood and come home with something that would cost a fortune to buy in the store. Her garden was beautiful, so tropical, and so a part of them—together. It was established, older, well loved—it was theirs and someday I hope to have something as eclectically beautiful to call my own.
My father was not a huge fan of the actual gardening part per se, don’t get me wrong, he’d get out there on a Sunday afternoon and pull his fair share of weeds, always keeping up with the best of us, but he certainly did not revel in the task. His forte was accessorizing—dressing the garden up in a new set of stairs, making star gazers (which I wish I had a few of my own), and doing all the heavy work. I thought that I hated those times when I was younger, I mean, it was time out of my Sunday spent getting dirty, finding grotesque alien looking bugs, being pricked by thorns, and fighting with every weed that came my way. I really thought that I would not miss having to go out in the yard and pull weeds—I was wrong.
I miss the time spent bent over a plot of land pulling out milk weeds, and jumping back when a grub came out of the ground with the roots of a giant weed. I miss my mom going inside at around 1:30 in the afternoon to make sandwiches for everyone. I miss watching the sun go down off of our deck—watching it duck into the sea and listening to my dad tell tales of the Merchant Marines. I miss smelling wet dirt while my mom finished up watering and my dad told me that the green flash, although clothed in all sorts of lore and fairy tales did in fact happen every time the sun went down and that there was some kind of scientific explanation for it but he wasn’t really sure what it was. I had such a rich young life.
I hope I can give that same gift to Ocean. I want her to moan and groan about coming out into the garden with me, but I hope secretly she enjoys it. I hope that she too will look in her flower beds when she buys her first home in hopes of seeing a weed she can pull. I hope that her husband talks as fondly of her green thumb as her father does of mine. I hope she likes the smell of wet dirt, and I hope she never gets sick of hearing about her grandparents, for the older I get, the more I hope I can be like them.
Lindy and I talked about a lot of things in the ten days that she was here, many of them old subjects which had been graced numerous times, yet which we are reluctant to give up, for there may be a new way of approaching them if we keep at it. Out of this bunch of topics, being a new home owner and an expectant mother came to the forefront. She mentioned how this—my life—would seem surreal; almost as if I am living someone else’s for some time to come… I was unaware how obvious it was that I am still floored by the path my life has taken.
Perhaps all these new things in my life, and the easing in that I am doing to the realization that these things are indeed pieces of my own life, not someone else’s, are causing me to become rather nostalgic. I found myself at my rosebushes tonight—as I had mentioned earlier—really giving it to them good with my handy dandy clippers. It seemed like they had never seen a pair of clippers in their lives; but that is all beside the point. For a minute, I felt that I was in my parent’s garden at our Malibu house. I can remember the long days of weed pulling culminating with my mother watering her gigantic birds nest ferns which had been strategically placed in front of the “real” front door, to usher approaching visitors to the left and in through the sliding glass doors.
My father made the planters these ferns inhabited, and I did not realize how lucky my mother was to have someone with the ability to go to his little shop in downtown Inglewood and come home with something that would cost a fortune to buy in the store. Her garden was beautiful, so tropical, and so a part of them—together. It was established, older, well loved—it was theirs and someday I hope to have something as eclectically beautiful to call my own.
My father was not a huge fan of the actual gardening part per se, don’t get me wrong, he’d get out there on a Sunday afternoon and pull his fair share of weeds, always keeping up with the best of us, but he certainly did not revel in the task. His forte was accessorizing—dressing the garden up in a new set of stairs, making star gazers (which I wish I had a few of my own), and doing all the heavy work. I thought that I hated those times when I was younger, I mean, it was time out of my Sunday spent getting dirty, finding grotesque alien looking bugs, being pricked by thorns, and fighting with every weed that came my way. I really thought that I would not miss having to go out in the yard and pull weeds—I was wrong.
I miss the time spent bent over a plot of land pulling out milk weeds, and jumping back when a grub came out of the ground with the roots of a giant weed. I miss my mom going inside at around 1:30 in the afternoon to make sandwiches for everyone. I miss watching the sun go down off of our deck—watching it duck into the sea and listening to my dad tell tales of the Merchant Marines. I miss smelling wet dirt while my mom finished up watering and my dad told me that the green flash, although clothed in all sorts of lore and fairy tales did in fact happen every time the sun went down and that there was some kind of scientific explanation for it but he wasn’t really sure what it was. I had such a rich young life.
I hope I can give that same gift to Ocean. I want her to moan and groan about coming out into the garden with me, but I hope secretly she enjoys it. I hope that she too will look in her flower beds when she buys her first home in hopes of seeing a weed she can pull. I hope that her husband talks as fondly of her green thumb as her father does of mine. I hope she likes the smell of wet dirt, and I hope she never gets sick of hearing about her grandparents, for the older I get, the more I hope I can be like them.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Procrastination Revisited
So, it has been a while, as I’m sure the date on my last blog and the date on this current one will be more than willing to reveal. I have many excuses as I’m sure you can guess, and I will not even begin to list them; for I know that you will be sitting in your office chair nodding your head and thinking quietly to yourself, “damn, she’s got this procrastination stuff down pat.” Well, yeah, I do, so pat me on the back and tell me good job rather than scrolling back up and checking for the length of time between this entry and the last.
I’m sitting on two boxes of books at the current moment (my make shift office chair), but I am in fact in our new “office” in my gorgeous new house. OUR new house, my God, we own this. John promised me when we first started dating (a month before we were engaged), that he would get me a garden some day—In fact, John’s very first gift to me was a little pot of African Violets, and a handwritten card detailing how eventually, the day would come that I would have my own garden in my own house with my very own white picket fence. True to his word, only a few weeks past the two year anniversary of the ending of my old life and the beginning of this wondrous one, he’s given me all those things.
I knew he had good intentions, but I just didn’t know that things could pan out exactly how we had imagined it on those leisurely afternoons lying in his bed in his mother’s house while we stared out the window and dreamed of our future lives. Somehow the stars aligned, making this a possibility and with the incredible amount of support and love we’ve received from every member of both of our families we were able to make things happen. I never knew people could be so insanely generous—I’ll just leave it at that.
As far as procrastination goes… I’m counting my blessings in that department as we speak. I have a whole house to unpack and a ton of homework to catch up on. Plus a plethora of other things that I really don’t feel like doing at this particular moment so it would seem like now is the perfect time to catch up on some much needed blogging—impressive isn’t it, my use of procrastination for my benefit is masterful, yes I know it.
I really don’t have much to say, mainly because I am at a point in my life where so much is taking place so quickly that I simply can’t pick just one thing that I should write about. I don’t know where to start so I just figure I’ll let it all simmer, you know, things get better with age and eventually I’ll pull out a little tidbit here or there and share some three month old news with you.
I had a Dr.’s appointment on the first, and John was able to make it to this one—Actually, I should rephrase that, he’s made it to every single one except for the one before this last one, and has been happy about going to each and every one of them. The Dr. had me lay back on the examination table which is standard procedure to prepare for listening to the heartbeat. I lifted my shirt so I could get some of that lovely ultrasound jelly squirted on my belly and John looked at me and said, “Oh my God, I can see your bump now, you actually have a baby belly!” I kind of laughed and said, “well yeah, I’ve had your daughter growing in there for the past eight months, I would hope I have something to show for it!”
We got to hear Ocean’s heartbeat as is standard at these appointments and John said something that I’ll never forget: “Every time I hear that, it’s just like hearing it for the first time.” I smiled to myself and reminded myself how very fortunate I am to have such a strong loving person by my side. Later on that night, amidst a sea of boxes John stopped packing and took both of my arms in his hands. He looked into my eyes and asked me if he had missed anything. I wasn’t sure what he meant, and when I asked him for clarification he said that at the Doctor’s office he realized that he hadn’t even noticed that I had a bump and that he was concerned that maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention to me, or that he’d been spending too much time away at work or asleep (he works long shifts), to really see what was happening. He was also concerned that he would miss some of Ocean’s growing up just like he missed my growing belly, and the worry in his voice was heart wrenching.
I feel that with just the simple fact that he is so deeply aware of the speed at which life comes at you, hence the quickness it can pass you by means that he will never let such things happen between him and his daughter. I couldn’t ask for more and I can’t wait to see his face when he gets to hold Ocean in his arms for the very first time.
I’m sitting on two boxes of books at the current moment (my make shift office chair), but I am in fact in our new “office” in my gorgeous new house. OUR new house, my God, we own this. John promised me when we first started dating (a month before we were engaged), that he would get me a garden some day—In fact, John’s very first gift to me was a little pot of African Violets, and a handwritten card detailing how eventually, the day would come that I would have my own garden in my own house with my very own white picket fence. True to his word, only a few weeks past the two year anniversary of the ending of my old life and the beginning of this wondrous one, he’s given me all those things.
I knew he had good intentions, but I just didn’t know that things could pan out exactly how we had imagined it on those leisurely afternoons lying in his bed in his mother’s house while we stared out the window and dreamed of our future lives. Somehow the stars aligned, making this a possibility and with the incredible amount of support and love we’ve received from every member of both of our families we were able to make things happen. I never knew people could be so insanely generous—I’ll just leave it at that.
As far as procrastination goes… I’m counting my blessings in that department as we speak. I have a whole house to unpack and a ton of homework to catch up on. Plus a plethora of other things that I really don’t feel like doing at this particular moment so it would seem like now is the perfect time to catch up on some much needed blogging—impressive isn’t it, my use of procrastination for my benefit is masterful, yes I know it.
I really don’t have much to say, mainly because I am at a point in my life where so much is taking place so quickly that I simply can’t pick just one thing that I should write about. I don’t know where to start so I just figure I’ll let it all simmer, you know, things get better with age and eventually I’ll pull out a little tidbit here or there and share some three month old news with you.
I had a Dr.’s appointment on the first, and John was able to make it to this one—Actually, I should rephrase that, he’s made it to every single one except for the one before this last one, and has been happy about going to each and every one of them. The Dr. had me lay back on the examination table which is standard procedure to prepare for listening to the heartbeat. I lifted my shirt so I could get some of that lovely ultrasound jelly squirted on my belly and John looked at me and said, “Oh my God, I can see your bump now, you actually have a baby belly!” I kind of laughed and said, “well yeah, I’ve had your daughter growing in there for the past eight months, I would hope I have something to show for it!”
We got to hear Ocean’s heartbeat as is standard at these appointments and John said something that I’ll never forget: “Every time I hear that, it’s just like hearing it for the first time.” I smiled to myself and reminded myself how very fortunate I am to have such a strong loving person by my side. Later on that night, amidst a sea of boxes John stopped packing and took both of my arms in his hands. He looked into my eyes and asked me if he had missed anything. I wasn’t sure what he meant, and when I asked him for clarification he said that at the Doctor’s office he realized that he hadn’t even noticed that I had a bump and that he was concerned that maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention to me, or that he’d been spending too much time away at work or asleep (he works long shifts), to really see what was happening. He was also concerned that he would miss some of Ocean’s growing up just like he missed my growing belly, and the worry in his voice was heart wrenching.
I feel that with just the simple fact that he is so deeply aware of the speed at which life comes at you, hence the quickness it can pass you by means that he will never let such things happen between him and his daughter. I couldn’t ask for more and I can’t wait to see his face when he gets to hold Ocean in his arms for the very first time.
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