Friday, September 28, 2007
In good news, I get to sew tonight (I’ve given myself an edict that I cannot work on any sewing projects until my work is done.) At least I know what I’m doing there. I will have to post some of my newest projects; I’m pretty excited about them.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The other, Crystal, has a BA in philosophy, but is a stay-at-home mom with a new little baby. I am proud of her, too.
This week, I realized that my being proud of my sisters really doesn’t have as much to do with their occupations as the fact that they are doing good, honorable things that they enjoy, and doing their best at it. Brook goes to law school because that’s what she wants to do, and she really likes it and is a good student. Crystal has started her family and stays home and takes care of Abby because that’s what she wants to do, and she really likes it and is a good mom.
Success, I think, is making the best decisions you can based on your situation, and then working to do your best and be happy at what you are doing.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Papa’s gonna buy you a new Bratz doll
And if that Bratz doll looks too skinny
Papa’s gonna buy you a souped-up Mini
And if that Mini runs over a cone
Papa’s gonna buy you a new iPhone
And if that new iPhone gets dropped
Papa’s gonna buy you a new laptop
And if that laptop loses a key
Papa’s gonna buy you a Nintendo Wii
And if that Wii flies across the room
Papa’s gonna buy you a brand-new Zune
And if that brand-new Zune gets wet
Papa’s gonna buy you an electric pet
And if you’re not happy after that
Then go on and cry, you spoiled brat!
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I’ve dealt with divorce before—not in my immediate family, but with aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends. It’s horrible. In the past, though, it always seemed that the person I was closest to wasn’t as culpable a party in the divorce. Yes, there are always two sides to every story, and you never know the whole story, blah blah—but take, for example, my aunt Edith,* whose husband decided after two kids that he was gay. Or my extended family member Frank,* whose wife left him with 4 kids because she decided she didn’t love him after all. Or my friend Hyacinth,* whose husband developed an uncontrollable addiction to pornography. Yes, it was sad that their family was breaking up, but it was easy for me to just blame everything on Edith’s and Frank’s and Hyacinth’s spouses, since I knew I would never see them again, and I didn’t care too much for them, anyway. Being able to simply dismiss the opposing party and blame the divorce on them helped me to compartmentalize my feelings quite nicely.
With this new situation, however, I can’t do that. In this case, probably more than any of the others, one person is pretty indisputably more responsible than the other, and has done things that I find repulsive. Unfortunately, though, my ties to him are stronger than to his wronged wife—meaning that, while I feel defensive of her, I have a greater duty to be loyal to him.
For days, I seethed about this. I hurt for the wife. I hurt for their kids. I hurt for myself. I was indescribably angry at him. I couldn’t believe that he was doing this. I found his actions absolutely unjustifiable. I was angry and apprehensive in advance for when I knew I would see him again. I thought up angry things to say to him, angry ways to treat him. I justified my feelings by saying that what he had done was indisputably wrong, by anyone’s standards.
One night, while practicing angry snubs while I was getting ready for bed, the thought came to me: What is it going to take for you to forgive him?
I’m not going to write here all that happened after that. It would take paragraphs of things that I don’t have the ability to adequately describe, and things that are probably too personal to post anyway. But what I came to realize—not for the first time, probably—is that forgiving someone is not the same thing as condoning their actions. And loving someone does not mean rejecting the people they’ve hurt. And it’s possible to love people who are willfully imperfect.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
As a child, the sounds I most feared were the pop of a balloon and the shattering of glass. They were loud, and they were associated with hurt or destruction—but more than anything, they were the sounds of things being broken that could never be put back together.
There’s a burning numbness that circles over my shoulders and the back of my head, moving down and resting just before my stomach. I both want and fear its departure—I hate feeling this way, but at the same time I’m afraid that if I stop it will mean that I’ve accepted what’s happening, and that will mean that it really is happening.
I wish that every family in the world could understand what a precious gift it is to be a family. That every person could appreciate that being fiercely loyal to their spouse and children is a more fulfilling ambition than any other. That actively loving the person they chose is an infinitely greater factor to make a marriage happy than being with someone who is their ideal.
I am uncommonly blessed, I guess, in that the person I chose several years ago also chose me, and given the choice again, I would gladly, anxiously, everlastingly make the same choice. Not because he’s perfect. But because we’re willing and wanting to live together, love each other, and be happy. While I generally don’t like to inflict my own decisions on other people, I can’t help but think that this is the way it’s supposed to be—and that it can be this way for everyone.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
These are all from one afternoon of proofreading. Some have been edited to protect the guilty (grammatical errors have been preserved, of course.)
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