Hey You squared
I met Hey You Richardson in January of 1999. As soon as we met, it was if we had not only known each other, but been best friends, for years. Even though we had more differences than things in common, we could talk non-stop and everything we did was a more fun than we could have with anyone else. We moved in together that summer after my old roommate stole my underwear. No, really, the girl stole my panties, but that is another post entitled Peppermint Patty. Anyway, I say Hey You squared because we shared the same first name and we spent so much time together that everyone called us the Hey Yous. I absolutely loved her (mind out of the gutters readers, in a purely heterosexual manner) and she was the best friend I ever had. I will always be grateful for those years in college when we were so close.
Here is irony for you, I never would have met my husband if it were not for her (we were introduced by her mutual friend)…and she absolutely, with a passion, hated every fiber of his being. The Husband and I met the summer before my senior year in college. He was just supposed to be a summer fling…..but I got flung head over heels instead. I will never forget one night in the late fall that she was sitting on the edge of my bed in our apartment; The Husband (then The Boyfriend) called and I ended our brief conversation with “I love you.” She looked at me with tears in her huge blue eyes and said “Why, would you tell him that?”, and she was so upset when I answered, “Because it is true.”
I never fully understood why she disliked him. He had nothing against her, and was always perfectly pleasant to her. Maybe sadness because it was the end of our carefree college days? Anyway, I never consciously chose The Husband over her. I never wanted to discard our friendship because it truly was special to me. But….seven years later, I am still married to The Husband, and have not talked to her in years. Why am I writing about this in such a public way? Because I started this blog as therapy, and this has bothered me for years. And, I thought I might email her a link….what is the worst that could happen? One more hit for my site?
She is married now herself, and has a great career, and I am very proud of her. But she was wrong about The Husband. God meant for the two of us to be together. He is my ying, my anchor, my (forgive the cheese) soul mate. He makes me want to be a better person, makes my knees melt when he kisses me…even if it is the seven trillionth time. I could never, ever, ask for a better husband or father for my son.
I wish she could have seen that when we were still friends, because in a lot of weird ways…they have more in common with each other than I do with either one of them.
Readers: feel free to be keyboard psychiatrists. What do you think about this sad little tale?
Filed under Friends-All three of them, The Husband, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (7)It is not the kitchen
The heart of the home is always the kitchen. The place where your family congregates is the kitchen. Your most meaningful discussions will be around the kitchen table.
Well, the Huckablog clan may be odd, we may be unsanitary, our home may be an anomaly, but it is not the kitchen.
It is our bed.
Quick story. Our wedding gift from The In-Laws was a mattress. We were in the store, there to pick out a nice queen sized bed, when we thought for the heck of it we would try out that divine Sealy Posturepedic pillow-top, king-size extravaganza. We were sold as soon as we lay down. And, The Father-in-law knew the store owner and it was on sale. Ta Da! The best bed in the whole wide world would be ours!
We were too broke to afford the stunning upholstered head board that I wanted, so being the DIYers that we are, we made one. I put twice the amount of batting in it than the instructions called for and it is nice and squishy. I caught gel feels-like-feather-but-will-not-kill-The Husband pillows on sale and bought four king size and two standard size pillows on clearance at Kohl’s. When I was pregnant I had this crazy hyper-sensitive skin thing, and so The Husband went out and bought super soft 900 thread count sheets. They were so worth it. It is our nest, and my favorite times as a family have been spent on it.
When The Son comes home from school we head straight for bed to nurse. We lounge around and read, and talk, and read blogs on the laptop, we cuddle, oh, and sleep too, on it. For at least a quarter of every night the bed has the three of us sprawled out (The son is ejected to his crib for the rest of the night) and The Dog is curled up at our feet underneath the down comforter.
The bed has had a rough couple of years for sure. (tmi upcoming) I lost my ew! ew! ew! what the hell is that!? Mucus plug in it. The son has spit up, peed, pooped, thrown up, and wiped his nose on the sheets. Breast milk has been leaked all over it. One time The Son poured my entire glass of Cranberry juice all over it. The Husband drools like a camel (do camels drool? I think that, yes, they do excessively) (Sleeping!! Only while sleeping!! Not, like while at work or anything ((durrr)). The Dog once rolled on a dead bird (I think, it had feathers and smelled like death.) and then got in bed. She sheds in the spring and has muddy feet every time it rains. I have to wash the sheets with two cups of bleach almost every other day. It is the heart of our home, and I love it—germs, drool, and all.
So tell me, where is your favorite part of your house? Or apartment, flat, grass hut, teepee, wherever you call home.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA, Parenting for Dummies, Photography, The Husband, The Son | Comment (1)TheHuckabugh-ugh-ugh
Aches: Head, ears, back and neck
Coughing, sneezing, sniffling wreck.
Groaning, Mouth breathing, is Darth Vader in the room?
The Den a dark, Elmo filled tomb.
We all succumb one by one,
A green eleven on The Son,
Ears like cotton for The Husband too,
More sleep, more naps, never enough for Hey You.
Liquid decongestant and pain pills,
The old blue quilt for the chills.
Kleenex and Halls stay on the job,
On the couch, three puffy blobs.
The humidifier’s vapors try to sooth,
My hands on his sheets try to smooth.
Live on hot tea and soup in bread bowls,
Does being sick together bond our souls?
Have I mentioned we have been sick here at The Huckablog household? Even The Dog has a cold. We have turned a corner, finally.
Happy Valentine’s Day x 3
Valentine’s Day 2006
Valentine’s Day 2007
Valentine’s Day 2008
Dear Son:
(I realize that letters to your Kids are done to death in the blogasphere, ((Hi Dooce!)) ((yeah like she would read my site)) but this is for The Son, I just happened to post it for the world to see.)
We are about to start a new adventure together. Even though Mama has spent more time at home with you since you have been born, she has technically been employed this whole time. The thing is, that every time I tried to focus, to work, to learn something new, all I could think about was you in daycare. 80% of the time you seemed happy to be there, you never seemed abused (turning a blind eye to the broken arm…coulda happened anywhere), you just ….did not sparkle when you got home. You seemed….not yourself.
I swear that I did not purposely ruin my chances at my new career just so I could be at full-time mom (hello! stupid expression alert, all moms are full-time). It just happened. My therapist thinks I sabatoged myself subconsciously. Yes, Mama sees a shrink, you would too if you had tried to learn everything about the securities industry, on NO sleep, in less than a year. Where was I? Oh yes, I maintain that I tried my hardest, but that God just wanted me to be at home with you. You see, Daddy got a great new job, one that makes more money, and lets him spend more time with us, the same WEEK that I was contemplating staying at home. We took it as a sign. I am not going to look for a new job. I am not going to think about all the thousands of dollars of student loans as a waste, because Mama needed that Masters to know how to properly pronounce the names of the animals at the zoo (juh-raf, giraffe).
I cannot promise that everyday will be great. I cannot promise that I will not get bored, or lonely, spending all day with you. I cannot promise that I will not accidentally(on purpose) run over that stupid Elmo doll with the truck. I can promise that I will try my absolute hardest to be the best mom I can be. I will always encourage you. I will always pick you up if you fall. I will always cheer you on. I will always believe in you.
I will always do my best to help you climb a little higher.
And I promise that you will always be my sparkle and my light.
Love, Mama
Filed under Parenting for Dummies, Photography, Time Suckers | Comments (9)A poem because I am now a SAHM
Here’s a poem by Philip Levine.
What Work Is
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is — if you’re
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it’s someone else’s brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, “No,
we’re not hiring today,” for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who’s not beside you or behind or
ahead because he’s home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You’ve never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you’re too young or too dumb,
not because you’re jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don’t know what work is.
The best thing for Teen Pregnancy since Jamie Lynn Spears
Oh, my word, you must go see Juno! It made me weep into The Husband’s sleeve. It made me cackle with the deliciousness of the amazingly dimensional characters. Every actor was beautifully cast, and the whole thing was so sweet that it made my ovaries ache. To sum up: Me like Movie. You go see too.
Oh and I stole The Husbands ticket, because I am too dumb to work the credit card ticket dealie. I confessed to the twelve year old behind the counter and he was all like “um. So, ah, why are you like telling me?” Whatever happened to looking out for your company? Actually I worked at that theater when I was seventeen. They made me wear orthopedic shoes, a polyester visor, a plastic bow tie, and a plastic apron with an anthropomorphic cat on it. Also, I had to provide my own flashlight and spackle knife. Why would a movie usher need her own spackle knife you ask? Why to scrape the gum off the floor of course. The worst part was picking up the little paper cups that we gave away for people to get water. Never were they full of water, oh no they had warm spittle from people who dipped. Yuck. I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it. Did I mention that I was paid minimum wage?
I think I deserved that free ticket after all.
Filed under Boy is my face red, The Husband, Time Suckers | Comments (12)