I am definitely avoiding writing. Ironically, I finally have time to write, since I can't stand for long on my cortisone-filled foot. Instead of writing yesterday, I watched a marathon of movies I have already seen. I want my kids to go for whatever their dreams are, but I consistently stand in the way of mine. I need to act in a way I would want my kids to act and be a wonderful example for them. Starting today, I am going to make it my goal to both write in this blog-journal and also to work on one of the fiction pieces I already started. I also want to give myself at least 30 minutes a day to read whatever I feel like reading. Two hours a day - I definitely should be able to find two hours a day for myself.
However, my urge right now is to paint a wall in my house, to do laundry, to get control of my environment. I am a little bit of a control freak - I think I wouldn't feel that way so much if my family would help keep the house clean (my husband is probably the only one reading this - hint, hint...). My husband is amazing - and I'm not just saying this because he is my only audience. I can tell you a million things I love about him and he still will think he needs to do more to make me happy. I have never met anyone like him.
We met at work several years ago. I had just had my second child. He was new at work and was just a baby himself. He was young and enthusiastic and willing to drive to my house to set up my wireless for me so I could work from home to extend my maternity leave. I was on the verge of getting divorced but didn't know it. He looked like Jesus. We called him "the short Hesus looking guy." He was a one of a kind, with long Jesus-hair and a full beard, and absolutely kind and nice to talk to. One conversation with him and you were assured he was a boy-genius, definitely the smartest person I know. Whenever we needed a fact to be verified, we called him to ask, since it was quicker than doing a Google search and very interesting to know if he knew the fact, which he always did. He was and is the most kind-hearted, lovable person I have met, always happy to help a friend.
Shortly after my divorce, his department and mine were moved to the basement of the building we worked in, the roach-infested basement that frequently flooded. We knew we were deemed unimportant by the powers that tagged us as worthy of the nasty basement. My then friend and now husband helped me move my stuff downstairs and helped me reassemble my desk and computer. It was instant friendship.
He was dating an older woman in a long-distance relationship. I was dating a man everyone soon knew as "Fat Bastard." I asked my new basement-dwelling friend for his point of view as a single man since Fat Bastard was the first man I had dated since I married my husband 15 years prior when I was only 21. He kindly listened and bonded with me even more. Soon I could tell he liked me, and soon we broke up with our people and started hanging out after work. Soon we were in love. Within months we broke up, and soon after that we were back together. Even apart, he remained my best friend and could be counted on to do anything I needed. I never abused his friendship, but often called him for help, mostly so I could have a visit from him.
My kids instantly had a kinship with him. He played "Shark Attack" with them in our living room. Our deep blue carpet was the ocean. The chairs were safety. He was the shark. They squealed with happiness and excitement as they jumped from chair to couch to chair over the blue ocean while he tried to get them. He was a big kid and loved the game as much as they did.
A couple of years later we took a very bad vacation that threatened to ruin it. We painfully continued to work four feet from each other every day until he decided to move several states away. My kids were as devastated as I was. I thought we would be back together again, same as always. Whatever I said to him during that vacation (I remember but won't say right here), hurt him so bad that he cut off his hair and found another job in another state. He kept his phone number for us. I still talked with him almost every day. He was my special someone and still is. Whenever I went on a date, I called him when I came home. If someone I dated kissed me, I felt terribly guilty.
One day it hit me that he was the one. I called him to tell him. He had just returned from a business trip to Uganda where he had decided to wait for me until I was ready. We were married just a few months later. Fifteen months later, despite my previous inability to have babies without fertility drugs, I was pregnant. Now we have a wonderful family together, and I can't imagine life turning out any differently. I love you, sweetie.