Thanksgivingish, 2020

-
Alana, I appreciate that your primary love language is touch. I can get on board with all the hugging and 20-rapid-kisses-in-a-row vibe you have going on.  Your favorite thing ever is to sit and watch TV while holding my hand, or watching TV and using your daddy as a giant pillow. 

Alana, I appreciate that you say: “I’m just choking!” Instead of “I’m just joking”. And we all go along with your improper word choice because it’s just too funny. 

Alana, I dig that you love stuffed dogs. Between your Paw Patrol dogs, Our Generation dogs, my random but darling TY beanie baby collection from 20
years ago that you’ve appropriated, and all stuffed animal dogs of other varieties, our home is full of love for dogs.  And when you insist on taking “The Whole Family” with us wherever we go, it’s both sweet and stressful, because you can’t leave any of the sisters, brothers, or mom or dad behind. 

Alana, I appreciate that you don’t hold anything against me. 

Not yet, anyway. I hope you’ll always be as forgiving and loving as you are now. 

We love you.

     



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Dear Bobby"

-
Image
"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when
Read More

The Good Dancer: A Dating Story

-
Image
I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  He didn't sin
Read More

Thank You, My Friend

-
Thank You for reading my blog. Sometimes people say: "I read your blog..." and I hold my breathe for a moment and think about the language I use in my blog. I pray quietly I haven't offended someone's belief system.... that I haven't groaned too much about how much the gym hates me.... or the other way around. I pause as my mind races over my topics.  Have I been too emotional?  Have I confessed too much? But then I want to hug them. I write because, Sometimes I don't know how to say it out loud. Because I want my family to know that my memories of them... with them... are magical.  And they may not remember things just as I do... (And in my memory I am a little bit thinner...) I write because I want people to know that even though I haven't seen them for many moons, I think of them. Often. And I don't want to bore people out loud with stories about how cute my cats are.  In all seriousness, though, They're so cute.  L
Read More