I’ve been trying to form words to describe how I’ve been feeling for awhile now. I have a lot to say about a lot of different things, but they haven’t come to me. They sit jumbled up in a pile, like those word magnets that were all the rage several years ago. Words that mean a lot to me stand out here and there but none make coherent sense for anyone who wanted to listen. I just opened my computer to try and form words when this tweet showed up.
I’m not sure what she was referencing in her life, but it’s exactly how I feel.
There are women out there who make things beautiful, even sad, ugly things. I aspire to be like them. And I’ve slowly been trying to write them thank you letters for always being a sunny patch on the proverbial lawn of life. They rarely get worked into all caps fits and rages and you always leave their presence feeling a little lighter. You want to have them over for sleepovers, you want to watch how they do life and you want to imitate it. Anyone one they touch with either words or deeds walks away a better person…a happier person.
My friend Jessica told me that when she was pregnant she became very aware and protective of herself and who or what she allowed around her. I find that to be true with me. My favorite place to be is at home with people I love. Ugliness hurts a lot more, even if it isn’t directed towards me.
Why be ugly? Why start, or even worse perpetuate, ugly? Who does it benefit? No one. Why wouldn’t people want attention for being a nice person that makes everything prettier instead of the attention that comes from being chronically mean? A lot of you agreed with me that everybody pretty much hates everything and that it wasn’t just me noticing an overwhelming amount of grumpiness out there.
I was going to post a picture of my swelling belly. But over Thanksgiving Addie became obsessed with becoming a reporter and made videos on my camera and in the process deleted all the photos I had taken. Anyone knows that one of the best reasons to have kids around is the drawings they produce. So I put her to work. Here I am, 17 weeks pregnant, gallivanting with Rudolph and attempting to make up for lost time with lots of lipstick. The Crayola markers were all personally color matched for this fine portrait.
The next picture really has nothing to do with anything. While we were waiting at the doctor’s office Addie drew a picture of her dad wearing her pink Hello Kitty underpants. Hairy chest and all.
She then proceeded to draw a picture of herself wearing the same pink Hello Kitty underpants, only she was very sad because he had stretched them so badly.
I was interviewed for the Indy Star (side note, seeing your face staring back at you from the newspaper with your name in 50 pt font? Weird.) and at the end the interviewer asked me where I wanted to be in five years. The truth is I want to be right here. With my family. Together. Safe. Happy. Leaving little pretty bits around…leaving people better than I found them and things better than anyone knew they could be.