Someone...

Facebook is an interesting thing. Different people follow different rules of Facebook friendship. I make sure I have a connection before I accept a request, but sometimes those connections weren't born in a close relationship pre-Facebook.

My next older and younger sisters are within 14 months of me on either side. My older sister and I were in the same grade. While we had different friends growing up, we were also something of a package deal; if you're a good friend to one of us you're a friend to all three. My older sister doesn't have a Facebook account; my younger one rarely checks hers. Many of their friends "friended" me in an effort to check on them... and so it was with that guy from high school, Tommy.

Three years ago Tommy sent me a friend request and then a note asking how Jeannie was doing, saying he noticed that he and I commented on a lot of the same posts from mutual friends. I remembered who he was... the guy with the jean jacket who bounced down the halls at school. I replied that I had noticed the similar comments, and did the traditional page creep: married, kids, working in sales... I noticed he seemed very devoted to his family. We got in touch one more time in March of 2014 when I noticed he had some phones for sale. 

He was one of those fringe Facebook friends: you "kind-of" know how their life is going; you "like" and laugh at their jokes; you don't know their day-to-day, but sometimes notice a big life change. That came in the fall of last year. I noticed some unhappy posts and the relationship change (divorced). I remember being surprised because he had seemed so devoted. Some of his posts seemed so sad, I kinda hoped from my "distance" that things would work out. Over time he appeared to be moving forward.. spring time brought new pictures with a new girl... life goes on.

Then one Friday night in early July I was scrolling Facebook and saw a post he made about his memories of his five year-old daughter; she died in a car accident 14 years ago. I messaged him just to say I didn't know he had gone through such a loss and to offer my condolences. My phone dinged about an hour later with his response. He shared he had not only lost his daughter, but his wife at the time as well. He and his son (6 at the time) had spent the next few months in a rehabilitation hospital.

For the next two hours we messaged back and forth, mostly about our experiences; with grief, with faith gained and with faith lost. Others can offer condolences, but there's a unique bond with people who've experienced these kinds of losses. Tommy says we understand what other people just don't. I remember thinking, in spite of the subject, he was pretty funny, and I knew then we'd end up being close friends. I wasn't quite picking up on how close.

The next day as I was finishing supper and checking Facebook, this message came through:

All-righy then!

So since I was already online, I answered:

And then:

Tommy still swears he wasn't lying... but he was.

And we were off to the races again, talking about everything under the sun.

Part 3 coming soon!

Today's Date Says It All

I write the date a lot for work. Every time I wrote it today, I couldn't  help but pause, just for a second.

I remembered how it felt that day... 10 days before our first little girl was born... looking at my belly and thinking: what kind of world are we bringing this baby into?

I just watched some tribute videos and I'll admit, I shed a few tears.

Still, it turned out to be a decent world after all... you just have to know how to choose where to look, and where to focus.



*Yeah, yeah I've been on hiatus for awhile. See, I went out and got a REAL job, and it takes time.. I've been writing the explanation post in my head for a couple days. Gimme a few more.

Five Years In

Five years.

Deat died five years ago, February 23, 2008.

In some ways, it doesn't seem so far in the past. When I look at what's changed between then and now, it seems like a long, long time. P.D. and B.B. aren't 6 and 2 years old anymore; they're 11 and 7. My youngest is older, now, than my oldest was, then. 

I've been building up toward this post for several weeks; unsure of what I wanted to say but sure that I needed to say SOMETHING. I decided to include an inventory similar to one I've used with clients to see if those ideas lead somewhere interesting. They did for a bit, but it still took me 3 more days to finally finish.

Family - Deat and I hoped to foster a sense of "all for one and one for all" in our family culture. It's hard to be objective, but I like to think of us as a tight little team. I think the girls understand that we depend on each other, and we each have to contribute to make this thing run smoothly. I think in some ways the adversity probably bonded us a bit tighter from necessity. I will admit, I still wish the girls' had the benefit of Deat's life perspective to compare and contrast with mine as they decide for themselves where their values and priorities lie. Luckily, I have a pretty good memory and share as much of who he was with them as I can.

As for extended family, My parents and siblings still live in or near P-town, Deat's are still in J-town, and all of them are still my family. Sometimes folks are surprised to learn I have a close relationship with Deat's parents and his brother and family. It's hard for me to imagine the kind of pain it would be to lose them, too.

Friendships and Leisure Activities - In my married life: Deat was my very best friend; Sabrina filled most any of the gaps in between... not to mention that the girls were small and there just wasn't room or time for outside socializing.

Five years later: Over time, God has blessed us with a tight support network of friends to hang with. In just the past year we've been to several cookouts, taken a group trip to the Knoxville Zoo, a group trip to the aquarium in Gatlinburg, went to and hosted Christmas parties, hosted a five-family yard sale, had several get-togethers with just the Ladies and other get-togethers for the whole families, both here and at others' homes, had overnight guests from out of town twice, had  Theatre Babies coming over for dinner, participated and performed in a few plays.

The common theme of all these activities?  Lots of love and laughter. I can't imagine being more blessed than we are.

Health/Exercise - See previous post

Work/Career/Education - Big changes there. In February 2008 I was in my 9th year as a membership representative for the nation's largest small business lobby. I signed up new members through cold calling; renewed existing members through delivery of an annual progress report. I had a large territory that extended into several counties. And I soon realized I had no more desire to get out of the truck and actually DO my job than the man in the moon.

Part of the problem was that I traditionally gave a very folksy pitch that included anecdotes about the things my husband would say. I didn't know how to adjust it to take Deat out of it. Add to that plain old grief and situational depression; I didn't have much desire to talk to anyone; much less about the politics that were often of more interest to Deat than to me.

I realized part of the reason I loved the job was because I "shared" it with Deat: I just didn't want to do it anymore, but had no idea what I could do. So God told me. In January of 2010, I returned to school, and in 2012 I finished my M.Ed. in Counseling and Human Development.

Today I am a licensed counseling associate working for an agency. Interesting that I left my old job in part because I shared so much of my own life in it, and moved to a job where my experiences help me to relate to my clients, but the less I discuss my own life, the better.

Most important lesson of late: Empathy does not mean putting MYSELF in the client's shoes; I know how I think and it's unlikely that the client thinks the way I do. Empathy is closer to understanding how my client feels about the shoes he or she is wearing.

With that in mind, I do want to share a bit about the shoes I wear and what they mean to me:

1. I am not broken and I don't want to be treated that way. I've moved through the worst of my grief. If anything, I'm less vulnerable: Very little about the future scares me anymore. The worst thing I could imagine happening, happened, but I survived it. I'm here, my girls are here, and we're okay.

Am I the same person I was five, six years ago? No. I wasn't the same person, in 2008 that I had been in 2003, either. If I seem quirky and strange, well, believe it or not, I was quirky and strange before I became a widow, before I became a wife. T.L. can attest to that.

2. My life doesn't need "fixing." I don't need a husband. I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need a shoulder to cry on. I don't need a substitute father for my girls. If I need help, I ask for it. Our gang of friends includes some really fantastic examples of upstanding faith-filled men who look out for us. I also have an awesome brother and brothers-in-law. I have plenty of models to help me show the girls how a good man conducts himself so they'll know when they're old enough to start evaluating their own potential suitors. (And with that bunch of fellas looking out for my girls, I feel sorry for the first guy to come calling!)

For me, I'm not saying I'm opposed to a romantic relationship. I'm clarifying: if I do have a man in my life, it will be because I allow him to be, not because I need him to save me from the life I have. Right at the moment, I don't see a great deal of free time to pursue such a relationship, but if I did find room, let me add a warning: if I complain, don't try to fix it, try listening... that's probably all I want.

3: I see myself as blessed. And that's how I want you to see me. Don't cry for me for the loss of my husband; rejoice with me that I had the privilege to be his wife. I got to be married to the greatest guy I ever knew for almost 9 years, and I have the wonderful second family he left me, as well as two beautiful girls to carry on his legacy. Why would you feel sorry for that? My challenges of the past  five years weren't/aren't greater or lesser than yours. They were/are just different.

Finally, I won't pretend that I was Miss Strong and Brave all the time. There were periods in there that were truly horrible, and feelings I hope I never experience again. Do I still miss Deat and wish he were here? Without question. Little things can still bring fresh pain. That said, as time goes on, it does get more bearable, and easier to live with.

At some point the "new" normal stops being the new normal, and without fanfare, it becomes simply, THE normal. The resentment of not living the life you had planned gives way to acceptance of the blessings in the life you still have.

To paraphrase the reminder plaque our beloved neighbor, Miss G. (also widowed), plunked down on my end table on a day when I came to her crying and struggling:

"It's (still) a wonderful life!"

I Got My Chance, and I Said Those Things... Still...

I started a new job yesterday. I'm pleased about it... my first REAL position after grad-school and licensure and all that... I'll share more with you about it after I get more settled.

This morning I drove down to our B-burg office. The weather was beautiful on that twisty little trail, with the sun peeking though the trees. I drove that road fairly often in the "before" days, before I left sales, before I lost my drive to sell, before the whole world changed. I smiled, remembering.

Then, this song came through the radio. Actually a pretty good driving/singing song:

Stop reading, just listen a minute, please.

I love this song. I sang along.

Then I remembered: I could never get through it without tears. I've tried four times today... still can't.

I don't know when the song actually came out. I first took note of it about 6 months after Deat's death.

Did I say...

It isn't even appropriate; I've always been comforted in knowing we  had nothing left unsaid.

Maybe its the futility of those words now. Did I say... Maybe it's that I'll never get to say them to him again... Did I say... though when I hear them in the song they're just as true now as they ever were.

Did I say...

I certainly didn't expect the song to impact me that way, today. It's been almost five years.

Maybe for all my bravado about starting to date, part of me still scowls, and sees futility in that: I know what combination of traits once brought me joy and met my needs, is it possible that different one could even begin to come close?

I don't know. Hiding out at home hasn't done much for me. We'll see.

But I sure do miss the one I had.

Perhaps I just needed to know, or just say out loud, that I always will.

New Site... Together We Can Grow a Garden

Amy "Sweetness" Matalka

Okay, FIRST go here: http://plantasimpleseed.blogspot.com/ and then come back.

I was sent a link to this site earlier tonight. It's pretty self-explanatory, but,  in case you miss this message in the comments, I'm including it here:

To get cards, send an email to Marygina@fuse.net... we are working on a PDF download which will be added to this page soon!

Readers, followers, blogger buddies, get on board, please. Send that email. Post it on your sites. Pass it on.

Cheat Post

Besides internally debating whether to tell you people about the topic-I-say-I-am-avoiding, I've also been busy working on the "Book of Me" for my Life-cycle Class. I have different assignments for different pages of the book.

I am NOT creative in visual arts. I wish I was. In fact, I wished SO HARD that I was, my journalism degree has a emphasis in advertising and PR... I designed ads for much of the early part of my after-college career. I'm pretty good at figuring out how to use publishing software. I know what I like when I see it. I can create a decent logo and "thematic plan" for company stationery. I can re-create what I see with the right tools, but creating visual magnificence in my own?

Uh, not really.

So, this assignment has been taxing to say the least. I want my stuff to be phenomenal... but the grade doesn't require visual phenomenal. I don't think I'm capable of visual phenomenal anyway. I settled for quick and dirty.

However, I think Dr. A has been sufficiently impressed at my ability to accomplish the unstated goals, while effectively rebelling against the stated parameters, of each and every assignment. Mostly 'cause I'm just charming enough to get by with it. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle 'em....*

Anyway, since I've been so busy with that stuff, I'm cheating tonight and posting the first assignment, The "Now" of my Life. The assignment (the abbreviated version) was:

Get a recent picture of yourself. Glue it to the center of the memory-book paper. Cut out symbols from the magazines and catalogs to describe:

• Your greatest achievement 
• A disappointment 
• Your values 
• Relationships that are important for you today 
• Hobbies 
• A wish or wishes for the future **

Glue these symbols around your picture. Try NOT to cut out words,*** because symbols can be more graphic. Once you have your collage, use your writing paper to describe what the symbols mean. Write a summary about yourself as you are today.

(When you read the write up, you have to pretend you don't really know me and haven't read How Widowhood Has Impacted My Life a million times, K? K.)

The phrases correspond to the bold type in the write up.
If you click on the picture it will blow it up. I recommend right-clicking
and opening in another tab or window.

The Now of My Life

As I expected, I had a great deal of difficulty finding “symbols” to represent my life. The assignment specified to try to use symbols instead of words, but no pictures I found seemed to reflect my current experiences, values and mindset. Besides, I love to write, I love words.

Although I don’t expect I will see myself as “Deat’s Widow” forever, our marriage, and his life has been the most relevant factor influencing every aspect of my world during the past 13 years. I know his death and the changes it brought continued to impact nearly every facet of the past 3 and ½, as is reflected in the choices I made for this page. 

We start this page in the top right corner, and move clockwise.

The most important of these is the be well, the theme to recovering from this loss, particularly since I often wondered if “well” was something I’d ever be again. My “little problem solvers” are my daughters, and my motivators when I wasn’t finding motivation in any other realm, when I was “hitting myself in the head.” The three of us were/are: “THE BRAVE,” standing together in the face of a devastating loss and facing the world together. Oh, and we are “Incredibly Nice.”

Still, motivation wasn’t enough. Merely surviving wasn’t enough. Depression and sadness was a dead end. I had to set a goal for the future: to get organized, to find joy in the family life I have instead of lamenting the one we had planned but were denied. Perhaps the most empowering step in that process was making the decision to return to school for my master’s degree.

Our life changes still present challenges, and sometimes not everyone in the house is on board with the sacrifices we have to make to get to this new place… sometimes Mommy’s Little Monster rears her little head. But, Life LIVES in our house. Between the positive changes we’re making, our old friends and the new friends who have come into our lives, I have to say, 

I’m Blessed.

* Five extra points for finishing that phrase

** Ten points for finding every one of those things in the write up. (Hurry, I have to tell Dr. A where they are!)
*** I never have excelled in the "follows directions" column of my report card...

A Distraction Beats Flowers... No Contest

I'm not sure how to write about this, how to handle it in the best way, but I have to try.

A blogger friend of mine's mother went into the hospital yesterday. It's easy to tell from her writing that she and her mom share a wonderful relationship... heck, I love her mother and I've only read about her. Her mom has had several health problems in the last couple years... and I could "read" the fear in my friend's "voice" in yesterday's post. I hurt for her, because I remember.

I remember what it was like to watch the physical deterioration of someone you love and feel powerless to do anything about it. I remember the second-guessing you put yourself through, only wanting the very best for this person, a person you love so much you'd trade places with in a minute because their well-being is THAT important to you. I remember the anger you feel at anyone else involved in their care because they just aren't doing ENOUGH... don't they know how important this is? I remember the LONG stretches of time in the hospital, just waiting, waiting to see what's coming... hoping upon hope it won't be the worst. 

I remember trying to read to break up the time... to try to find something, anything to be a distraction from what this hospital stay COULD mean. And I remember being unable to focus long enough to even get through first chapter of the book I bought the day of his first hospitalization... even though I tried during each of his five hospital stays. (I didn't actually read it until over a year after he died).

So, I thought to myself, what did I WANT people to do? I wanted them to distract me. I wanted them to show the customary concern for what was happening, then I wanted them to talk about ANYTHING else. Walk me to the cafeteria for a snack or some dinner. Engage me in anything that gave me a few brief minutes when I could think about something else... especially something that would make me laugh. Either that or just LISTEN to me talk about what was happening, out loud, to help me get a handle on it.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen very often. I don't BLAME anyone or feel resentment that more people didn't provide that at all, how would anyone know? I didn't know how to ASK for that, and at the time, with my mind so full of other things, it really didn't occur to me TO ask for it. Make no mistake... I had more than my share of blessings from our friends and family during Deat's illness, and I'm sure many people were afraid that coming to the hospital or calling me on my cell would be akin to intrusion during a difficult time... but it would have been welcome.

I wish I could offer my friend lunch in the cafeteria, but she's too far away. I can't do that, so I'm trying to send her simple notes with some goofy spin to try to make her smile. I don't know if it's helping, but I know she appreciates my small effort, and that means a lot to me.

 I just thought tonight, this would be a good opportunity to tell folks in case you know someone who could sure use the distraction, now, or in the near future. Don't wait for him or her to ask. Just call and offer, or just stop by the hospital... if it's not something your friend would want, he or she can let you know. But if it IS something he or she would want, I'll betcha he or she, like me, just doesn't know how to ask.

All Fired Up

Annnnd I'm back.

Some brief announcements:

The Master Counselor sends his apologies for not doing anything particularly amusing today to blog about. (Aside from just BEING the MC, which is amusing in and of itself.) This is a balancing act... clients say and do lots of funny things during the day, but I can't blog about them (confidentiality, you know). Luckily, the MC is fair game. Unfortunately, he knows this and has been on best behavior.

Wait, its not particularly funny, but I was the victim of an MC quirk today.... and I managed to go almost all day without any nicotine gum as a (happy?) result.  On satellite-office days, I ride with the MC to work: it's in another town, and he drives right past my street to get there. He told me yesterday he'd be here between 9:15 and 9:30 a.m. to pick me up today. Silly me, I forgot that 9:15 is 8:45 in MC-speak. Actually, I didn't forget, I just hoped I'd be wrong. I was dressed and ready when he got here, but I hadn't stocked my purse with gum yet. I made it through the day fairly well on placebo gum, but I'm on my second piece with nicotine juice since I got home, and I've only been here a couple hours. And Fantasia still plays in my head...

In other news... Remember T.L.C., the one who comments in my posts? You know, the ONE who comments on my posts? (ahem) Anyway, she has a new address for her blog, and I've linked to the new one down in the" Blogs I Follow", so you'll be able to see when she's posted something new, and get there more easily. Our styles are nothing alike, but she posts some insightful stuff, you should check it out when she gets it really up and running. Just sayin'.

The rest:

Oh, and have you guys noticed my playlist has commercials in it now? BOO. Still, I worked on that playlist too long... I'm keeping it.

Now I believe there comes a time when everything just falls in line...

Oops, I was singing aloud wasn't I? (#3 on the player.) Actually very apropos for the REST of what I wanted to write about: 3 years of blogging. Yes, I know my archive says 2, but I have a year's worth of blogs from the previous year posted on that first day here.

As most of you know, this blog began during my first year of widowhood. I look back at some of those posts and almost "see" the cloud that hung over me during that period... even in the cheery posts. I "see" that cloud (in some periods, even darker) over the second year... but I don't "see" that cloud anymore. I'm finally used to presenting "me". I can finally do that without feeling a need to qualify my identity with his. I don't feel a lingering depression that just won't go away... dare I believe, maybe it finally did.

I like getting out of bed in the morning. I look forward to discovering what each day holds again. I look forward to life "as is" instead of "what life was supposed to be." And that's the difference between THIS post and all the "I think I'm better" posts along the way.

However, I will say... when I read over those old posts, especially in the "What Happened" posts before Deat's death, I see a woman who looked to the Lord more for guidance than the woman I see in the mirror does now. And I'm not pleased with that. Luckily, God knows I'm ADD. He keeps revealing to me how those "Oooh, shiny!" moments, the ones that contradict having the courage of my convictions, that send me off-course, could become really painful if I keep following them. He keeps adding people to my life who remind me I need to stay close to Him. New seeds have been planted.

I also find myself being more careful, more selective, about what I say now. I suppose then, it was "more okay" to be vulnerable: I wasn't good at being anything BUT vulnerable. I'm going to try to go back to sharing what's actually in my heart... but for those of you who enjoy it, don't worry, I'll be laughing at the crazy things I observe, too.  I was writing to a new blog friend about the start of JustKellyHere the other day, and I think what I said there sums it all up nicely:

I was much more honest and open in my blog in the first year or two... mostly because dealing with my grief was kind of THE POINT of the blog. Back then, hardly anyone knew it existed...  Writing those posts was very healing for me. I really wasn't sure who "Just Kelly" was... It's interesting to me to go back and read those posts: they're me, but not me. I guess that means I figured it out. And that's kind of the point, too. .  

Lullabies and Ghosts

Tonight the little Bear let me rock her. It been a long time since she's wanted that. She EVEN let me hum and sing. I don't know what got into her, but she's completely cuddly and irresistible when these moods hit... I'm powerless to turn her down.

A little background: when Poods was a baby, Deat and I were woefully lacking in our knowledge of lullabies. We just didn't know any. So, we sang whatever came to mind.

If you can slow it down enough, just about anything becomes a lullaby. This is why (along with "Two Little Fishes and Five Loaves of Bread") my girls can adeptly sing "Jack 'O Diamonds" for anyone who will listen: 

If the ocean was whiskey and I was a duck, I'd dive to the bottom and never come up... yee haw...

Tonight I sang "Cockles and Mussels" (also known as "Molly Malone", lyrics are below the video) It must have been the first time she really paid attention to the words. She was struck with a sudden bout of overwhelming empathy.

When I got to the final verse, and finished, her eyes became very big, she teared up a little, and said, "Did the Momma die?"

(I never imagined Molly Malone as a "Momma," but okay...)

"Yes, honey, I suppose she did."

(Eyes more concerned, even larger) "Did they have a Daddy?"

Suspecting her worry was about being left "alone", I replied, "Yes honey, and he took very good care of them."

This seemed to soothe her, and she settled right back down. 

Moments like those used to tear me to shreds, and I would become a completely unhinged weepy mess... until she became older and I recognized that the little Bear was learning to yank my chain with it. Her favorite ploy became to cry loudly, "DADDY!" every time she was in trouble.

Yes, initially, she was missing him. But, like most little ones, B.B. paid attention to others' reactions to her behaviors, and quickly learned to use those reactions to manipulate situations to her advantage. She figured out that crying for Daddy instantly got her out of whatever scrape she was in.

Once I learned to keep my emotions in check at such statements, she persisted for awhile, but she eventually quit using them to get her way, or to distract me from a misbehavior, or to accomplish whatever ulterior motive du jour she had going. The days of using "Daddy's name in vain" are long past.

He's been gone over half her life. I don't think she "remembers" him in any concrete way, but I think she feels a loss of him just the same. After the song, she launched into an explanation of how her Daddy could look into the windows and see her, but she couldn't see him. I never offered this concept to her, but I wasn't surprised by it. B.B. has explained many concepts of death to me that she's gleaned from various sources over the years, some from obviously well-meaning folk, but I'd just as soon some of them had left the explaining to me. 

For example: early on, someone told  little 2 year-old B.B. that her Daddy had gone to live at "Jesus's House." That's a really nice sentiment, but to a 2 year-old, it meant that her Daddy had abandoned her to go live with this Jesus guy, this guy who up until then, had seemed like a pretty good dude. For some time there, B.B. was REALLY ticked off about this "Jesus House" place. Why was it so great that Daddy would stay there and wouldn't come home? 

As she got older, it almost became comical. B.B. would say, "Mommy go work. Sissy go big school. Daddy at....JE-SUS HOUSE!" yelling the hated place with all the ticked off derision a 2 year-old can muster. I think she's forgotten that now... Jesus seems like a pretty good guy to her again. Still, if I need a good private joke snicker out of her sister, saying "JESUS HOUSE!" in my best ticked off voice always elicits a chuckle. That may not make sense to some. I suppose to us it's like a badge of honor: P.D. and I survived, and helped B.B. survive together.

I'm not sure that our loved ones "watch over us" after they're gone. I don't think the Bible says they pay attention to what's going on here on earth. (if I'm wrong, somebody tell me.) I know there have been times when I've really hoped Deat wasn't watching me, but there have also been times when I've really hoped he was. I'm not sure where B.B. got the "Daddy in the window" theory, but for now, this idea seems to comfort her, so I think I'll let her keep it for awhile.

We're doing okay. I think we've adjusted well over the past 3 years to our "just the three of us" lives. Sometimes, though, his presence is still felt. Sometimes, his absence is too.

She concluded her explanation with, "I miss Daddy."

"Me too, baby, me too."

Deat's Favorite Lullaby:

(don't forget to turn the player on the right off).

"What Happened" Isn't What WILL Happen

WARNING: If the date is prior to Friday, April 15, you are my reader, you know my mother, and you think you might be tempted to tell her about my blog, stop reading this post right now. Momma does not need to worry when there may be nothing to worry about.

I will tell her all about this when I know more. IF you read this and tell my mother, you can rest assured not only will she call me in a complete state of panic, she will tell me who told her and I will come down on your head with the wrath of the Apocalypse.

If you don't know my mother, or feel assured you can wait a few days to let me tell her, by all means, keep reading.

Last Sunday morning, before leaving to go to Deat's parents' home for a couple days, P.D. developed a rash on her face, for the third time in the last 6 months.

I took her to the pediatrician's office the last 2 times, and on the first visit I took the Nurse Practitioner I was speaking with into the next room to explain about her Daddy's Lupus and ask, “Could this rash be Lupus related?” She assured me it was a contact rash, gave her a steroid shot and some hydrocortisone and sent us on our way. WHEW!

So, this time, since their grandparents wanted to see the girls and I had a counseling conference to attend Monday and Tuesday, I sent the hydrocortisone with P.D. and didn't worry about another doctor visit. Been there, done that, right?

Monday night V. (Deat’s Mom) called me to say that Deat had a similar rash when he was young. He also said she had often kicked herself thinking that the rash was the actual first Lupus symptoms and she hadn't pushed it then.

She was very convincing, and I, quite frankly, freaked. I felt my throat close up. I couldn't talk. It's one thing to stand beside your partner and try to battle an illness... it's quite another to have your mind take you back to the worst 7 months of your life, (particularly the scenes from the last 2 of that 7 months) only seeing those scenes with your BABY in the hospital bed. It took me forever to calm down enough to remember that I'd asked about Lupus the first time the rash appeared and to tell her that. V. apologized for upsetting me so much.

V. called me again Tuesday night saying the same things… nothing new to add, only reinforcing my fears. Me thinking: It took me 24 hours to calm down from our last conversation and you just wanted to call to make sure I was sufficiently worried?

Backtracking: a few weeks after Deat died, crazy with fear, I called his rheumatologist about having the girls tested for Lupus. She said "No. The girls might have all the markers for Lupus but it may never ever flare. Don't drive yourself crazy. If it flares, you'll know it and we'll deal with it then."

I picked up the girls from their play rehearsal Wednesday (I was at work when they brought them home.) and later that evening V. called with the same concerns again... at which point I nearly lost my cool with her. "V., I said I would handle this, and I will."

I spoke to Doctor B. (a doctor from home I consult with about nearly everything) the next morning and explained my concerns: this could very well be a contact rash and I'd be putting myself (AND P.D.) through all this fear for nothing... but the tests could still say the markers were there... I can't begin to describe how frightening that is. Doctor B. said it might be a good idea to take P.D. to a dermatologist to let a trained eye look at the rash.

So, I called her pediatrician for an appointment to get the referral. I then called my in-laws to tell them what had been done. Lest you think otherwise, I'll just say, I adore both Deat's parents, and they love me. They've been through so much, I know they weren't trying to scare me, they were just scared themselves. I apologized for being so short with V.; I explained that the repeated calls felt like she didn't think I heard her the first time, and I told them I would keep them informed at every step.

Friday, at the pediatricians: This time I had the doctor instead of the PA. I explained the whole story to her and she got this very concerned look on her face. She told me the PA had not noted my Lupus fears in P.D.'s chart. I showed her where in the initial registration with her office I had listed everyone of Deat's health issues in the history. She immediately wrote a prescription for all the blood work. I think she was scared. I know she scared me. We'd have to go to the hospital Monday morning (today) to have the blood drawn. I hid it from the girls, but I felt like I was in the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Over the weekend I had some time to process all this. (I talked to a friend who went through Deat's illness with me, then I had class, breaks and lunch with a bunch of friends who also happen to be counselors-in-training. Kinda makes it easier, huh?)

I realized that even if the diagnosis comes back positive, it doesn't mean I'm looking at a repeat of what we went through with Deat. (If you're interested, all the updates from his illness are logged at: What Happened) Deat was in denial before we discovered that his kidneys had shut down. Deat's Lupus had been out of remission and flaring uncontrolled for quite a while before we found it: long enough to completely destroy his kidneys, and that takes some time.

If P.D. has Lupus markers, and she has a flare, it won't go unchecked. She's not her Daddy, she can't just explain away any symptoms I see. I CAN "make" her go to the doctor. Just saying those things out loud did wonders.

So, yesterday afternoon: I explained to P.D. that we were going to the hospital to have the blood drawn. I told her that if she had questions she'd have time to think of them and ask me. She had a few, mostly about how much it would hurt. She also later came and asked if she could take her "Daddy Blanket" (a quilt I had made for her from her Daddy's shirts) with her for comfort. She had a hard time sleeping last night...

I kept waiting for the inevitable "BIG QUESTION" but it never came, so I asked her this morning,

"P.D., do you know why they want to test your blood?"

"Yes, for Lupus."

WOW. Such perspective. My baby is smarter than her Momma... she's taking things as they actually come. She was more worried about a needle stick than finding out she may or may not have Lupus. She was very brave when they drew her blood.

I am so lucky to have that kid. I still don't know why in the world God saw fit to bless me as much as He has with her. The blood tests will come back Wednesday, possibly as late as Thursday.

I think I'm finally in a frame of mind to handle whatever they say.

To Tony

Tonight I received some unhappy news. A dear friend (Tony) has been battling cancer for some time and has kept me and other friends updated through emails (similar to the "Deat Updates" I did when Deat was ill.) Tonight, he sent one telling us that he's essentially lost the battle, that the doctor told him there's nothing left to do. Tony guesses that he may have a few months left.

He asked a favor: to write or email a memory of him or a time he's shared with each of us that he can compile in a book for his family. I love this idea, as some of you know I've asked Deat's friends to do the same on his memorial website as a gift to my girls. I love that Tony is putting this together himself; but that's Tony... he's putting together something that will comfort his family long after he's gone. I'd tell you more about how great he is, but hopefully my contribution will do that for me.

So, this is what I wrote.

You never know how much the little things you do bless someone, and so often we forget to tell people how much something that seems like a "little thing" means to us. I am humbled and honored to have that opportunity.

Almost 10 years ago, my husband was unhappy in his job, and was offered a chance come back to the job he had loved at the radio station here in L-town, Kentucky... 100 miles from my family, my friends, and everything that was familiar to me. Two days after we had decided to move, we learned I was expecting our first baby (P.D.). I was intimidated at the idea, but as I told Jerry (Deat) , "You're miserable, you're fixing to make ME miserable, you'd probably make the baby miserable... Let's go!"

In the first several months after our move, I was spending the weekdays in central Kentucky doing my old job, coming back to L-town on the weekends. I had been away to college, but this was different, this was GOING to be my HOME but I didn't really have much in the way of opportunities to get used to it.

When someone said to me, "Oh, you live in L-town, do you know so and so?"

I replied, "Well, if they're not Catholic or a public official, I doubt I've laid eyes on them!"

A better answer would have been, "Well, if they don't work at the radio station or they aren't Tony Cambron, no."

Tony was St. William's, and really L-town itself's ambassador to me. St. William's was a very welcoming community, but Tony really stood out. He introduced himself the very first time we attended and made a point to speak to us every single time he saw us, usually with a joke or funny story, and always with that great welcoming smile. Tony was the guy who really made me feel that this town "could" become my home.

He always asked how I was coming along, and when P.D. was born, he was the first to carry her off and show her to the rest of the church. Of course I had to have "P.D.'s buddy" at her first birthday! Thank you for that, Tony.

My other big thank you's are for the comfort he brought me during the hardest period of my life. These updates seem so familiar to me, I sent them out in '07 and '08 when my husband was battling Lupus and kidney failure. Tony sent me the best responses, and for those I am grateful. When Deat was in the hospital here in L-town, Tony came to see him. When I came in later, Deat mentioned Tony's visit and laughed as he shared their conversation with me. I don't remember what they talked about... but at a time when Deat's smiles were fewer and farther between, it was a million-dollar conversation to me.

Losing Deat was, and is, by far, the most difficult thing I've endured... but Tony was a bright spot in that, too. The night of Deat's visitation, we invited people to get up and tell their favorite story about Deat. I loved hearing them all, but Tony's was my favorite. He told of watching us come into church and how, eventually one of girls would "act up" and demonstrated how Deat would end up collecting all the "baby stuff" up and carrying her out...

then he did Deat's walk.

I pointed and howled with laughter, "THAT'S EXACTLY IT!!!! I used to tell Deat all the time, 'honey, if ducks had long legs that's exactly how they'd walk!'" I can't describe how, in the midst of so much sorrow, how much that laugh meant to me. It wasn't the act of someone making fun, it was the act of someone who cared enough to know; of someone who loved and respected my husband.

Tony also took the time to write a beautiful tribute on Deat's memorial site, a wonderful gift to me and to my girls, and one I treasure. I've read it well over 100 times, and it always brings comfort.

Tony Cambron, you're about as fine a man as I've ever known... and I thank God for putting you in the places He has in my life. I also thank YOU for being who you are: God knew you'd bless me, and you have, again and again. I am especially grateful to God and to you for what you sent to me tonight, for this opportunity to TELL you.

We've been so lucky to have you, Tony. I know this journey is frightening, and I wish I knew just the exact right thing to tell you to make it easier, but I'm not sure I do. So, I'll remind you of something you said in your gift to me... I'm sure Deat will be right there with St. Peter, ready to strike up a conversation to make you feel at home.

We love you, Tony.

Kelly, P.D. and B.B.

Getting Out and About

Last night was just plain happy. I doubt I can do it justice.

As is the theme of my blog, a huge part of my healing process has been searching for who "Just Kelly" is. For a long time after his death, it felt like an act of desperation:

Is there anything left in here that's "just me", and therefore, any part of me that DOESN'T ache for his input? Deat's mark seemed to be on every single thing I did or even thought about.

Facebook has actually been a tool in this process in that it's allowed me to reconnect with people who knew me well before I was ever Deat's wife, people who remembered a previous version of "justkelly". For a while, I mistakenly imagined that perhaps I could just remember who I was before we married and just "be her" again. (BEEEP, wrong answer.)

Even on the few occasions I did "go out" with old friends initially, I found (much to my frustration) that I couldn't stop talking about Deat. It seemed impossible to find very much about myself that had not, in one way or another, been touched, honed, refined by his influence.

I decided "getting out socially" was just too much of a hassle. As much as I care about the friends I've been out to see, I just felt so awkward and uncomfortable with myself, it was hard to completely enjoy it. So, I haven't "gone out" anywhere without P.D. and B.B. for almost a year, often using them as an excuse to stay home.

Several months ago, I was reminiscing about my days at EKU, and wondered what happened to Richie. Richie was 6 years my senior, one of the guys in "The Gang" who taught me to play and love the game of pocket billiards... but he was more than that, too. (Okay, so I had a crush on him...) Despite the bravado in the Powell Building, he's one of the most soft-hearted people I know. I don't know if I ever actually came out and told him how I felt, but I know he knew. "Romantic near-misses" aside, we grew to be very close friends.

We got in touch with each other a few times after college... one of those times was soon after he'd gone through a very painful divorce... not long after that was when Deat and I got together, and we lost touch again.

So, got on Facebook, typed in his name, and bang, there he was. We corresponded on Facebook, and soon got on the phone and talked for hours.

He had been remarried for several years to Wendy. He sounded so much more comfortable with himself than he'd ever been: it was easy to tell that Wendy is a primary factor in that. He admitted that when he read that I was widowed, he couldn't help but shed tears for me, his friend. He told me that it reminded him of how important it was to tell the people who really influenced your life what they meant, so he wanted to tell me.

He also said the tears also came from trying to imagine what I'd been through, how in the world he'd go on if he'd been in my shoes, if he'd lost Wendy. To me, that spoke volumes about their relationship, and I was so happy he'd found someone he loved so much. I just knew I'd love her too.

BUT, Richie is a talker. He told me that Wendy knew all about who I was, well before we got back in touch... all of it. Ugh. Of course, I responded that her feelings came first. The last thing I wanted to do was create friction in his marriage, and I knew I would be uncomfortable if I were in her shoes. But he said he'd also already told her that we'd gotten back in touch, and she knew he was planning to call me, so not to worry.

A few days later, I saw Richie "on" Facebook and IMed, but it turned out it was actually Wendy putting up some pictures on his page (Wow, this is awkward) but we ended up in IM conversation. She was gracious and I could already tell she had a great sense of humor. We had a great conversation, "friended" each other, and started chatting.

We had a direct conversation where she admitted that she suddenly felt stupid for having been nervous about me. I told her not to feel stupid, to me, it just meant that she knew she had something of value and her first instinct was to protect it! I told her I completely respected her marriage and would never do anything to jeopardize it. Heck, she's the best thing that ever happened to Richie, the last thing I want to do was mess that up!

From there, Wendy and I became IM buddies, and until I went back to work, chatted nearly every day. Most of the time, our conversations have very little to do with Richie at all. She's totally amazing. How many women would have been willing to give me a chance? Not many, but she did. I got to keep my dear friend, and add a new one. (Oh, and she's also a reader, Hi Wendy!)

So, anyway, she and Richie decided that I needed to start getting out more, and asked me to come to their town so we could all go out and let Wendy and I finally meet face-to-face. Anytime Richie and I talked, he'd harass me about how he needed a partner to play pool at a restaurant/pub where he and Wendy are regulars.

I still love to play, but I'd only played a couple times in the last two years. I really didn't want to embarrass myself, especially since Richie sounded so convinced that I was a better player than I am. We made plans for one weekend, but they fell through. (Partly from a mis-communication, partly from my apprehension.)

(Man, I prefaced the dog-doo out of this entry, didn't I?)

This past Thursday I happened to see Wendy online and was telling her about how I was going to miss the girls since they were going to my parents' for the weekend, and Wendy jumped on it. "So, you're free Saturday night, huh?" (Oooops!) Okay, no ducking, time to get out again. I was nervous at first, but then, in the course of a lecture Saturday our professor mentioned that worrying was wasted energy.

Okay Kel, so stop worrying, find your pool stick and just go!

I arrived at the restaurant, was there for 5 minutes and felt completely at ease. Wendy is just as awesome in person. At dinner, she or I would say something and the other one would chime, "Me too!"

After dinner, we headed out to the pub they'd been telling me about. Wendy and I settled in at the bar and started playing some silly computer game, but it was fun. We "people watched" and laughed about some of the antics of some of the uh," less-than-sober" patrons.

Brief bar-table billiard etiquette lesson for those who don't know:

The winner keeps the table. On most tables that take quarters, the rule of thumb is that if you want to play, you place your quarters on the table and wait your turn to try to beat the winner. If you win, you play the next one waiting.

Richie put his quarters up, followed by a friend of his. His friend left, so when Richie won, I was next in line to play. After that game, we asked the next ones in line if they'd play partners against us.

We started playing a little after nine, and kept the table until just before last call about 12:30. I shot so much better than I imagined I still could. (I'm sure Richie and Wendy's confidence helped!) We laughed and talked and just had a great time.

Then opponents and by-standers started complimenting my game. Geez, I had forgotten how good that felt!

Funny moment: I stepped out for a quick smoke-break and ran into a pair of guys that Richie and I had just beaten. One of them stopped me:

"Man, you are really good!"

(smile) "No honey, you just think I'm good because you aren't used to seeing a female play well at all."

"Well, you're 10 times better than me, and your partner, he's 100 times better. I want so bad to play like he does, but I just can't."

"Well, here's a little perspective. You're how old, 22 maybe?"

"Twenty-one"

"Well, there ya go. My partner in there, he started teaching me how to shoot the same year you were born!"

He seemed to feel better after that.

It was just a simple, comfortable, happy night, on so many levels, for so many reasons.

• Had a night that was just "for me." and knew Ev and Ab were in good hands so I could relax.
• Finally got to "cement" my new friendship with Wendy.
• I saw first-hand what a great marriage God blessed my dear friend Richie with, and it made me so happy for him.
• It was so neat to see Richie be "the top dog". To use an old "Gang" expression, he shot like "God on the pool table."
• Spent time doing something that I loved, and had loved well before I ever met Deat. On a VERY rare occasion, Deat would come watch me play, but it still wasn't his interest. Pool was one tiny aspect of me that was, and still is, truly, "just me."
• While I did mention Deat from time-to-time, it was just a comfortable part of conversation, it didn't feel awkward, or even "compulsive" as it used to.

Thanks, guys, I so needed that!

After Deat's death, it took a long time to accept that the best part of my marriage was that nearly every single part of me was colored by my relationship with Deat. I had to instead learn to embrace that fact and incorporate it into this new life. Trying to run away from that simple truth wasn't making the pain lessen anyway, much as I tried to "will" the hurt away.

So, okay, most of who I am is still wrapped up in Deat and his influence, but not all. Saturday night I saw a lot of the old Kelly: just older, wiser, and much more comfortable in MY own skin.

Hmm, maybe I should have named my blog "justkellyhere 2.0"

Funny thing happened on the way

past the 2 year mark/2nd of Deat's birthdays since his death...

I started feeling a weight lift. I started WANTING to work on accomplishing something for myself again. I really started seeing myself as somebody "other" than just Deat's widow. I know, I say that in my bio... but lately I've started really feeling it.

I know some of it was simply passing these milestones. It's hard to describe. I also think a great deal of it changed after a really rough "practice" group therapy session for class a couple weeks ago. I had to view myself in a pretty harsh light and I didn't much like what was being reflected back to me.

Somehow, I also think I can attribute part of it to completing my first class (It was "Group Counseling Techniques") toward my masters' tonight. My master's, that I decided, by myself, (okay, with a big ole push from above) to pursue.

I really wish I could fully describe it. For the first time, I'm spending more mental energy looking forward and less looking back... and it doesn't feel like something I have to WORK at. It doesn't feel disloyal anymore. I suppose some of that came from, as I mentioned before, deciding a couple days ago that Deat would have chastised me for making a big deal out his death date as a morbid thing to do, and probably would have insisted that I not do as much as I did. (see February 23 post)

But, I did cheat and do one more thing... I learned I've picked up a couple readers who don't actually know me (how exciting!) and one of them asked me what happened. Rather than even try to condense that incredibly long story, I copied the file that had all the "update" emails from his illness into a new blog, "What Happened." (Okay, so I was fresh out of catchy titles)

Maybe that seems like more dwelling, but somehow, to me, it felt like another step toward closure.

Will I still talk about Deat and about widow issues? Well, uh, yeah. Kinda hard to erase 17 years of my life... and I wouldn't want to if I could. This journey was/is part of who I am today.

It's just that as of recently, it's doesn't feel like the only part.



Note: Just now as I was reading what I thought was final edit, it just so happened that "Send Me On My Way" started playing. (#173, second from the last on the player on the right as of this writing) came on. Turn it on, it fits this post perfectly.

An Exerpt from a Cat's Diary

Deat would have been 35 today, so over on Facebook I posted this. (Don't forget to pause the player on the right so you can hear it)

Happy Birthday Buddy. You always made me laugh.

This is a spot that Deat and Trevor recorded while Deat was at WWEL. Trevor is doing the intro, Deat is the cat. I wanted to only upload the sound, but since FB won't upload mp3 files, I had to make a movie. I included the pic from WYMT on the first few seconds, b/c that's how Deat looked when he was announcing, but I only left it up for a few seconds because it's funnier if you just listen...

Today, 2 years later

It was two years ago today that God released Deat from that horrible illness. I've been flip-flopping for 2 days about what to do about today, about what to write... should I recap the last 2 years?

Um, no. Not tonight. I actually made a point today NOT to mention what today was to the outside world, at least not until now. I didn't want a bunch of those old sad looks. P.D. asked me this morning if we were going to do anything special, I told her I had thought about it, and I didn't think her Daddy would want us to. (I actually think he would find that morbid.) I think she was relieved.

Besides, I've lived those last moments, that day, that night, over and over. Deat wouldn't want me to do it again... I'm sure I will at some point, accidentally even, but I'm not doing it on purpose. I may do a sort of recap sometime the coming weeks, but not tonight.

So, here's a weird disjointed collection of things I wanted to talk about:

1. I did do a couple things today. I called Jack at the jail (Deat's old boss). He's not running for re-election, so I wanted his take on who's running. We had a nice little chat, but he was too busy to talk about it much. I also called Todd, a dear friend and deputy at the jail who has since been moved to the night shift. I cannot say enough about how much these two people (and everyone at the jail, really) did for us during Deat's illness. I am forever grateful and love them both. And Todd, well he always makes me laugh. Todd can make griping about something the funniest thing you ever heard.

2. Right turn, Clyde. (If you don't get the reference, you obviously didn't get dragged to the drive-in to see Clint Eastwood in the late 70's like I did. Anyway, for my purposes it's just a warning that I'm switching gears)

3. Yesterday, B.B. looked at P.D. and said "Sissy, you're an asshole" This is a problem... mostly because it's so funny to hear her say it, it's hard to correct her properly, and partly because it's my fault.

Me: B.B., (trying so hard to keep the giggles to a minimum) honey, you can't say that, that's a bad word

B.B.: You called Mr. Dowell an asshole.

(Yes, same Mr. Dowell, you know I really like you when I start calling you names. At this point I lost it and laughed. I'm a really bad mother!)

4. I don't remember whether it was Tina or Sabrina who gave me the Gourmet Mint Chocolate Truffle hot chocolate that I've been avoiding... but I had a cup tonight and whichever one of you it was, I love you to distraction. As for the other one; no, I won't be sharing.

5. Tonight as I was looking up something on my computer, B.B. sat down on the corner of my bed (My desk sits right beside it... I gotta finish the basement at some point and get this thing out of my room!) got my comb and started combing my hair. "Momma, look at the bathroom, look out the window. (When I comb her hair, to get her to turn the way I need her to, I tell her what to look at. "Look in the mirror, baby, look out the bathroom door... ) I had no idea that having someone comb your hair for you felt so good. And it was just a great moment. Little does she know, she'll be stuck with this chore for life...

6. And we have lots of great moments. Earlier tonight it was while the girls were unloading the dishwasher, (B.B. does the silverware, P.D. everything else) then sitting down together for supper. P.D. was just chattering away about this and that. After B.B. finished my hair, she and P.D. were playing some make-believe game together.... I hope someday B.B. realizes how lucky she got in the big sister department. We're a pretty cool little team, we three girls.

So there, I blogged. Onward through this life we go...

It's Almost the Two-Year Mark

And what a journey it's been so far. May I say the learning curve has been much longer than I imagined?

P.D. asked me question yesterday that threw me for a loop.

"Mama, did you love Daddy?"

"What? Yes, more than anything in the whole world! Why would you ask me that?"

"Well, I hear you say that he was your best friend, I never hear you say that you loved him."

"You don't remember? Daddy and I always kissed each other hello and goodbye... we constantly told each other we loved each other."

"No, not really I don't."

Wow. You really never know what they know and don't know. I had to remind myself, P.D. was only six... he's been gone for almost a 1/4 of her whole life. She remembers special things he did and said, but what he was like, day-to-day, eludes her. B.B. doesn't remember him at all.

The one thing, perhaps the only thing I've been consistent about in the past 2 years is my concern for my girls' feelings in all this. I've made a special point to give them as much information about their Daddy as I can, and to preserve anything that might give them any inkling about who he was for when they're older. I read books, talked to therapists, and I really thought I had THAT PART of this life covered.

"Everything else can fall apart, as long as I handle this well, I'm okay." I will say, I am pleased that P.D. felt she could ask... I did something right.

Today, P.D. and I practiced her lines for a play she's in... "The Four Presidents" at The Gusto Theatre here in L-town. God bless Mr. Dowell, he gave P.D. a part as one of the reporters, knowing her Daddy had been one.

I really enjoyed giving her tips on how to deliver her lines. It gave me the perfect opportunity to tell her how much I loved hearing her Daddy on the air, and how beautiful I thought his voice was. Yet another lesson learned, thank you God for the chance to immediately act on it.

Along the same lines, if you knew Deat, (Jerry), and you haven't already, please take a few minutes and go to the guestbook on his memorial website, and share a little about him, especially any good stories you may have. You can SAY how great he was, but a story will SHOW it.

I think it will mean so much to the girls to read about their Daddy and what he was like from all sorts of angles. Also, if you know other people who knew Deat, (especially those that I may not know) please, pass the site along. You have no idea what a gift you'll be giving my girls, and therefore, me.

The Theory of Stupid

I was reading the Not-Right-Writer's blog today... she's an old friend from high school, super-smart, quirky in all the best ways, but a bit too hard on herself. Her most recent post included a lament about her husband and his actions... a few things he did that annoyed her to no end, and as her reader, knowing her feelings about aforementioned things, I'll say justifiably so...

HOWEVER... I know the secret to dealing with such "things"! I pass my secret, The Theory of Stupid, along to almost every new bride I know, to me it's key to preserving harmony and the female sense of well-being.

I started to write NWW a note, but since she reads my blog, I thought it better to impart this wisdom to all married womankind; a morsel that offers that extra bit of sanity for women in our Mars/Venus marriages, if you will.

Early in our marriage, I used to get REALLY frustrated with Deat. (St. Deat? Yes, St. Deat.) Sometimes it seemed every action he took (particularly outside my presence) was designed to wreak havoc on my mental and emotional stability: his jeans laying on the bathroom floor, RIGHT IN FRONT of the hamper, AGAIN! I fell into the seat-left-up toliet, AGAIN! He moved the papers that I desperately needed for work the next day and left me scrambling, AGAIN!

Then one day it dawned on me: He's just stupid. Deat didn't drop his jeans on the floor to annoy me: He's just stupid. He didn't sit giggling, planning the fun when I had stop everything and wash my behind from falling in the toilet: He's just stupid. He CERTAINLY didn't plan to interfere with my ability to help bring income into the house!

See, the problem with we women is we interpret every single action as MEANING something... as SAYING something about our husbands' feelings for us, for the things we value. "This means he doesn't CARE!" The reality: most of 'em, they just don't think that far ahead.

The good news: ladies, you can apply The Theory of Stupid to almost any idiotic move your husband makes! Truly, most of the time they aren't thinking about the consequences or our dismay... that doesn't mean they don't love us, they're just stupid.

I think I chose "stupid" because "thoughtless" feels too much like a major character flaw... something to fester over. "Stupid" has just enough meanness to satisfy the need for revenge, but at the same time, you really can't STAY mad at someone simply for being stupid.

He really does love you, he really does care about your well-being... He's just stupid.

Playing with My Blog

I've been goofing off with this last night and all morning... it could have something to do with the cleaning that I'm desperately trying to avoid, but nothing to do with my competitive nature. (TLC, these blogs don't count... or maybe this and prior 2 could count as 1.) Or, it could have EVERYTHING to do with the fact that the girls have been at Deat's parents' house since Thursday night and this place is WAAAAAAY too quiet.

Anyway, I've finally figured out how to put THE RULES in a prominent place, and have the player available on every page.

I also chose a new random question to answer in my profile last night.

The new question was: You've successfully slain the dragon! How will you toast your marshmallows?

And I answered: Um, gee. Maybe if I'd TAMED him instead of slaying him I'd have options here...

Then I got to thinking: What if people think I'm calling Deat "The Dragon"?

So, for the record, Deat was not a dragon and I didn't slay him; though, there were a few random times in our marriage that he was and I wanted to. I have the autopsy report to attest to my innocence. (If you are offended by dark, recovering-widow humor, my apologies)

Just in case, I'm going to go seek a new random question now...