Love Trumps Hate

Before I begin, thank you guys so much for all your support about my last post. I don't normally like to spill my guts about things that may be construed as "seeking pity", but I'm glad I did nonetheless. I am not the type to ask for help, but it was nice to hear all of your feedback. I loved the love. I promise to keep you all posted on whatever happens.

Any who, speaking of children and such, Cole is here for the weekend! Man, the things that come out of this mouth keep me on the floor with laughter. He is at this great age where he blabs about everything (even the latest gossip about his crazy bio-mom which Chris and I secretly love) and is wondering and questioning everything. He keeps us in stitches and loves to learn about life outside of his little shanty in Mississippi. I'm pretty sure you guys know how very, very liberal I am about people's beliefs and faith but I know many, many Christians who themselves would not agree with the way Cole is unfortunately being raised.

Chris' family and mine always joke that his mother's religion is a "cult". It's just a little inside joke, but if you know the details it isn't that far away from one. Every time I see her she is dressed very Amish... like long jean skirts and covered sweaters and no make-up. Chris explained that they believe women shouldn't wear pants. Members are also never allowed to wear bathing suits. I'm not necessarily saying these particular things make it a cult, but they also don't allow the children of the church to go to school because they don't want anyone to learn about science. They home school them in the hopes that only their beliefs are learned and nothing else. It is one thing to be a creationist, but to force your children to cover their ears and eyes to other ways of thinking? It's sad, really.

The good thing is, Cole seems to not be able to wait to ask us questions that he doesn't get answered at home... which Chris and I love! He is fascinated by dinosaurs and loves when we explain about how they lived millions of years ago (as he is taught by his mother's church that the earth is only 11,000 years old). He asks things about what Chris and I believe and he is starting to understand that everyone is allowed to believe whatever they want and that he isn't wrong for anything he believes and neither is Amanda and Dad for what they believe. It's almost like you can see his face light up when the things we answer for him make more sense than "Don't ask that, just worship God", which is what he says he is always told. It saddens my heart, but I know one day no matter how he decides to worship or what to believe, love will trump hate.

"Love trumps hate" is also a mantra I have to remind myself of a lot. Sometimes some not-so-great things come out of Cole's mouth, too, courtesy of some very close-minded and hateful things he is told. The other day he said that his mom told him that we were wrong for loving each other (meaning me and Chris). Shocked that someone so little and innocent could be told something so awful, we stared at each other. As patient as we always are when he parrots the horrible things his mother says (she apparently is quite the Negative Nancy and complains about things you should never say in front of your child), we asked him to explain. Basically it was just her religious nonsense about how because I am Chris' second wife that our love is wrong. And that's not even the real kicker. We know firsthand that she is engaged to someone and from our current knowledge, she's keeping it a secret. For whatever reason, she didn't want Cole to tell us. Um... hypocrite much? What kind of game does she think she's playing? Well, because Chris and I have eyes and ears everywhere, we are privy to her ongoings (which we have to do on our own because she refuses to communicate with us regarding Cole). When we put things into perspective about how she obviously loves her soon-to-be second husband and it is just the same as us loving each other, he totally understood. We even went as far to explain that everyone in the whole world is allowed to love who ever they want and just because someone says it is wrong doesn't mean it is... and we told him he has to listen to his heart. When we asked him what was in his heart, he said his heart told him that I was his family... and mine melted in turn.



It cut me like a knife to look at that sweet boy and see the questioning in his eyes just because he heard such a horrible thing from his own mother, the one person who should be showering him with love and not teaching him to turn from it. It made me physically ill to think that until we all talked about it together and set him straight that the light in his eyes were dim because she chose to spew hatred instead of encourage love. Love will trump hate in the end, though. Chris and I are happy and madly in love and he gets to see that in us every single time he's here. We don't tell him ugly things. We always even go so far as to talk about how we love his mother because she made him. When he's old enough, hopefully he will say "Hey, Amanda and Dad never talk bad about you, Mom, chill out" and the light and love he learns from us will outshine all her bad energy. I have 100% faith in this because Cole is a smart kid...

...even if the church he's currently subjected to teaches him that it's bad to believe dinosaurs came before man... sheesh.

Losing Control?

I have been in the biggest funk of the year. I honestly want to chalk it up to that "seasonal depression" everyone talks about. I hate Christmas, I hate the idea of a new year, and even though this year is only 14 days old, I hate 2011, too. There is no reason for this. I have absolutely no cause to be upset. I just... am. I can only hope it is psycho-semantic.



There has been some shitty stuff going on right now that I really do hope is not as bad as it could be. I've been experiencing some insane symptoms that Chris has been jokingly calling menopause. At first I thought it was crazy, too, but when I started thinking about it in the shower one day, I almost cut my leg open mid-shaving when I realized... my mother AND grandmother were also very young during menopause. Could I be, too??

Like I have mentioned before, my mother and I have an "abnormally" close relationship. I only say this because what is normal to me may not be normal to most people's relationship with their mother. As for me, I happen to know when my mother hit menopause and she doesn't mind me telling anyone else... it was 37. When I told my teacher this (who is a registered nurse, mind you), she suggested that my many random symptoms over the last few months could, in fact, be menopause. When someone under the age of 29 experiences this, however, they call it something else. Ovarian failure something-or-other... but I'm no fool. I'm drying up, no need to sugar coat it. And yes, I'm terrified.

Chris doesn't even know this, but at the realization that I may perhaps never be able to conceive my own children I closed myself into a public stall bathroom and wept. I haven't even decided whether we will even have kids but the idea of not being able to get pregnant sent me into a deeper depression than any sadness I've ever known. The only thing I can chalk it up to is being a woman. Sure, we may have the right, the ability, and the strong-will to make our own decisions as women but at the end of the day, we get to bear children and no one else can. It's kind of our thing... and to think that I may not be able to do it, well, knifes me in the gut. I was devastated... and have been for weeks. I know I need to go to the doctor and get checked out and have the "official test" to determine if my sadness is even warranted, but we haven't been able to afford it. Instead, I've been a nightmare.

It is insane how quickly the female body wants to get pregnant when the idea of not being able to sinks in. I use to be fearful of my possible ovulation period and now I so desperately want to get impregnated that Chris is too scared to come near me. I don't blame him, though, I'm scaring myself. Our nature doesn't care whether we can afford it or if we want to work children into our equation... my eggs want to be fertilized and nothing else matters. I'm not even in control of myself anymore. I ache to get pregnant like most people ache for supper after they've missed lunch. It sickens me that I can no longer convince myself that having a child isn't in the cards right now... I'm not in control at all.

I didn't plan to write this to gain sympathy or prayers. I may not have anything to even worry about at all and all this could be moot. It's just that I refuse to be one of those stupid bitches who think getting pregnant will change things or make their life better. Sure, babies change things and make you look at life differently but I refuse to have one for the sake of anything but to have one. To have something I can physically hold on to that exemplifies my love for Chris and his for me. When all the financial cards fall into place, as planned, we will work on it. Until then, I will have to tell my body to shut up and chill out. I'll have to roll with the punches on the off chance that I won't be able to conceive and yes, unfortunately, I will lock myself in the bathroom occasionally and cry about my misfortunes.

Be thankful for your choices, everyone. If there's one thing I shall learn from this is that not everyone gets one. Some people don't get chances, choices, or someone who will love them unconditionally. I, at least, have that... and he'll be coming home to me soon.

Oh, I Forgot to Mention...

So, I'm constantly racking my brain for blog topics. If there's a gap between blog entries, it's more than likely because I am having a grumpy week and am working out the best way to solve my issues and not negatively blow up about them. I know that's sort of the opposite of how a lot of people blog since venting is a big help to them... I wish very much I could be that way! For me, though, I've found that when I allow myself to rant, it actually just fuels my negativity more and I don't constructively fix the problem; I just stew and stew until I bubble over into a big hot mess. So as I've said before, I'm only allowing myself to blog about things, not BITCH about things.



I realized today that I haven't blogged in a week. As soon as I began thinking about what I could possibly write about, I realized that Chris and I have the biggest news ever going on! Hello! I forgot to tell everyone...

We got a house!



Chris and I could not be happier! As soon as we locked it down, we went straight to Home Depot! Cosmetically it is a fixer-upper for sure, but we couldn't be happier about that. The great thing that Chris and I have in common is we LOVE to plan things for our home. We have the same style and vision. We both like older homes that look uber modern on the inside. We make Ikea our bitch, for sure. This house on the inside... well... is not modern. (To say the VERY least!)

The previous owner was an older woman who moved in circa 1960 and NEVER updated the style. Imagine that floral vine wall-to-wall wallpaper and hunter green carpets that all of our grandparents rocked in their houses at some point. And wood paneled walls? You betcha. 60's style kitchen with the stove in the cabinet? No doubt. Old-timey light fixtures and chandeliers? Of course. But, when most people probably shuttered at all the work that would have to be done, we got excited. All the work will allow us to constantly have a project to look forward to and to ensure that our first house will be completely personalized for us.

Since we have been renting the entire duration of our relationship, we've tried each time we move to get closer and closer to Atlanta. We both grew up in Lawrenceville and it has become progressively more run-down as the years have gone by. Our ultimate goal has always been to be "city-dwellers", but as our tastes and goals have changed, we decided we wanted an Atlanta address but a more suburban feel. Well, we found it! We honestly didn't think we'd find the right house so soon and were both prepared to rent for at least a few more years but you know, when it is right, it's right!

We are so happy and this unexpected surprise of finding a home we will be in for a very, very long time is a relief AND a joy! I'm sure the next few months before our move in date will be filled with pictures and project developments. Out with the old and in with the new... and it couldn't be more exciting!

Oh Night Divine?

Oh man, it's been a while. Well, I'm not going to lie to you, I've been in hiding for a reason. Please, take a deep breath and have a seat before you read this because... well... I hate Christmas.



There, I said it. I know it's awful and very "Bah-hum-bug" of me to admit it but sorry, I hate this time of year. Unfortunately I'm aware (if you know me at all) that your obvious response to this statement will be that I hate it because I'm not a Christian.

No, you would be very, very wrong about that.

I was raised Southern Baptist and my happiest memories to this day is still of listening to Christmas choir music and taking communion at church surrounded by all the light and love of Christian beliefs. To my husband's shock, my favorite Christmas song to this day is still "O Holy Night". Don't hate on my Southern Baptist heritage, folks. However, despite my agnostic beliefs counteracting all of the joy that I gather from my childhood traditions revolving around Christian morale, I still retain a soft spot for believing in Santa Claus and what it means for a young child. I may no longer believe that there was a woman who actually gave birth without ever having intercourse, but the idea of Santa Claus, to me, is still vital for the imagination of a young child's mind. Now... with all THAT said...

I hate this "new" Christmas. It's starting to feel a little TOO commercial, don't you think? When I was out shopping for gifts this month, I never saw one happy face. I never saw one wide-eyed child filled with excitement. I never saw an ounce of Christmas spirit. In it's stead, I saw angry women barking orders at their loud-mouthed children. I saw the looks in people eyes as if it was my fault when I almost got ran over in the mall parking lot... twice. I saw disappointment, venomous hatred, regret, and anxiety. Sure, these people probably went home spouting off on their Facebook statuses what a joy it will be to see the look on their children's faces Christmas morning but for real? It's almost as if they HAVE to say that. And I don't buy it.

The final straw for me was at the tail end of my Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart (which, I'm sorry, is my hell) when I stumbled in the door with $70 worth of junk, set my bags down with my frozen fingers because I forgot my gloves and realized... I didn't grab the $8 worth of gift wrapping I had purchased at U-Scan.

Kill. Me. Now...

Which was exactly what Chris was probably thinking when I went into a much-needed, well hidden for 2 weeks rampage. I threw the bags onto the floor and took off. I looked out our giant dining room window and cursed Christmas. I screamed to Chris about how much I didn't even care who got gifts this year 'cause they'd be forgotten by February. I made my way to the kitchen to roar about how I will feel awful, not blessed, at the gifts I receive from the people who really couldn't afford it anyway. I even pointed at our Christmas tree and said how dumb it looked without the lights working right and how I felt like a failure for not making it look better. That, I had screamed, was Christmas's fault, too.

I do, however, have hope. Last night, Chris and I went on our annual Christmas date. We decided last year that we don't need to buy gifts for each other and instead went to our favorite (and very expensive) restaurant. We don't go all year so that it will be special. We go on December 23rd when practically no one else is there. It's across the street from the Peachtree Plaza and the giant Christmas tree and all the lights shine right into the window across the street. It's OUR Christmas to each other and it's glorious. We got all dressed up and had an hour to kill before our reservation so I poured myself a glass of wine and turned on the television. I yelled for Chris that Home Alone was on so he hurried up from getting dressed and snuggled up next to me on the couch. We recited the lines we know so well and laughed. I looked over at our wonky, memory-filled Christmas tree and knowing exactly what I was thinking Chris goes "I love our Christmas tree". Last night was lovely, albeit just the two of us, but I have hope that tonight I'll feel the same way. Cousins I rarely see will hopefully open their gifts I picked out at that packed, tension-filled Wal-Mart and scream with glee. Even if they stop playing with them by tomorrow, that one scream will echo a lifetime. Hopefully the heat from the oven at Aunt Ronda's house will warm my chilly heart tonight.

Hopefully, I will hear "O Holy Night" and remember what it's like to love this time of year.

Thanksgivin' Me a Headache

Jeez Louise, people, I need to update.

Actually, I'll be honest for a second. I haven't blogged because I swore I'd be positive and think happy thoughts, Peter Pan style and... well... this week it has been hard to do that. I've been in a piss-poor mood and our house is currently filled with snarls and hair-raising fights. And I'm not talking about the dogs. Yikes, I know. The only way I can describe it is a big ol' funk lingering over our house. Every little thing Chris and I do annoys the hell out of the other. I can always tell the level of pissed I've gotten all week by how many glasses I break. This week, I'm down three. My good beer pilsners, too, so you know I was over the edge. Yes, I'm a dish breaker. It's dramatic, wasteful, unnecessary, and an all out bitch move but, well, it's my thing. Better in the sink than at his head, right?

...right?

So yes, this is why I haven't updated. Plain and simple: I didn't have anything fun or positive to say. I can't even pinpoint where the fighting is coming from but I'm willing to bet some more stemware that it's holiday stress. Either way, things will smooth out soon and until they do, I'll just drink my Pabst Blue Ribbons out of coffee mugs.

And speaking of holiday stress, this will be my first year helping with Thanksgiving! (Yay? I think?)



I've been honing my culinary skillz (yes, with a "z" since I'm gangster and because an "s" would imply I was somehow trained) and I'm really excited to show them off to everyone. I'm making a Food Network themed offering that includes:

Guy Fieri's Chorizo Chickpea Sautee
Paula Dean's Green Bean Casserole
Alton Brown's Baked Macaroni and Cheese
Guy Fieri's Roasted Carrots and Cippolini Onions

and a wildcard Raspberry Truffle Tart with some techniques I learned WATCHING the Food Network.

Sounds delicious, right? Well, let's hope so. Here's what the tart looks like so far. It's got to do it's thing in the fridge over night so it doesn't have any garnish but ain't it beautiful?



I'm also organizing all my recipe supplies by what dish they go in so that tomorrow morning I can haul the goods to my mom's house. They are going to have to sit tight over there while I'm gone, though, because Chris and I have to be at his side of the family's for Thanksgiving at 1pm. Then we have to rush back and I have to start on dinner. My emotions about all this time-crunching and food-making is fading in and out from dread to excitement and then back again. Like a hot flash. Yes, an emotionally-driven, Thanksgiving-charged hot flash. Awesome.



I know I say this a lot to you, Moms, but seriously, you rock. If I had a kid (or worse, PLURAL KIDS) I would be in the fetal position by noon tomorrow rocking back and forth between swigs from a warm Jack Daniels bottle. What gets you through, I'm sure, is your overwhelming drive to make memories for your children that will last them a lifetime and I dig that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited about finally being included in the Thanksgiving cooking tradition. But deep down, I'm sort of in it for the self-satisfaction of my family commending me for an amazing meal. Yes, I was hugged enough, I assure you. But who doesn't want a boost every now and again? So moms, again, I adore you and your ability to suffer through the ups and downs of the holidays in the name of spirit and tradition.

And as for me, if the task at hand gets to be too much, well, I'll at least be at my mother's house and can throw her dishes around for a change.

Less wasteful, no?

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

The point of my blog is to be more positive. "Wag more, bark less" is an adopted mantra so that I keep from complaining or losing sight of all the good in things; both of which I have a habit of doing from time to time. I told myself I would never vent or blog negatively. I'm trying very hard to spin this current situation I'm in into something to observe at all angles and move on from. I do not plan on dwelling, or worse, letting myself down by ranting and raving. I will bark about this once, fellow readers, and then I will carry on for the better.




Firstly, it is not hard to be a good person. I don't mean charitable or nice or even compassionate... just a person that others can look at and go "I'm glad they are in my life". I think in this day and age of self-service and independence, people are losing sight of genuine human decency and manners. There are very few excuses for kindness to not be second nature to you. Friendliness makes the world go round. Whether its to the lady that pours your coffee or your own spouse, thoughtful consideration is what separates us from animals. If what I am saying seems like a lot to ask for, you are part of a huge problem.

With that said, I'm going on the record to say that by not possessing the mere good qualities that I simply expect of my own self, I'll kindly show you the theoretical door out of my life. When someone treats me with respect, they get mine ten fold. If someone makes me laugh, my new job is to make them laugh harder. If someone appreciates me, I show them consistently how I appreciate them. These are not things I am bragging about, people. This behavior is common sense. If you do not grasp the simple concept of give and take, please just sit in your house and avoid all human contact until you die alone. I don't ask for much, but if you can call me a friend because of the things I have done for you, just return the favor. If you don't, you are taking advantage of me... plain and simple. I'll happily stay out of your life. Everyone deserves people who makes their life meaningful if they themselves make others' life meaningful. If you aren't contributing to this very uncomplicated concept, get. the. fuck. out.

I don't think for a second that I'm being too harsh about this. I don't think I'm being big-headed when I say that I am a good person and deserve good people in my life. It is a privilege, not a right, to have people you can depend on.

There. Barking over. We will now continue with our regularly scheduled blogging.

Crazy Little Thing...

Chris and my relationship has never been normal. I'm sure a lot of couples say that about themselves, but I'm pretty sure ours raises the crazy bar just a little higher. Allow me to explain...

As you know from my past entry about Chris and my beginnings, he had a child before we even got back together. Well, there goes the infamous "first comes love" bit. Once love did come, though, boy did it come. For me to say I knew he was "the one" in the first week we got back together is an understatement. Even my own mom saw us back together for the first time and knew. We glowed. Literally, glowed. And we were going to need that kind of whimsical, blind insanity that was our love to get through the first few months of what was nothing short of a nightmare.

I failed to mention what a whirlwind of risk taking that went on in the first weeks of our relationship. It started with my apartment. It was the first "on my own" apartment I'd ever lived in and it wasn't exactly in the greatest of locales. I loved it, but I would have to admit when Chris reminded me of how much he worried about me alone in a neighborhood like that, I started to see what he meant. Our "love is blind" insanity's first rule of business: move in together.

Love is also patient, as the psalm goes, and we needed a lot of it during those few months. We were going entirely on gut and heart; what made sense rationally was a buzz kill for our punch-drunk love. Looking around me now at everything we've accomplished, we did pretty damn good. Looking back, however, gives me hives just thinking about it.

I grew up real quick in those months. In one day, I'd chosen a life that now included a child, a divorce, a mother of said child, and an overwhelming responsibility to someone I loved so dearly that all the other difficult things didn't and wouldn't matter.

We made the decision to move in together right out of the gate. It was perfect timing in our minds. Granted, our minds were clouded with all those fuzzy love feelings, but perfect timing nonetheless. We bounced from place to place as reality stepped in and evicted us from cloud nine. We were trying to build a life with each other and all the while it felt like life was fighting back. Some people say that making rash decisions without thinking "big picture" will be a mistake. I believe that. But in our case, every time we trusted our heart and went blindly into a decision, we inadvertently loved each other more for it. And when that said thing blew up in our face, well, we were immune. Keep in mind, "Love bears all things", too.

So let me catch you up. We'd moved in together (albeit place to place) and after about a year and a half, we were settled in somewhere we loved and finally began to function normally. (I know, just a year and half is all it took. Yikes.) The idea of getting married had been there since the beginning. When I said I knew he was "the one", I didn't mean "the one... boyfriend". I meant hands down THE one. THE one I would spend the rest of my life with. THE one I would brush my teeth next to each morning. THE one I would fight with about dirty dishes for the rest of our lives. THE. ONE. And luckily, he seconded that notion.

So, just like our random relationship, we decided on a random Wednesday on a random date (August 19th) to take the random opportunity that we both had the day off and... we got hitched. We didn't even tell anyone. We just told my mom. I wore red trouser pants, a white top, and the cutest short-sleeved jacket. He wore a blue top and dress pants. That was it. No tie, no dress... just... us. We decided not to tell anyone we were actually married because later down the road we wanted to have a real wedding. We thought it would just be a fun secret between us and there would be no reason for anyone to think otherwise. We'd just "be engaged" and later when money and the stars aligned, we'd have an actual wedding. We should have known then that we are always trying to skip ahead and forget that with us, life always catches up and snaps us back to reality. By the end of October, the jig was up. Planning a wedding was so not our style that we decided to stop kidding ourselves and 'fess up. We got mixed reviews at first, but in the end, everything evened out. Just like it always does with us. And you know what? That random, abnormal Wednesday was the happiest day of both of our lives.

Alfred Adler once said "The only normal people are the one's you don't know very well". Now that you've had a peek at how not-so-normal Chris and I are... maybe we aren't as different from everyone else as we think. No matter ups and downs, lefts or rights, one thing is for sure for everyone: At the end of the day, you don't just want everything to go right...

...you want to make it right with the person who is everything.