Now that my girls are older, I rarely get the opportunity to read children’s books.
Okay, that’s a lie…
- Image found on Flickr, Linda Jordon
On occasion (aka not so occasionally), you can find me sitting in my library/sewing/writing/soon-to-be-bed room reading Dr. Seuss — out loud. (Not sure what it says about me that there’s a room in my house with an identity crisis) (Also, in case you weren’t aware… out loud is the ONLY acceptable way to read a Dr. Seuss book!)
Since my girls are now 17 and 12, there aren’t many children’s books that I’m even willing to read, let alone take the time to re-read over and over again. (Other than Seuss, obviously.)
For a book to achieve such an honor in my currently WAY overloaded schedule, it has got to be phenomenal. To be honest, I would have told you such a book did not exist.
Turns out, I was wrong (again). Continue reading
A few years ago, my mom found out that her father wasn’t her father. She and my uncle had taken a DNA test and it turned out he was her half-brother.
The relationship between my mom and grandma was already strained, so this bomb basically destroyed what little bit of communication still existed between them. On the few occasions they did speak, it always resulted in my mom insisting on knowing who her real father is and my grandmother insisting that either the DNA results are wrong or the hospital gave her the wrong baby.
While this revelation tore my mom up inside, it didn’t affect me at all. (Cue the stages of grief…)
I had never known her father… my grandmother had remarried by the time I was born and I had always thought of my mother’s stepfather as my grandfather. Even when my grandma divorced and remarried again, I considered her new husband my new grandfather. (I’m pretty adaptable that way I guess.)
I barely let any of it bother me and continued on with my life. After all, what did any of this have to do with me?
Whenever I visited either of them, I listened as my mom and grandma berated each other and recounted their side of the story over and over again. Each defended themselves as if I was the judge & jury and they were trying to avoid the electric chair. Still, it barely registered as a slight annoyance on my “things I’m going to stress about today” meter.
Then the day came when I got this text:
Call me. I have a dad.
Warning: Today’s post is not going to be funny or upbeat. I’m about to be serious (for once).
Mauerbauertraurigkeit – n. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.
I saw this word on my Twitter feed today.
My husband and I were sitting at the table this morning talking about this problem I have. He went downstairs, I checked Twitter, and there it was.
I had no idea that this word existed…. But I should have. (I also wasn’t sure it was a real word when I read it, so I looked it up here.)
When I was in the 8th grade, a close friend died. Almost every year thereafter, until I was in my late 20’s, I lost another friend. At one point, I attended a funeral every month for 5 months… none of which were for anyone over the age of 24. Continue reading