Freshly Pressed, I have a beef with you!

Once upon a time, before the advent of Netflix, there was a place called “the video store.” This place took many different forms in many different locations around the world, but each store had in common its proliferation of the item deemed “the video tape.” These dinosaurs of the storage medium allowed viewers to enjoy movies by use of a device named “VCR.”

Some video stores were run like fast food franchises, with very little in the way of personalization. Other video stores were smaller, and encouraged their employees to express their individuality. One employee might wear a sheriff’s star to work. Another employee might inform a teen male checking out videos with his friends that he had late fees for the Barbie movie, or worse.

One thing these non-franchise video stores often permitted their employees to do was recommend a favorite movie or two with stickers or notecards saying things like, “Bobby Sue’s Top Pick! So romantic!” or “GI Joe’s Top Pick! IT DOES NOT GET MORE BEEFCAKE THAN THIS.”

One guy everywhere inevitably picked Ghost Dad, because, really. What could be more awesome than Bill Cosby as a ghost?! *

Another guy might pick Amelie, because it reflects the enormous sensitivity and quirkiness of his soul.**

One gal might select The Fast and the Furious, because she is impressed by the perfect combination of lots of yummy-looking testosterone vessels driving things really fast, occasionally to the point of collision and/or explosion.

Another still might choose Shrek, because it is just so freakin’ sweet.

Wisely, most video stores knew better than to group these movies together under a banner proclaiming:
THESE ARE THE BESTEST, MOST STUPENDULARLY AWESOME PICKS IN THE ENTIRE STORE!!!

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Grand Theft Recycling

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FTIAT: These Arms Were Meant to Hold You

Darla (She’s a Maineiac) and I first connected over her recounting of tough experiences that have nevertheless failed to roughen her soul. Her words are as open as they are transporting; through them, you’re gifted, for a moment, with the opportunity to see the world absolutely, exactly as she sees it. Be warned: You might not want to go back to seeing through your eyes after seeing through hers.

Recommended post: The Thread

Loving Spirit, Mind and Body

“I’m serious,” I breathed deep as my trembling hands held out the stick for my husband to inspect. “It’s positive.” Again. My body heaved with a sigh that sunk straight to my core. The look in my husband’s eyes mirrored mine. Disbelief. Fear. Hope. I felt his arms envelope me and I was soothed for a moment by their comfort. “Okay,” he whispered. “It will be okay.”

“I know it will,” I smiled. “I just know it.”

I giggled through tears as my three year old son leapt off the couch with a whoop and danced around us singing, “I’m getting a baby brother!”

As the next few weeks dragged by, I found myself almost holding my breath, like somehow by sheer willpower I could stay pregnant this time. I gingerly crept around, careful not to overexert myself so I might hold onto that blissful feeling of a little life blooming inside of me. The thought of repeating that dreadful moment when I felt my baby’s tiny flickering light slowly drain out of my body and soul only to be lost forever was almost too much to bear.

I had felt the familiar deep sting of my body betraying me years before when we’d tried for two years to get pregnant with our firstborn, my son. At the age of 30, I was diagnosed with severe endometriosis during surgery to remove a giant cantaloupe sized cyst along with my right ovary and fallopian tube. I cursed my defective body. How could it have failed me so cruelly? Feelings of anger and jealousy found their way into my heart as much as I tried to shamefully push them away. My bitterness only burned with more intensity as I watched my friends and family get pregnant with relative ease. The surgeon said my remaining ovary was covered in endo adhesions and scar tissue. The chances of getting pregnant were slim, but not impossible. I was done with the heartbreak. We began to explore other options. Yet, the very month we gave up, I got my positive and my beautiful boy was born on a chilly autumn night that September.

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My WHIP no more!

my boss, elelu

for three weeks,
you have whispered,
“don’t you love me?
why have you left me
after 38,000 glorious words together?”

out of guilt,
i heeded your pleas,
bringing you to the store for
quality editwalking.

retrieving my forgotten pencil
from the passenger seat,
i left my keys in pencil’s stead.

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i've never loved sitting outside a grocery store so much!

In which I thank, and do not defenestrate

My decision to create a guest blog spot was neither complex nor time-consuming. In fact, it can be boiled down to a few simple steps:

1. Savor the goodness of being a guest blogger
2. Realize I’d like others to feel that same goodness
3. Decide I should create a guest blog spot on TMiYC
4. Think, “Gratitude is the bestest. Let’s go with that!”

After that, I was just a few arduous, time-consuming steps from really getting it going. I:

1. Hacked out a short list of specs
2. Emailed some—tho’ not nearly all!—of the lovely bloggers I follow
3. Spent approximately eight minutes creating my masterpiece of a guest blog button

Then I waited. Like me, y’all are busy, so I expected I’d wait a week or two until the first entry landed in my mailbox.

I should have known better.

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Kick You in the Junk

I mentioned in comment to Saturday’s post about depression that the title referred to a song I’d written. I wrote it in the middle of a discussion with one of my roommates in Japan, belted it out and complied when she said, “We should make a video of that!”

I wasn’t going to post this here. It’s not my best song–not even close! What it is, far and away, is my song that makes me the happiest. When I’m grappling with something, I think of this video, giggle and know imma kick some serious junk.

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My toddler neat freak

Like every weekday morning, Sai ran into his kennel in anticipation of his breakfast to come. I filled his water and food bowls, then placed the water bowl in the kennel. “Leave it,” I commanded as I plucked the food bowl off the counter. I handed the bowl to Li’l D, who carefully carried it over to Sai’s kennel, crouched down and placed it just inside the kennel door.

Li'l D the Cleaninator

“Take it,” he commanded. Sai fortunately ignored him and kept watching me for his cue to dive in.

Ba.D. looked on in disbelief the first time he saw Li’l D and I conclude our then new morning dog-feeding routine. “When did this happen?”

“Oh, the last few days,” I murmured as I ushered Li’l D toward the front door. “He likes having chores.”

“Man, you can miss so much in so little time,” Ba.D. sighed.

True that. When Ba.D. began working on a film over the summer, there was no indication our little boy would move from occasionally tidying for fun to taking on certain tasks as his own. As of this writing, he enjoys sweeping alongside me. He feeds the dog. He likes dabbing at spills as they occur, although his accuracy is as yet far lesser than his enthusiasm. He ensures doors are closed because doing so pleases his sensibilities, even when those are inconsistent with his parents’. He picks up little scraps of trash he discovers while doing laps around the apartment and pronounces them “trash” as he deposits them in our kitchen garbage.

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