You know the opening paragraph of any legal and binding contract where each party “shall henceforth be referred to as *blank*”? Well, that’s our Nameless.
Daily, people ask me what Baby Ray version 2.0’s name will be? And I give them the honest answer, “I don’t know.” Because the truth is, she doesn’t have a name, well, other than henceforth being called Nameless. See, the truth is, we’re not even close. But I still get the look. The one where the person is convinced that I have a name, but I’m just not telling them. Or people want to know “what’s on your list?”
I tell people all the time, ” I wish I was one of those people who just know what they want to name their child, who also happens to be married to a man that will go with whatever I say.” But the thing is, I don’t know what I want to name her. I mean, one day I do and then the next I’m not sure. Or I think I have a great name, and then I get “that look” from my husband.
Another one crossed off the list.
I don’t know why it’s so hard; other than the fact that she will have to live with it her entire life and all. I can even list the million things I don’t want, like a common name or current popular name. If it’s on the top 20 list, forget about it. I don’t want a vowel name (having a daughter with an A, and a dog with an I is bad enough). I don’t want a common name that’s just spelled different, it still just a common name. I don’t want something so off the wall no one has a clue how to spell it. I don’t want a name that sounds old, like Bertha or Ethel (suggested Gertrude, WTH?) And I don’t want an R name, being as our last name is Ray and all. So you would think this list would be whittled down, but nope…still got nothing.
Well, not entirely true, I have two names on my list.
So tell me, what’s your favorite girl name that fits the aforementioned criteria??? Becuase otherwise, she may be stuck with Nameless (she’s possibly already stuck with it as a nickname).
You know those childhood memories, the ones you often recall simply by walking into a store or driving down a certain street? I’m not talking about the big, once in a lifetime memories, but rather the simple things that pay homage to a great childhood. The seemingly ordinary moments in life that when compiled together reflect the basis of who you are.
For me there are many snippets in time I often reflect back on; the flat top arcade game at the local Pizza Hut, riding the liquor cart in the warehouse of the liquor store where my dad worked (when you grow up as the liquor “store baby” it makes it pretty impossible to buy liquor underage), and the way my dad never took the same roads to my grandmother’s house, he always switched his route. Just everyday moments that are forever etched in our minds.
If you have followed my blog very long, or just happen to know me, you know that I am a fanatic when it comes to my weekly grocery store run. I make a menu for the week, type up my list of everything I need in Evernote and off to the store I go. Or “we go” I should say, because most Sundays it’s a family affair. But regardless, any time the Diva Princess is with me, I know that we will be making a pit stop by the lobster tank. Every time, I hold her up and we check out the weeks selection of crustaceans. She asks roughly 8 million questions, usually the same ones as the week before.
“What are they doing in there?”
“Why do they have those rubber bands on their snappers?”
“Is he crawling on the other?”
I patiently wade through the sea of questions, enjoying our little moment we share each week while secretly hoping she’ll still remember this time when she’s older. But this week, while driving home, I found myself asking The Hubster questions about the lobsters. I had never thought about it until that moment, but how exactly does one buy a lobster? Because let me tell you, the vision I have is much the same as the kid leaving the carnival.
You know the carnival game where you spend way too much money trying to shot the BB gun, with the bent muzzle, trying to knock down a milk jugs. $15 later and all you have to show for yourself is the plastic bag with a goldfish you could have bought for $0.10 at the pet store. I don’t know how much a lobster cost, but I would gander it rivals the carnival goldfish.
But seriously, I kind of want to buy a lobster just to see what happens? I mean, is it a BYOT (tank, if you’re not following) or is the meat guy going to hand me a twisted up plastic bag with a lobster just hanging out (I hope it’s a thick mil bag, otherwise his little feet look like it would just puncture the bag)? Although I don’t eat seafood, I know that you are supposed to put them in the boiling water alive (which by the way, sounds terribly inhumane), so you have to get it home somehow, right?
I wonder what The Hubster would think if I come home with a pet lobster from the grocery store? It would, of course, be all in the name of solving the mystery as to how you buy a lobster. Not to mention, I’m sure the Diva Princess would always remember “that time we bought the lobster.”
Every night the Diva Princess makes her request for who she wants to snuggle. On the nights that the honor is so graciously bestowed upon me, I can’t help but watch her sweet innocent face relax into a deep sleep. There’s just something about a sleeping child that soothes your soul.
Two nights ago, as she lay fast asleep, I couldn’t help but wonder where life will take her. What will she be like at 16, 18, or 25? Will I have done a good job? Will I have prepared her for life? Will I have given her the keys to success?
See, back when I was a non-parent, I had it all figured out. I knew what had to be done. I could tell parents exactly what they were doing wrong…and then I realized I didn’t have a clue. The easiest parenting in the world is to parent someone else’s child, from a distance. But living it, breathing it, every day of your life. Having your every mistake emulated and magnified, that’s insanely terrifying.
Something I know all too well.
For those of you who have been blessed with multiple children, you know the struggle. As my hormones rage (and raging they are) and my body is no longer my own, it’s difficult to still be the mommy my daughter has always known. Try as I might, I fail a little every day. And then it happens, life bites you in the ass.
Now, I am well versed in a three-year-olds ability to play their parents like a fiddle, but sometimes you just know there is a certain amount of truth to their words. See, I’ve been what we will call “moody”, a lot. My patience are thin, my body is tired, and I may be guilty of flying off the handle…a few times too many. Did I mention I really miss wine! I would love to blame it on a life lived in constant pain, but the truth is, that’s just an excuse. Oh, the pain is real I assure you, my womb can attest, as is the perpetual state of hunger that leaves me in a haze of endless Hanger (hungry and angry, if you’re not familiar with the term), but I’m the adult. It’s my job to control my emotions. Something I have successfully failed at for months.
I say all that to say this…
After the second day in a row of picking up my dear, sweet, darling child only to be told that she has hit another child, my heart hurts. You can know things, rationalize thoughts and actions, but when it comes to your child, every good parent looks at themselves for where they went wrong. It’s natural. It’s human nature. Something you can’t avoid. Kids are what they are taught after all, right? Now, the small part of my brain that’s still rational knows that we don’t hit, so she didn’t actually learn it from myself or her father. That small part also knows she is exposed to endless amounts of outside influences that cannot be controlled. Influences by other kids whose family may not hold the same values as ours. And though being the bad guy, the disciplinarian, is the worst job in the world, you do what you must. You take a stand.
Then she puts the icing on the cake…
While calmly (although I was feeling anything but calm) explaining why we don’t hit, what it means to take responsibility for our actions and consequences, and why she was angry in the first place, my precious child says the one thing that can knock me to my knees. “I’m angry because you are always angry momma!”
Done. Toast. Finished. Failed.
In one simple sentence, she handed me my purple heart for parent of the year (insert sarcastic eye roll here). Of course, I fight back the hormonal tendency to cry my bloody eyes out, and explain in all my parental wisdom the many reasons we cannot let our actions be the result of someone else’s actions, but the truth remains…
It is up to me to be the woman I want my daughter to be.
For anyone who has the esteemed pleasure of knowing me personally, you know I am not much of a hiker. The Hubster, however, loves it!
Recently, he joined up with a group responsible for building The Haw River Trail, which will act as part of the NC Mountain to Sea Trail here in our county. The second Saturday of most every month, they pack up their tools and hit the trail to clear paths, blaze trees, and build bridges over small creeks that feed into the Haw River. Essentially, whatever needs to be done. It’s long, hard work, but he loves it. And from the comfort of my couch, with my laptop in hand, I love that he loves it.
But like most of us, when you are proud of the work you have done you want to share it, right?
So, like every good wife, with an overly huge 25-week pregnant belly, I put on my layers and boots, and braved the 28 degrees to see his work. To which, he may or may not, have failed to mention his portion was at the farthest end of this particular section. But I have to admit, despite my annoying painful hips, we had a great time. And since I rather enjoyed myself, I thought I would share a few pictures from our venture.
Don’t let that white stuff fool you, it’s not snow. I may have skated on the ice down half the trail. My mother will be thrilled!
There is something so tranquil about the sound of naturally running water. Even with a frozen surface, you could see the water bubbling through the creek.
This very intense face was being taunted by the geese floating on the river. Good thing she’s not a fan of swimming or we might have had a pupsicle. *Cue the drums!
And, I may have married a workaholic…he’ll love me for this!
Nothing like a daddy who can multitask the care of exotic animals with a monkey yelling “ECHO!” on his back.
***Side note: The Hubster and the Diva Princess have been quite the hikers as of late, but she always gets tired on the way back. So, he bought a child carrying pack thinking when she got tired this would allow him to carry her more easily than on his shoulders. Wrong. Now she thinks she’s queen of the woods…and he’s her personal carriage.
Now that the rose petals have wilted and we’re all frozen in the tundra, I gotta know…does status quo make you feel special?
I love romance! Especially when it comes to my writing. There’s nothing more poetic than waxing lyrically about those first tingling moments two characters fall in love. The way a single glance can ignite a fire deep inside. The delicate way his fingers trace your jaw. And the husk in his voice the moment you know he’s in just as deep as you are.
And it’s not just books. Every relationship – or at least I hope for your sake – has these little moments of sensational bliss. Whether it’s the chase or simply the wooing, relationships go through what I like to call the sweet spot. That grace period when endorphins run high and love is “in the air.” But it’s after that time passes, when the natural curiosity wears thin and you know your partner inside and out, that we have to put forth a little more effort. Which leads me to my real question…
Does Valentine’s Day truly bring out the love in your relationship?
Sure, it’s the day designated for love…and red hearts, chocolates, teddy bears, and overpriced roses. But does it make you feel special? Or anymore loved?
See, I’m a skeptic. Not about love, but retail holidays. I’ve been with the hubster for 12 years – if I can do my math correctly. For the past 11 years we haven’t celebrated the holiday, and this is why…it’s meaningless. Again, I’m not referring to actual love; that my friend is one powerful thing that we cannot live without. What I am talking about is the overabundance of materialistic crap we call love.
So, it’s February 14th. Your husband/boyfriend/life partner/secret admirer has bought or had a florist deliver you the beautiful bouquet of dead roses (yes, if you aren’t aware of this fact, it is true. Once cut, the flower is no longer living or thriving, but slowly wilting), he/she has attached the box of chocolates (half of which you will smash or break open to see what’s inside, before deciding you don’t like it and then throw it away because no one is going to now eat the candy you have mutilated) and the ever so wasteful greeting card (no, I am not a fan of greeting cards…for any occasion. What happens to the $4 you spent? Someone looks at it and then eventually it ends up in the trash. Why not just throw a 5 in the can and call it a day. It’s just as productive.) If you are lucky – or creepily weird that you’re an adult receiving toys – you get a plush bear to complete the ensemble. Then he takes you to dinner, where you wait among the crowded entry ways freezing – it is February after all – every time the door opens, only to feel like your waiter is rushing your through your “romantic” meal because there is a wait 45 minutes long still needing to be served. Still feeling special?
Based on an article by IBT Pulse, the average spending per person on Valentine’s Day is $142.31. Your man/women spent $142.31 ($284.62 including what you bought him/her) so that you could be JUST LIKE THE OTHER 98% OF AMERICAN’S THAT CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAY. Wowzers! That’s a lot of dough just to be status quo! You really must feel special, broke and ready to hit the gym after all those coco calories!
Ah yes, you there that is still reading and saying that’s not me…you’re different. Your man bought you an arrangement of your (non-rose) favorite flowers (they’re still dead). He cooked you a steak on the grill, lit a few candles, even cleaned up in the kitchen after himself. Your man isn’t falling in the status quo, he’s going above and beyond… NOPE! Who do you think reminded him he was supposed to do something special? Hint: He didn’t remember on his own. Target, Walmart, Hallmark, any retail store that you walk into and are immediately bombarded with the red hearts kept him well alerted to the impending day. I’m sorry, but I’m still not buying it. You’re still failing for the one day that retail stores tell you that you should express your love with gifts. (PS. America spent a whopping $18.9 BILLION on Valentine’s Day…tell me again how it’s not about retail, but love?) Although, I commend your efforts to slightly break the mold, there are plenty of folks thinking just like you. “We’ll do something different, special, at home!” Still not making you any different from the norm.
Again, I love romance. I love Love. But doing what society tells you is a must, on a day they have deemed fit, just doesn’t scream special to me. It just doesn’t. It’s stressful, it’s often disappointing, and it’s as far from true love as I can see. But the random spring day a few years back, as the hubster drove by a florist and decided for no other reason than “why not” to buy me flowers (yeah, yeah, I know they are already dead) and bring them to me at work, now that made my heart skip a beat. It may have been a slight heart attack that made my heart skip a beat that day, being as it was probably only the second time in our relationship he had bought me flowers, but it was random. It was thoughtful. It was his idea and his alone. Not fed by retailers or social expectations. It was just love.
So prove me wrong? How does status quo make you feel special?
Growing up, I knew I was always a little strange. I was different from the other kids, not quite fitting in all the time. By late middle school, I learned to suppress my odd tendencies and go with the flow, but I always knew I was different. I always saw the world in a different light.
When you’re three, no one thinks anything of the imaginary conversations you have between your dolls. They say you’re cute, or smart, or creative. At sixteen, however, making up conversations for the couple three tables down at a restaurant isn’t quite so cute. It’s weird.
Or so I thought.
Then I learned there were others just like me. Others whose imaginations were not limited by the constraints of social norms. Others who had voices rambling on in their head. Story lines playing out like a silver screen. Worlds constantly being constructed.
Authors. Writers. Novelist.
Call us what you want, but we all have one thing in common…the endless supply of characters filling our minds with ongoing chatter, while they patiently (some, not so patiently) wait for the day we put them on paper. It was then, realizing there were others like me, or I like them, that I accepted my weirdness for what it truly was. Talent.
There has never been a “Great” in history that said I just want to be normal and fit the status quo. After all, Beethoven was Bipolar, Michelangelo was autistic, Darwin was agoraphobic and they all are known as some of the greatest artists in history. So I have a few – or a lot – of characters who talk to me, that’s not such a big deal, right?
As I was reading the article “Writers Through The Eyes Of Those Who Love Them” by Laura Drake in this month’s issue of Romance Writers Report, I came across a few quote that made me laugh…mostly because I have been there. So enjoy, and remember great storytelling always comes from a little bit of crazy.
Whether you are a fan of the series, or not, you can’t escape the Fifty Shades of Mania surrounding the upcoming release of the infamous Christian Grey. And what better marketing than to release “the year’s biggest love story,” (Amazon) book adaptation on Valentine’s Day? Quite frankly, E.L. James is one lucky little Brit.
But, aside from the normal movie hype and marketing, the Fifty Shades trademark seems to be seducing its way into mainstream marketing in just about every avenue. We all expected adult superstores like Adam and Eve to dominate the trademark, but it seems this phenomenon has roped in more than just the adult toy industry. Based on the “50 Shades of Grey” article by Business Insider, everyone from widely known Brooks Brother’s Menswear to local hometown Pendell Hardware in Pendell, PA are stocking up on your submissive needs. In the months leading up to the climatic release of one steamy Mr. Grey, sales from grey ties to rope have increased for these retailers. Even Audi has had its 16th record month of sales with its submissive special the Audi A3 (the car Grey gives to Ana Steele).
But if you can’t afford to run out to your local Audi dealer to buy your love that shiny new red A3 this Valentine’s Day, don’t fret. Below I have prepared a list (links) of all your “50 Shades of Fun” needs to make this February 14th one for the books…
1) Start your seduction right with this very special “Grey Bear” from everyone’s favorite Valentine’s Bear maker, Vermont Teddy Bear.
2) Getting that last minute Valentine’s Day card??? Don’t forget to check out these Target teasers on the isle caps.
3) Ladies, don’t be captured out on Valentine’s Night without the perfect set of 50 Shades of Nails, brought to you by Opi at Macy’s.
4) And nothing says Red Room of Pain like these sweet aromas from Target.
5) Every woman knows Christian Grey’s contract comes with some very serious rules…one of which is eating to keep up your energy is a must. Not to worry, Dominos (unaired commercial) has your covered.
6) Want to treat your special lady to a night of luxury but can’t afford an apartment at the Escala (base model starting at $400k)? Then spice things up with this San Fran area hotel special.
7) Breaking any of the Grey rules is punishable, but don’t worry Trojan has you covered.
8) And if you’re feeling a little unsure – we all know it took sweet Ana a minute to come to terms with her contract – you can always attend this sermon at a Virginia church for a little guidance.
As the powerful business man he is, its looks like Christian Grey has finally whipped Hallmark out of its #1 spot when it comes to this retail holiday.
Last night, as I suffered through the daunting task of drying my hair yet again, I couldn’t help but think this is where we went wrong. So wrong! Just think with me here for a minute…
What if it was socially acceptable for women to shave their heads?
I know, you think I am crazy. Why would you ever want to shave your beautiful hair that you spend a fortune on? But isn’t that the irony? Women spend endless amounts time, money, energy, and way too much effort on our hair…and we still hate it. Still complain about it. Sure, every now and again you have the perfect hair day. The volume is just right. Every piece in perfect order. No static to be seen…then you walk outside and hit a wall of humidity. And all that hard work just went right out the door. Going to the beach? You might as well forget about it.
But what if hundreds, even thousands, of years ago women had been a tiny bit brighter? What if they had shaved that messy mane and rocked the baldness?
Our society’s idea of a woman’s beauty has so often been wrapped up in our hair. We color it to “have more fun”, we cut it in styles that hide the unpleasant shapes of our face, or we grow it long to satisfy the desire of many men. Even someone such as myself, someone who on most days could give about two-cents how people view me, still battles with this concept. As much as I would love to shave my head – well buzz it once a month, let’s not get too crazy with the shaving it everyday idea – I could never do it. Why? Because society has set a standard. Personally, I’m blaming Cleopatra for her gorgeous, sleek black hair. Maybe if she had shaved her head it would have started a revolution?
And then there’s the issue of “not” wanting to shave…
Most days – okay, I’m married, so the one day every few weeks when I decide to shave my legs – I want to strangle the woman who decided shaving her legs and underarms was fashionably cool. I mean really, come on? You couldn’t shave your head, but shaving your legs and underarms seemed like a genius idea? You couldn’t just let it go, could you? Nope, you had to go and be vain, and now I’m stuck living up to marital standards of shaving my legs at least twice a month! BS, I say, BS!
On February 2, 1917, in Haw River, NC, a town that would later become the world’s largest producer of Corduroy, my husband’s grandmother was born. Yesterday, as we sat in the small living room where my father-in-law was once raised, my husband loudly asked a seemingly normal question which provoked a rather surprising answer. “What is the greatest change you have seen in your life?”
Her answer was sensible. Real. But far from where my mind had wondered.
While I view the world’s progress in measures of technology, I missed the very essences of what all technology, new and obsolete, have in common.
Electricity.
For ten years, Grandmother lived in a house with no electricity. Ten years. Ten. Years.
My mind is so conditioned by my surroundings that the idea of ten days without electricity is unfathomable, let alone ten years. Last winter, when central North Carolina was crippled by an ice storm that left many without power for days, our way of living was temporarily deemed disastrous. Within hours of losing my source of heat, the Diva Princess and I abandoned my sister’s house (where we were living at the time) in search of power.
Hours. Not days. Not years. Only hours.
Obviously, I am well aware that electricity has not always been readily available. That once upon a time the world functioned on a far more basic level. But somehow, on that Sunday afternoon, sharing a conversation with a woman who once lived in a world where lights were not merely at our fingertips blew my mind. I’ve become so accustomed to the modern conveniences, the lights, the heat, the world at my fingertips, that I can’t imagine a world otherwise.
I don’t know what’s in store for my lifetime, but it’s hard to imagine I will ever experience something that changes our lives so dramatically. I only hope that the continued “success” in society is not it’s own downfall.
So the other day, I’m browsing through Facebook and I come across an article posted by a friend titled,“25 Signs You Found The Man You Could Spend The Rest Of Your Life With.”And while I respect the perspective of relationships are different between say a “new love” and that of someone who has been with their husband thirteen years, I found myself curious how many of these “25 signs” we would fit into now? I was guessing about two. I wasn’t far off.
Right out of the gate, we failed…and I laughed.
“1) He surprises you for no other reason than to see you smile.” Yeah, now-a-days the only surprise that would make me smile would be coming home to a clean house and there not being 8 pair of shoes by the back door, but I can promise you that won’t happen just to see me smile. Okay, so that’s not the only surprise that would make me smile, but it would be a huge smile if it happened. A pregnant girl can dream. *Hint *Hint honey!
“2) He pays attention when you talk.” Ha! Now that’s funny! I’m pretty sure at this point thehubster is either half deaf or ignores 92.6% of what comes out of my mouth. Not that I can blame him. My words usually revolve somewhere around my latest book boyfriend or my undying efforts to hire a half-naked, very ripped and tan, 22-year-old male house cleaner, preferably with a little exotic nationality. Really, I don’t want much. And the hubster has agreed…with one condition of course, I add “fe” in front of that “male”.
But, you get the idea…Maybe we once fell into these categories of “cutesy” relationship bliss, but things change. And soon those cute things he used to do won’t help when the bills come due and the baby’s screaming at 2 am. Again!
So I decided to make my own list, “10 Things That Will Carry You Through The Years.” Because let’s be honest, foundations aren’t built out of rose petals.
1) You can survive the pre-caffeine, getting ready for work dance 4 out of 5 days of the week, without wanting to poison his coffee. Laugh now, but there are no worse claws than those of the pre-caffeine hours. And hey, no one’s perfect, so 4 out of 5 mornings is good enough.
2) He disposes of bugs…with minimal grumbling. Now, I am all for being a mighty, strong woman, but not when it comes to oversized bugs, especially spiders. There are few times when you will see me act “girly,” but let a spider pop out unexpectedly and I will scream like a valley girl.
3) He ignores your passenger seat driving…90% of the time. You know you do it. We all do. You get in the car, and before you can get a mile down the road you’re critiquing. But it’s his ability to just flat out ignore you that will actually be your saving grace. Why? Because think of all the time you spend in the car…that’s a lot of useless arguments if he engages.
4) He ignores your absurdnagging in general. What’s that you ask, isn’t ignoring your wife bad? Nope. It’s a life saver. Men are smart –shhhh…don’t tell them we think so! A smart, good man knows when to let it roll on by. And when you become a smart wife, you realize when to adhere to his silent gesture and let it go. We can’t help that we areuber opinionated, but finding a good man that will sort through what’s worthy of his attention and what’s just your lips moving is actually a great quality.
5) Hormones…The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. The Good keep things spicy *wink *wink, The Bad come and go, and The Ugly…well, we call that pregnancy. Surviving them is key. Good luck!
6) Accepting the toilet seat in the up position. For ages, women have gripped that the seat should be putback down after use. It’s just a pointless argument; if it’s up, put it down before you sit. Problem solved. The temperature battle though, now that’s a worthy fight!
7) Dinner. These days, I make a menu for the week as to limit our “what to have” conversation to one time a week. But in the olden days we had to find the balance between my “I don’t care” (which I really did care) and his “do not kill her for saying I don’t care again”. Not an easy feat!
8) Have tickle fights. Seriously. I know this seems juvenile but sometimes you just have to act like a kid. And sometimes it leads to some very adult things.
9) Surviving home projects. There was a time very early on that I wasn’t sure we weren’t getting a divorce over replacing a bathroom light fixture. There we stood, both on the vanity, neckskinked in awkward positions, and I dropped the tiny screw. Honestly, I thought it might be the end, but we survived. Barely. Since then, we have learned the art of working together…or when to make one’s self very scarce.
And for the final test of all time, to know if you really have what it takes to last decades…
10) Move. The further the better. I can’t count the number of times we have packed up and moved over the years, but when you master the art of moving without killing each other, you know you got it. If moving four states away didn’t break you, nothing will.
