Category Archives: Family

Brain Movies

Every morning I ask Emily how she slept the night before.   Usually she responds “Great!”  Very occasionally she looks sleepier than normal and I ask her if she had a decent night’s sleep.  She’ll scratch her head, mussing her hair and giving me a window in to the teenager she will one day become and say “I couldn’t fall asleep…” or “I woke up in the middle of the night…”

Em doesn’t suffer in silence.  Usually I am well aware of her late night wakefulness.  I paid my dues with the kid that co-slept almost full time until she was three and appeared in my bed in the wee hours of the morning almost nightly until she was four.  The first time she told me she’d awakened I was surprised.  She hadn’t come to climb in my bed, her room was as we’d left it the night before so I tentatively asked her what she did all night.  “I watched brain movies.”

At first I thought she meant dreams.  But the more we talked about it she explained that when she can’t sleep she looks at “brain movies, about my day, or about things that have never even happened….”

The other evening I was sitting on the couch with MQD and I got myself all choked up (shocking, I know.)  “We’ve been married for almost two weeks, and I remember less and less of the day, of the actual event every day.”  There are moments in your life that you think you’ll hold on to forever.  And then the days pass by and slowly the memory fades.  I may not remember the details of the day, but I will never forget how I felt.

I couldn’t sleep last night.  Woke up around three o’clock in the morning and was awake for the better part of the rest of the night.  I tried watching brain movies.  I have a lot of excellent footage from the last few weeks to choose from.   Kind of wishing I could kick back and watch some brain movies right now….

When I can’t sleep Fish doesn’t sleep, either.  He keeps me company.  Follows me from room to room.  Wondering, I am sure, what exactly we are doing awake and whether it would be appropriate to take my entire spot in the bed.

He is definitely watching brain movies right now…

Happy, I found you….

I haven’t been this happy in years.  ~ Emily June

7:30 in the morning, Monday, May 9th, 2011

I don’t know what she meant by that… in years?  She’s only 5.  But I have been 35 for almost two weeks, married now for almost three weeks, and neither have I.  A proper update is coming… but for now… just know that I am so very, very happy.

We had a delightful band at our reception, the Gravy Boys.  They have an amazing tune, Happy.  It is my hope it will be an anthem of sorts for the rest of the year.

Can’t remember life before you
And all my memories lead to you
What’ll happen if I ever lose you
Just don’t matter, ‘cause I end with you
‘Cause only you can make me

Happy, so happy
Happy, I found you

S. Celestini © 2009

It just might be a lunatic you’re looking for…

No matter how sure I am, no matter that I know in my heart of hearts that I am doing the “right thing” there is something about having a “wedding” that is making me antsy.  It’s funny, I never felt like this when I got married before.  Although if you’d asked me to be honest, even then, if I thought we’d make it until the end of time I would have had to ask you what “make it” looks like to you.

I am so absolutely ready to marry MQD. We have grown so much together in the last two years.  Not only closer, but individually.  And I can see us continuing to challenge each other for years to come.  It is the making a decision that touches not just my life, maybe, that is making it scarier.  You don’t typically choose a parent for your child.  And I have been so lucky.  To find a boy that makes me crazy and a man that makes me sane all wrapped up in one human being.

So what is it that has me staring at the ceiling at night instead of sleeping?  Equal parts “Do I remember where I put my strapless bra?” and “Will anyone notice that my shoes are not exactly the same color as my crinoline?” and “How long do we try to get pregnant before I freak the fuck out?” I suppose.  But if I dig deep and am honest there isn’t any part of me that wonders if MQD is the “right person” for me.  But I do find it unsettling that there is no litmus test.

I never imagined I’d get married again.  And I never imagined I’d spend my days adding up numbers and arranging invoices and expenses and facts.  But what appeals to me about my job is exactly what is making me antsy about getting married.  I don’t love construction.  Or math.  But I love it when all the numbers add up.  They are right.  There is no need to argue them.  They are correct.  Period.  I love being right.

In about two weeks I will gather my friends and family and say “Hey guys! Check out this Life Plan.  I pick him.  He is “right.”  And I am “right” for him.”  But I can’t export a marriage in to Excel and double-check it.    There will be no tape from the adding machine stapled to our marriage license with my initials on it.

I have been thinking on this for a few days.  Wondering when I stopped being fearless.  Is it being a parent?  being older?  having been hurt in the past?     Have I just developed a tendency to over think things in the last decade?

And then I ran across this.  And I stopped worrying about right or wrong.

Loving the wrong person

Let our scars fall in love.
–Galway Kinnell

We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems–the ones that make you truly who you are–that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person–someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.

~ Andrew Boyd

Can’t get much more wrong than this, can you?  Love you, MQD.  Thanks for putting up with me the last few weeks.

Letting go and holding on…

I have an unlikely friend. The Universe works in mysterious ways.  When my phone rang a couple of weeks ago and it was the young lady my ex-husband was living with soon after we separated you’d probably not have guessed that I’d have answered.  Or that she’d have been calling to ask for advice.  Or that I’d have poured a glass of wine and sat down on my back porch, giggling like I was talking to a dear girlfriend.  Or that I’d have been so very thrilled to hear the anticipation in her voice as she was preparing to catch up with an old boyfriend.

Then again you’d be just as surprised to know that a few years ago, when I was preparing our divorce papers it was Hillary I called.  To make sure it was a good time to send them. That she’d be around if he needed someone to talk to. Because I hated the idea of him hurting and not talking to anyone about  it.

Sometimes the world brings you the people you need in your life.  And sometimes you seek them out, asking advice from the friends that you know will tell you want to hear.   I knew Hillary would tell me to do what I needed to do, not take any bullshit, rip the band-aid off.  And when she called the other evening, I suspect she knew that I’d tell her to dive in, head first, heart and arms wide open, because what have you got to lose?  If there was ever a time to ask a woman if she thinks it is a good idea to be open to the possibility of Love I’d guess that the month before she gets married is a pretty damn good time.  I think my exact words to her that night were “What did you think I’d say?  Are you fucking kidding,  I love Love!”

So it was with a heavy heart that I read her email last week.  She told me that it was a no-go with the old flame.  I replied that she just has to keep putting herself out there.  And in what I declare a moment of genius told her that “our hearts are like earthworms. We have endless regenerative powers.”  Hillary is a tough cookie.  And when I didn’t hear from her I assumed that she was toughing it out.  Her earthworm heart mending itself in time to be torn in two for perhaps the gazillionth time, but all in all, no worse for the wear.  And then yesterday she posted this….

Dear Kelly Ann,
You never mentioned that once you try and finally let go….what happens when they try to force themselves back into your life? What if my guard is weak just like my heart? Why all these fucking games? Why all the constant tugs on my heart strings?
Sincerely, Hillary  from cantstopthebeattt

And I am at a loss.  I am a Dreamer.  A Believer in Love.  But I am not one to suggest to my friends that they keep putting themselves in the line of fire, earthworm hearts or not.    So I am not sure how to respond.  And when I am not sure of what I think I am prone to question what the asker thinks I am going to say… Did she ask me hoping that I’d tell her to stay true to her heart, to try one more time, to never give up, because after all wasn’t it me that was “in Love with Love” just last week?  Or did she ask me  because she heard the tearful struggles. She saw me crying in the parking lot of the Waffle House where Jer and I would  swap Em for the weekend.  She knew from our talks so long ago that I did leave once, but I never stopped loving.  So maybe she was looking for me to be the Kenny Rogers of relationship advice and tell her to “know when to walk away, know when to run.”

As is usually the case once I talk myself all the way through both possibilities I can see that neither is really right.

I can’t tell you how to walk away.  And I can’t tell you how to hold on and keep trying, in spite of the hurt.  Because I don’t think we every really make that choice.  Hillo, we don’t choose to fall in love.  And we can’t, unfortunately, choose to let it go, either.  I don’t think we ever really walk away, or put up a fence around our hearts, not when you love with your whole heart.  So, then when is it over?  It’s over one day when you wake up and you realize that you’re not crying.  That you fell out of love as wordlessly, as effortlessly and quietly as you fell in.

So, keep treading water if you don’t want to dive in headfirst, little girl.  But I’m afraid you can’t just get out of the pool.  I don’t think girls like us have that as an option.

*A few years ago you put a bunch of pictures of your past in a mirror.  A mirror that had been mine and had hung in my house, with pictures of my past in it for over a decade.  When I moved out I didn’t take it with me.  And it ended up in your hands.  I hope you still have it.  And I hope you keep looking in it.  For a little while longer, anyway.   And then I hope one day you don’t need it anymore.  I hope you get all the answers you need from your past.  And I hope you know how grateful I am for your unlikely friendship.

Day 81: Celebrate nature

Day 81: Celebrate Nature :Lure a fly on to this page and swat it here.

I can’t find anything celebratory about killing a fly.  And I think this is actually the second time in this book they have asked you to kill an insect. Hrrmph.

In an effort to “celebrate nature” today I did snap  a quick picture out my office door.  But a picture can’t capture the sound of the  thunderstorm that is rolling through Chapel Hill right now, or the way the thunder claps combine with Simon & Garfunkel’s 59th Street Bridge Song to make for a beautiful morning.

I put a fair amount of effort in to enjoying an average rainy day.  Rainy days are not my favorite.  I am a sunshine fan, but without the rainy days you can’t appreciate the days with the sun on your face quite the same way.

But a thunderstorm?  I have no trouble enjoying a thunderstorm.  The way the air is warmer and cooler all at once.  Early to mid 1980s – Sitting in the trunk of our car, the seats folded down,  the scent of sleeping bags and popcorn combine with the smell of the rain.  My parents would pull the car up to the very edge of our garage, our steep driveway allowing it to feel like we would fall off the edge of the universe if we jumped from the car’s warm, dry trunk in to the rain.

I learned to appreciate a thunderstorm on those summer evenings. More often than not by the time we got our sleeping bags arranged just so, our stuffed animals lined up, our pillows fluffed up, our popcorn popped… the storm would be nearly passing.  But we enjoyed the process, the process of getting ready to enjoy the storm that pulled us in from the back yard, or off of our bicycles early that evening.  Similarly, anyone with small children knows that if the lights go out, simply bring in wood for the fireplace, gather around the hearth and get ready to roast marshmallows with a favorite book.  Your power will come back on as soon as you get settled.  I think I learned a lot about embracing the unexpected, finding the joy in the small moments, from those evenings sitting in the trunk of that shitty station wagon.

Like so much of my adult life… it’s balance.  I’ll take a rainy day.  Because the sunshine is always right around the corner.

You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

~T.S. Eliot



So, Dad…

So, Em has decided she wants to call Mike “Dad” after we get married. Daddy will stay Daddy and Mike can be Dad. It’s pretty cute. The other night I asked her if that was still her plan. She says “yup.” Mike says “You can try it out if you want, see how it sounds.” She rolls her eyes and says “Well, what would I say?” Mike says “Whatever you want…”

She pauses for dramatic effect…. “Dad, can I get a tattoo?”

I almost fell out of my chair.

He is in so much trouble.

 

Day 80: Start eating a piece of furniture…

Day 80: Start eating a piece of furniture. Frequently you hear a parent say that there is nothing their children can do that they haven’t already done.  Em is exceptional in many ways.  And today’s challenge is a reminder of one of them.  I have never eaten a chair, or at least not that I can recall.  She has.

These chairs were originally in my grandmother’s kitchen.  Then they were in the house I grew up in.  I believe there were originally six.  Then there were four.  Now I have two of them in my bedroom. They serve as a reminder of time gone by.

I hope someday Em has that gnawed on chair in a corner of her bedroom.  And I hope her children ask her if it’s really true what their grandmother says… that she was the one that chewed it.

Day 79: Become an Expert on Today

Today’s challenge is the kind of challenge I enjoy when I am feeling overwhelmed.   It seems like the rest of my universe has lots of Big Tasks to be completed.  Big Tasks, comprised of tiny little tasks, some of which are in my head, some of them on scraps of paper, many of them on lists on my phone, on calendars with alarms attached, some of them existing only in my heart.  Sometimes you need a simple directive.

Day 79:  Become an expert  on today. A quick trip to Wikipedia’s entry about the 22nd day of March has me feeling like I learned a fair amount.  And isn’t that what qualifies a person as an expert these days?  A quick google search on the subject?

In doing my research I got sidetracked, as one is apt to do… On March 22, 1978 Karl Wallenda of the Flying Wallendas died.  He fell from a tight-rope.

If you weren’t raised in my house you probably didn’t think about the Flying Wallendas all that often.  But we were big on the circus as kids, and even bigger on jumping out of trees in the back yard.  I know I have asked Em to get down from somewhere, asking her if she “thinks she is one of the Flying Wallendas?”

I’m going to call it a day.  If knowing that Karl Wallenda died on March 22 isn’t enough to make me an expert, then I don’t wanna be one.

On another day I might have kept reading… but I kinda feel like I have a lot of shit already figured out.  I might not really be an expert on March 22.  but I am an expert on crying.  I am emotional, wildly so, some might say.  And yesterday someone I love dearly had a moment in time where he realized, or perhaps only remembered,  the tremendous joy that one can feel in just letting those big, fat tears roll down your face.  And my heart was full and I felt like the smartest woman alive.  Because I already knew that.  It’s not fair to only let the tears escape when you can’t hold them in, when they are welling up deep from grief or despair.  The sweetest tears are those that surprise you.  The tears that come from a place of joy and of love.  It’s easy to forget that these tears exist.  And if you spend too long trying to contain your tears they are the first to elude you.

If this was handwritten there’d be big, fat splotches of tears on the page here.  Because my life changed irrevocably on March 22nd, 2010.  I don’t think it was an accident that I sat down to write this today.  MQD, Em and I spent the first night in our home together on March 22.  It was months before he proposed.  And more than  a year before we will be wed.  But to me… and I believe to him… it was the no turning back moment.  It was the day we became a family.  Granted we are no family of flying Wallendas. But I think we bring a certain something to the party.

Day 78: So about your friends…

Day 78: How politically correct is your circle of friends?

Not very.  Some of them are not even particularly well behaved.  Very few of them ever bite their tongues. But they are mine.  And they’ve known me since before I had the good sense to censor myself.  And they love me anyway.

 

Great big happy

I am happy.  For a lot of reasons, but mostly for a few very small ones.

I pulled in to the driveway this morning on my way back from the gym and a smile spread across my face.  That kind of smile you can’t possibly contain.  All because I saw Mike’s car.  I walked inside and told him that while I was aware that one day he’d get a new car, the idea of it kind of makes me sad.  Something about seeing his big old grandfather car… it makes me smile.  Deep inside.  That kind of smile you get when you see the boy you like.  Or that your favorite dessert is the dessert special at the restaurant where you decided to have dinner.  That kind of smile that makes you feel like you are the Winner.  I walked inside to see my sweet little lady, all dressed, hair brushed, matching headband and all.  “I’m awake, Mike just got up,” she reported.  I looked past her to the kitchen and saw Mike all sleepyfaced in his pajama pants.  I tried to tell him about that smile, the smile that was so big.  “I spent so many evenings sitting on my front porch, pretending I wasn’t waiting to see if you’d stop by, and you always came… you always did.  And as soon as I’d see your car…” I think I trailed off there, my face buried  in his shoulder, as if he couldn’t hear the sappy HolyShitWeAre GettingMarriedinLessThanTwoMonthsAndIAmSoExcited tears in my voice.

I usually jump right in the shower in the morning when I get home.  I lingered in the kitchen.  We laughed a lot this morning.  About SALAD.  Because we love to say SALAD!   We tried to tell Em for the zillionth time that she was doomed to be a “crazy person,” too, one day.  Her words for when she is less than amused with our antics.  She cut us off.  With a wave of her hand and an”I’ve heard this all before” face.  We laughed some more.

It’s raining today.  Not a reason to be happy by most folk’s standards.  But not everyone has these ass-kicking rain boots, either.

I took my time this morning. I stopped to laugh in the kitchen.   I stole a real, grown-up kiss from MQD before the interloper barged in to the bathroom.   I helped Em pick out her job at school today, and she showed me a picture she had made. I walked through three puddles on my way in to the office.  I chased Fisher down the driveway at work.  I took my time.  And I was at my desk only eight minutes later than average.