For some reason - is it because I' m a girl? - I keep getting asked if I want to go back to the labor and delivery room. Umm. No. I do not. Like, why is it okay for my dad and Eva's dad and brother and (although less surprisingly) The Barrister to park it in front of daytime TV? But me? They keep prodding. "You can go back if you want." Why would I want to go back there? I want to see the baby, sure. But after it's ungoopified and smelling nice and wrapped in swaddling clothes. I do not need to see the actual emergence into the world. That is all.
And for the record, an epidural is in place and I expect we'll be getting push reports from "back there" before long.
At the moment, The Barrister and I are sitting in the waiting room watching snippets of Dr. Phil addressing the Octo-Mom in his typical incongruous metaphors. I can't really pay attention. Part of me want to go back to sleep...seeing as how we fled the storm of the decade that unceremoniously dropped six-plus inches of snow at home and arrived at Anna's just before 9 last night. And then got up at 6:30 this morning to get ready for the baby's arrival. Not that this chair is all that comfortable, but I am rather tired.
I walked back to the delivery room to say hello to Eva...she's having contractions about ten minutes apart. It was cool to hear the baby's heartbeat. But the machines, the tubes, the hospitalness of it all. I'm content to be stuck with Dr. Phil and now experts on rosacea. Mom had suggested that I might want to stay in the delivery room...but. No. I think I'll wait until Reese is here and wearing a cute little hat before I get involved. Stay tuned...
One year ago tomorrow, fate tore a gaping hole in our world. It was a Monday. It was cold and brisk. It was a perfectly average winter day. The kind of day that no one expects death to come.
We have counted the months. We have passed the milestones: the anniversary, Anna's birthday, his birthday, the holidays. And tomorrow is the last first. This will be the last time that it's the first February 18th that he's not here. February 19th, we have endured. But tomorrow...tomorrow is the day that we cannot forget. It is the day that is burned into our memories forever. We will relive it for the rest of our lives. But tomorrow is the last first time that we have to memorialize it.
Tomorrow is the day that I will have no choice but to acknowledge what I was doing this time last year. That I had lunch at Last Resort. That I stood outside on the sidewalk and listened to Mom give me a harried report from her arrival at the ER while the wind blew cold and dry through my hair, around my legs. That I sat alone in the conference room at work just two hours later and heard in her voice - if not in her words - that he wasn't going to make it and I put my face in my hands and cried. That I packed and prepared for the worst. That, truth be told, I could feel in my bones that the worst would happen. That I wore the long-sleeved red shirt and a olive quilted vest and I drove to Atlanta knowing knowing knowing that when I got there, he would die. That I held his hand...that I told him I loved him...that he died.
Grief is not a straight line. It is a winding path. It is two steps forward and eight back. It is denial and anger and acceptance to the nth degree in no particular recurring order. It is forgetting for a second and remembering the next how everything has changed. It is juggling your own pain with everyone else's; it is meeting and failing to meet the odd expectations that spring up in the wake of death. It is feeling not yourself and feeling like only yourself exists. It is seeing your life in fragments, in eras, in before and after, in complete shambles. It is the ashes from which we rise again. Tomorrow is the last first. And then the next day will be...just another day that we get up and push through and move forward.
I'm sorry to be such a lazy blogger lately. I really am. I think about blogging. I even sometimes make little notes to myself on post-its. But...the blogging just seems to have gone to the wayside. As a peace offering, I give you this totally adorable picture of me and The Barrister. Can you be mad at that face? Really? Can you?
It's Friday. And Bluefly.com is having a designer shoe sale. And while I'm not allowed under any circumstances on penalty of a horrible, painful, bloody death and dismemberment to dig into my growing house fund to take advantage of said sale, a girl can dream, right? Because, how can I celebrate walking across the threshold of my (still theoretical) new abode without some wicked fantastic heels? Shoes are my Achilles heel...but my heel would look so good in anyone of these.
Giuseppi Zanotti
Yves Saint Laurent
Christian Dior
Charles David
Gucci
* Since I spent most of the weekend actively puking my guts up or feeling like doing so, I'm tentative about eating. Which means I'm hungry. A lot.
* I really hate Taylor Swift. I hate her weird squinty eyes and stupid "Love Story" song, which invokes Romeo & Juliet in the world's most insipid way.
* I hate that Taylor Swift probably thinks Romeo & Juliet are from that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio.
* I have to drive to the outskirts of Atlanta today - for a 4 p.m. meeting. Hello, traffic.
* One of my clients is being unsatisfiable. And I have had it.
* I'm really annoyed when I can't tell whether I'm friends with someone anymore.
* I'm pretty sure that I look fugly today.
* If you have a question that starts with, "Can you...?" the answer is "no." And if you press me, it's gonna be "hell no."
Last night, while watching She's the Man, The Barrister pronounced the Amanda Bynes flick "totally awesome." We will be getting married this weekend.
* February 9-13: Just Say No to PowerPoints Week
* February 13: Blame Someone Else Day
* March 11-17: National Turkey Vultures Return to the Living Sign Week
* March 31: National Bunsen Burner Day
* April 6: Teflon Day
* May 3: Lumpy Rug Day
* June 2: National Yell "Fudge" at the Cobras in North America Day
* August 8: Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night
* October 12: International Moment of Frustration Scream Day
* November 19: World Toilet Day
* December 26: National Whiner's Day
Please mark your calendars and celebrate accordingly.
* Note that your cell phone memory card is full. Look through and delete 10-12 text messages from your phone.
* Overhear the new Kate Perry video on VH1. Stand slack-jawed in front of the TV and watch.
* Decide today is the day to experiment with accessories. One necklace or two? Long or short? Should I wrap it around twice like a choker first?
* Pet the cat.
* Get inspired to put all the shoes in your floor back in their boxes.
* Realize that you've been standing motionless under the hot shower for an undetermined amount of time, possibly in another dimension.
* Contemplate the outfits that you could wear but don't want to wear.
* Make a list of CDs you've been meaning to buy.
* Snooze.
* Try on sample lipstick from Clinique. Decide it doesn't work and wipe it off. Be reminded that you've been thinking about buying some fingernail polish. Ponder whether or not to just wait for spring.
* Lose your keys. And your cell phone. Where did you put it after deleting those text messages?
* Leave your lunch on the counter. When you go back inside to retrieve it, give in to the compulsion to also fix a travel mug of coffee.
* Be me.
Apparently it started when Dillon decided to potty train himself. One day, he simply refused to wet his diaper, and since then, he's been heading to the bathroom like a big boy. And one day, he knocked on the wall while doing his business and said to Eva, "The Knockers are coming, Mommy." And where are The Knockers coming from? "Right there," he said and knocked on the wall again and then pointed to a different spot on the wall for her to knock. "Right there."
The Knockers continued to make regular appearances at potty time for awhile. Then one night after he had gone to bed, Justin heard noises coming from Dillon's room. He opened the door to find him standing in his bed, knocking on the wall and pronouncing that The Knockers were coming.
Eva and Justin finally confessed to each other that The Knockers were giving them the heebie-jeebies. But Dillon seemed unafraid of The Knockers - excited even by their arrival. Eva asked the pediatrician if he was overly stressed; the doc told her that Dillon's just highly imaginative.
I had not seen - and hoped to never see - the strange phenomenon of The Knockers. Children plus the supernatural equal a very freaked out Ashley. But last weekend, I was introduced to The Knockers.
Dillon stood at the front door looking out into the yard through the storm door. And then he began to knock. "The Knockers are coming," he said. "Right here. Right here." He knocked again.
"Who are The Knockers, Dillon?" I asked.
He looked at me with his guileless eyes and said, "They're coming."
"Coming to what?"
He took the index finger of one hand and started to draw circles on the glass. "They go 'round and 'round and 'round." It was almost like he was mesmerized. And then his connection to The Knockers was broken and he turned back to play.
Thoroughly chilled, hair standing on end, I asked, "Dillon, what do The Knockers look like?"
"They're big shapes," he said, holding his little arms akimbo.
Now...I fully imagine that The Knockers who are big shapes and go round and round look like this:
But in all fairness, The Knockers, who are big shapes, and go round and round could look like this:
In all fairness, Dillon isn't afraid of The Knockers. I mean, the rest of us are utterly creeped out and live in fear that The Knockers are coming. But they seem to make him happy or at the very least be on friendly terms with him. All the same, I welcome any suggestions - garlic or crosses or a lucky rabbit foot - to keep The Knockers from coming to see me.
I find myself saying this phrase a lot when telling friends and acquaintances about the new (dare I say it?) relationship with The Barrister to preface every item in the litany of unexpected good things about our new "us." And while there isn't really just one thing, the thing is...
...I have a dedicated pair of PJ pants at his apartment for whenever I just need an elastic waistband...
...he's up for whatever I want to do - like feed my new Death Cab for Cutie obsession with tickets to their May show at The Fox...
...he played dominoes with Justin and Eva even though he doesn't like games...
...I have a key...
...we talk about...everything. And whether it's good or it's bad, we just manage to sift through every issue without yelling or getting angry or playing the blame game...
...flowers! I mean, flowers!...
...we go out for sushi, debate about whether to order another roll and decide to get Chick-fil-A milkshakes instead...
...he likes to drive and so he picks me up and chauffeurs me around, and I love it...
...even when I'm wearing my glasses, he pronounces me 'adorable'...
...he read my thesis, and he thought it was good. And he's not the type to blow sunshine...
...he loves House...
...I'm happy...maybe that's it. Maybe that is the thing.
Almost 50 years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his famous "I Have a Dream" speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Almost six months ago, I started to dream about starting a volunteer group in the ATown for me and other singletons as a way to make friends and do something productive, make a difference. And today, my dream became a realization...so it was on a playground and not the Lincoln Memorial, but, all the same...
It's fairly lofty to compare my small town volunteer group to one of the greatest visionaries of the modern age, but I like to think that Dr. King would've been proud today. I hope he would've been proud of the group that spent the morning at an elementary school clearing a nature trail of debris so that the outdoor classroom teacher can use the space. I hope he would've been proud of the group that worked together for three hours on the service project in his honor. I hope he would've been proud of the group that included men and women, a myriad of ethnicities, and a hodge-podge of religions. I hope he would've been proud that we all labored in the cold, smiling and laughing, because the selflessness of it felt so good.
I hope he would've been proud that I had a dream that shared some of the same visions he had.
I hope he would've been proud. I like to think so.
The Crimes:
* A felony charge of blog neglect
* Numerous misdemeanor counts of phone calls unreturned, emails unanswered and skipping out on family togetherness
* A couple of petty charges of lack of productivity at work and overtexting
Opening Argument:
Ladies and gentlereaders of the jury, in my own defense, I plan to acquit myself of the above charges by demonstrating an alibi of happiness directly related to The Brilliant Barrister. Knowing the history of my state of happiness from the annals of this blog, you may bring a preconceived notion that this state of being is impossible for the defendant. On the contrary, it is, in fact, possible. Please observe.
Evidence:
Exhibit A - Flowers for no good reason on three separate occasions in the last month, including roses, lilies and tulips. I ask you, ladies and gentlereaders, - particularly ladies - whom among you could hold this against me?
Exhibit B - Spontaneous visits to my place of employment. While these may have contributed to my petty lack of productivity at work, these visits were not with malicious intent. Instead, these visits were meant to contribute to the greater happiness of the defendant by infusing her life with the element of pleasant surprise.
Exhibit C - Please see the generally goofy, moony smile plastered on the defendant's face.
Exhibit D - The Barrister demonstrates a willingness to journey more than 20 minutes to my place of residence and fetch me for outings. On said occasions, he charms the parental units with witty banter and tales of his barristerish activities.
Exhibit E - The Dilly Monster allowed him to play in The Artichoke Band last night. It is important to understand that these privileges, on past occasions, have actually been revoked by The Monster from the likes of his own Nana. We ask that the jury not underestimate the significance of these actions.
Witnesses:
The fam, the office crew, Mr. Kudzu, T., Sus, Jenn and Niki. In addition, The Barrister is now friends with STGD and Kim on Facebook in a gesture of full disclosure with those with whom he must curry favor.
Closing Argument:
In closing, I would like to note that general control of The Panic has improved and umprompted commentary on my state of well-being have seen an increase in the last six weeks. And while I have noted the external evidences of The Barrister, I have not cataloged the less tangible evidences of The Barrister's influence: calm, laughter, contentment. But I ask you, in light of the circumstances of the last two years, the long and winding road through struggles that you...well, cut me some slack on the charges listed.
Verdict:
It is up to you, ladies and gentlereaders. Am I guilty of these punishable offenses? Or am I just guilty of indulging in a little *gasp* normality that seems to be leading to the Land of the Happy?
T.: "Yes. I have a man bag."
***
T.: "Nietzsche had it half right. What doesn't kill us doesn't make us stronger. What doesn't kill us makes us afraid."
***
T.: "I always feel like people with tattoos are judging me."
***
T.: "So the question is, what do you want?"
Me: "From life or for dessert?"
***
T: "We're Cancers. We have our shells and our claws, but all we really want is to get rid of them."
***
T.: Have you ever noticed that Adam Duritz's mouth looks like a vagina in the "Round Here" video?
***
Sent by T.: Post-outing photo sent of church sign reading "Now is the time."
Today is my half-birthday. Tomorrow, this moon child officially tips out of her twenties toward her thirties. Aside from generally wondering how I got here so fast, I'm trying to decide whether or not to panic about the 30 threshold. Not wanting to be 30 would indicate that I, in some way, would rather hang on to my twenties. Upon a little reflection, I see the past decade for what it is: a learning curve that was rather steep at some points. It's a curve I think I'm ready to see plateau to a new horizon. I look back on a lot of time spent puzzling out who and where I wanted to be, muddling through the initial throes of adult life and dallying with being different versions of me. And with just six months left, I'm feeling rather like maybe, just maybe, I have finally wrestled the demons. Like David, I have fought an exhausting battle through a long night only to come face to face with God in the morning. And now, I am at peace.
So on this half birthday, I have a few wishes. First, I want to spend a little time sending off my twenties...perhaps some reflective blog posts are in the near future. Secondly, I want to avoid dreading the 30 threshold. I'm not - in many ways - where I thought I would be by now. But I'm starting to accept that maybe things beyond my imagination will make my life so much more than my small-minded visions. And lastly, I want to celebrate. My birthday has been an overlooked and under-lauded event for some time now. I don't recall most of my birthdays, and the last time I had a party, there were roller skates involved. So please join me as I say goodbye and wave hello and dream up the proper fanfare for a lady at the ripe old age of 30 - we'll consider it an addendum to my resolutions. Suggestions welcome.
Happy Halvsies to Me.
* Apologize less for being me.
* Accept my limitations.
* Let go of the past - learn from it, but know that the present and the future are where I can exercise the most control.
* Get my stupid passport already.
* Be hopeful and believe that good things exist for me.
* Write more - and write earnestly. It's time to stop holding to insecurities and just do it.
* Welcome Reese into the world with all the love I have to give.
* Embrace happiness without reservation. Love without fear. And relentlessly seek to be at peace with myself.
The seconds are ticking off until it's 2009. Without question, this year has been one of the most difficult of my life...and I thought 2007 was bad. The truth is, this was undoubtedly a terrible year in so many ways. But in other ways - friends made, acquaintances renewed, steps taken forward in this new life - it was a successful year.
And while it's impossible for me to forget Ronnie's death and how it changed everything about our family, my life, and my perspective, I must also remember that life goes on. The days continue to pass, and though I will continue to keep his memory, it would be an insult for me to let that keep me from living.
So...here's to a review of 2008, a year of losses and gains, of grief and gratitude, of seriousness and snark. I will be ringing in the new year with faith, hope and love...those things that I've learned are essential under any circumstances. Happy New Year, my dears.
January: Measuring Up: In Praise of Junk in the Trunk
February: Devastate, In All Its Forms
March: Just the Five of Us: The Shape of a Family and The New Theory of Relativity 
April: This is a List
May: Weeds
June: Father's Day
July: Ghosts of Trees
August: Gratitude: A Letter to the Universe
September: Meet the Parents (or My Not-So-Great Evil Plan)
October: Tumbled Thoughts from the Shoreline
November: Gratitude: Part V - Love (and more gratitude)
December: Let It Snow
