...Mother's Day is always interesting to watch.
You have a handful of moms who received wonderful thoughtful gifts and proclaim their pride in their children and spouses. It's wonderful!
Then you have the vast majority who had a Mother's Day that was less than stellar.
My beef with Mother's Day?
Do I really need a single day to know that my spouse and children love me and appreciate me?
I better fucking not! There better be no question of whether or not I'm loved by my family.
Mother's Day is a Hallmark holiday, just like Valentine's Day and Father's Day. It's a day to set up a specific group for disappointment at the hand of corporations who could give a rat's ass if your family treats you like a queen (or king) as long as you go buy shitty cards and flowers that will die within a week and create a collection of vases that just take up space. It's all about money.
On Mother's Day, I used to have huge expectations. I expected my kids not to fight and to come together to do something meaningful to make me feel loved on my special day. I expected my husband to field everything and to make sure that I felt special. My husband never disappointed, even though I'm not his mother, but my kids were kids. I was frustrated, yelling and crying about "How could you do this to me on my special day! I just want one day a year where it's about me!"
But really, it's not about me. At all. It's about the fact that someone calls me "Mom" and they do special things all year long to let me know how much they love me. Snuggling on the couch to watch a movie, a call from a teenager, a swiped flower from a neighbor's yard, an unsolicited "I love you", a hug, a smile, a thank you. THAT'S what being a mom is all about.
Not some one day celebration of motherhood.
It's nice when they remember, but it's nicer when they do it because they want to, not because a calendar says they have to.
~Kim
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, May 14, 2018
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day #4
Me.
Simply put, I get out of bed every day for me.
I remind myself every day that I have to take care of myself. Easier said than done.
Most days, I don't want to get out of bed, but I do.
As you've seen up to this point, I have three very good reasons to do that.
This reason is equally important. I have something to contribute to the world.
I'm a teacher, I'm a writer, I'm a parent, I'm a friend, I'm a wife, and so much more. All of those things come together to make me a pretty awesome puzzle. I wouldn't be who I am without even just one of those pieces. I'm still far from complete.
I discover something new about myself all the time. I'm not ready to decide that that's all for me.
Depression is a nasty monster that hides in the dark places in the back of your mind. The places that you don't ever let anyone see. The crevices that are embarrassing, hateful, slovenly, and lonely. I don't want to be defined as any of those things.
So, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed every morning for myself. To remind myself that those ugly places are just a portion of who I am.
It's always said that you have to take care of yourself first and that's one of my small victories every day.
It's a struggle to remind myself that I want more than to sit in bed and wallow. I want to remember the great things my kids have done. I want to be present.
I get out of bed every day for myself, to remind me that I am a bad ass warrior.
I am important.
~Kim
photo credit: Rage In the Dark (license)
Goddess Nike (license)
Simply put, I get out of bed every day for me.
I remind myself every day that I have to take care of myself. Easier said than done.
Most days, I don't want to get out of bed, but I do.
As you've seen up to this point, I have three very good reasons to do that.
This reason is equally important. I have something to contribute to the world.
I'm a teacher, I'm a writer, I'm a parent, I'm a friend, I'm a wife, and so much more. All of those things come together to make me a pretty awesome puzzle. I wouldn't be who I am without even just one of those pieces. I'm still far from complete.
I discover something new about myself all the time. I'm not ready to decide that that's all for me.
Depression is a nasty monster that hides in the dark places in the back of your mind. The places that you don't ever let anyone see. The crevices that are embarrassing, hateful, slovenly, and lonely. I don't want to be defined as any of those things.
So, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed every morning for myself. To remind myself that those ugly places are just a portion of who I am.
It's always said that you have to take care of yourself first and that's one of my small victories every day.
It's a struggle to remind myself that I want more than to sit in bed and wallow. I want to remember the great things my kids have done. I want to be present.
I get out of bed every day for myself, to remind me that I am a bad ass warrior.
I am important.
~Kim
photo credit: Rage In the Dark (license)
Goddess Nike (license)
Friday, August 26, 2016
The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day. #3
This one is simple.
It's my husband.
He has tolerated more bull shit from me than anyone should have to. Seriously.
All of the weird pregnancy cravings. The crying fits because I couldn't find socks (his favorite pregnancy story to tell people). Working away from his family so we can have everything we need or want. Pulling endless hours at work. This list goes on and on.
Don't get me wrong. The past twenty years hasn't been sunshine and rainbows the entire time. In fact, a large chunk of it was spent angry, depressed, and arguing. (You can read about that here.)
Our is a love at first sight story. Yeah I hear you groaning, but it's true.
The minute he walked into the bar where I worked, I saw him and knew right then he was the one I wanted to marry.
When he didn't hit on me, after countless openings, I didn't become discouraged. I kept advancing and before he left, I asked for his phone number.
I waited a whole day before I called him. I was pretty proud of myself for not succumbing to the urges to phone him immediately that night. I was strong...
We talked for two hours that first night. It wasn't deep or meaningful, I couldn't even tell you the topics of conversation, but it was a start. Any logic left my body.
He was my dreamboat in Wranglers, a black felt cowboy hat, and cow skin boots.
He picked me up for our first date in his Chevy Blazer. He conveniently left out that it was older than me, had no exhaust, and rust everywhere. Turns out, I didn't care.
After dinner and drinks he brought me home and we sat in his truck and talked. I will never forget it. Here's how the conversation went.
B: There's something I need to tell you.
Me: Who is she? I'll kick her ass.
B: *chuckles* No, it's not like that at all.
Me: Then what?
B: *snickers and waits*
Me: C'mon! Out with it.
B: *smiles his smile that still makes my eyes flutter and my belly swim*
Me: You're married? You're a criminal?
B: Nope. *long dramatic pause* I'm gay.
Me: No you're not!
B: No, I'm just 20.
Me: Jesus! Seriously?!
I met him in a bar, and am not a pro at spotting fake IDs. He's said he was 23, just a year older than me. It lied! So his big secret was that he was younger than me.
He courted me for weeks, walking me up to my door, kissing me good night, and leaving as gentlemanly as he had been on all of our dates. No advances, no innuendos, nothing.
In my adult life, I hadn't dated (nor slept with) anyone like him. It was like the old cliché: Hook, line, and sinker.
That started the best love story of my life.
Twenty years later, sometimes we forget those moments, but you can see them now and again under a veil of looks or touches or words.
Sometimes, I'm not a very good wife to him. I think most marriages go through that. Ours goes through it often. When depression sneaks in and I can barely function, let alone cook a fantastic supper, it dulls everything around me, including the love of my life.
After several (early) years of hearing, "Just wake up and say, 'I'm going to be happy today' and you'll be fine," or 'Depression isn't real," he finally came to the realization that it is indeed real and his wife suffers from it.
Clicking the link above will take you to that side story. Oddly, love endures.
He still does the little things to make me feel special. I'm working on trying to remember to do the little things for him because I want him to know he's one of the reasons I get out of bed every day.
He's given me three of the greatest (albeit sometimes hair-raising) gifts on the planet and my life wouldn't be the same without him in it.
Yes, it sounds like a sappy love story, and it is, but it is much more than that to me.
It's a reason to live.
~Kim
photo credit: Wedding Rings (license)
Cowboys In The Dark (license)
It's my husband.
He has tolerated more bull shit from me than anyone should have to. Seriously.
All of the weird pregnancy cravings. The crying fits because I couldn't find socks (his favorite pregnancy story to tell people). Working away from his family so we can have everything we need or want. Pulling endless hours at work. This list goes on and on.
Don't get me wrong. The past twenty years hasn't been sunshine and rainbows the entire time. In fact, a large chunk of it was spent angry, depressed, and arguing. (You can read about that here.)
Our is a love at first sight story. Yeah I hear you groaning, but it's true.
The minute he walked into the bar where I worked, I saw him and knew right then he was the one I wanted to marry.
When he didn't hit on me, after countless openings, I didn't become discouraged. I kept advancing and before he left, I asked for his phone number.
I waited a whole day before I called him. I was pretty proud of myself for not succumbing to the urges to phone him immediately that night. I was strong...
We talked for two hours that first night. It wasn't deep or meaningful, I couldn't even tell you the topics of conversation, but it was a start. Any logic left my body.
He was my dreamboat in Wranglers, a black felt cowboy hat, and cow skin boots.
He picked me up for our first date in his Chevy Blazer. He conveniently left out that it was older than me, had no exhaust, and rust everywhere. Turns out, I didn't care.
After dinner and drinks he brought me home and we sat in his truck and talked. I will never forget it. Here's how the conversation went.
B: There's something I need to tell you.
Me: Who is she? I'll kick her ass.
B: *chuckles* No, it's not like that at all.
Me: Then what?
B: *snickers and waits*
Me: C'mon! Out with it.
B: *smiles his smile that still makes my eyes flutter and my belly swim*
Me: You're married? You're a criminal?
B: Nope. *long dramatic pause* I'm gay.
Me: No you're not!
B: No, I'm just 20.
Me: Jesus! Seriously?!
I met him in a bar, and am not a pro at spotting fake IDs. He's said he was 23, just a year older than me. It lied! So his big secret was that he was younger than me.
He courted me for weeks, walking me up to my door, kissing me good night, and leaving as gentlemanly as he had been on all of our dates. No advances, no innuendos, nothing.
In my adult life, I hadn't dated (nor slept with) anyone like him. It was like the old cliché: Hook, line, and sinker.
That started the best love story of my life.
Twenty years later, sometimes we forget those moments, but you can see them now and again under a veil of looks or touches or words.
Sometimes, I'm not a very good wife to him. I think most marriages go through that. Ours goes through it often. When depression sneaks in and I can barely function, let alone cook a fantastic supper, it dulls everything around me, including the love of my life.
After several (early) years of hearing, "Just wake up and say, 'I'm going to be happy today' and you'll be fine," or 'Depression isn't real," he finally came to the realization that it is indeed real and his wife suffers from it.
Clicking the link above will take you to that side story. Oddly, love endures.
He still does the little things to make me feel special. I'm working on trying to remember to do the little things for him because I want him to know he's one of the reasons I get out of bed every day.
He's given me three of the greatest (albeit sometimes hair-raising) gifts on the planet and my life wouldn't be the same without him in it.
Yes, it sounds like a sappy love story, and it is, but it is much more than that to me.
It's a reason to live.
~Kim
photo credit: Wedding Rings (license)
Cowboys In The Dark (license)
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
When You Realize...
You really love the man that you married, it's both amazing and heart wrenching.
The last two days are so different from the seven years before it.
No, really...Hear me out.
In nine months time, I've adjust to having the other half of me home. I didn't realize how much I had adjusted to him being around.
Although he worked third shift for the last part of his stint at home, he was still there. There were still reasons to say, "Shhhh! Dad's sleeping!" or "Yes you can use the upstairs bathroom, but be quiet." or "Please tell your friends not to knock on the door 300 times because the dog barking will wake up your dad!"
The guilt of not cleaning up during the day and watching him do it at night is gone. The threat of "I'm going to tell your father" is also gone. The complaining that every time I go to bed, I have to remake it because he can't throw a blanket across when he gets up is gone, as well.
People always say, "it's the little things," and it is.
It's the arguing over who forgot to put dinner leftovers in the refrigerator, or who ate the last "grown-up" cookie. It's sitting on the couch laughing about the other's choice of Netflix program. Folding laundry and complaining about the way the other is folding the shirts.
Now, there's none of that except on rotation and that's different.
I miss him.
~Kim
The last two days are so different from the seven years before it.
No, really...Hear me out.
In nine months time, I've adjust to having the other half of me home. I didn't realize how much I had adjusted to him being around.
Although he worked third shift for the last part of his stint at home, he was still there. There were still reasons to say, "Shhhh! Dad's sleeping!" or "Yes you can use the upstairs bathroom, but be quiet." or "Please tell your friends not to knock on the door 300 times because the dog barking will wake up your dad!"
The guilt of not cleaning up during the day and watching him do it at night is gone. The threat of "I'm going to tell your father" is also gone. The complaining that every time I go to bed, I have to remake it because he can't throw a blanket across when he gets up is gone, as well.
People always say, "it's the little things," and it is.
It's the arguing over who forgot to put dinner leftovers in the refrigerator, or who ate the last "grown-up" cookie. It's sitting on the couch laughing about the other's choice of Netflix program. Folding laundry and complaining about the way the other is folding the shirts.
Now, there's none of that except on rotation and that's different.
I miss him.
~Kim
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