I think romantic comedies are based entirely on people’s fantasies of how love and marriage are supposed to look. Boy and girl meet, fall in love, have some drama, resolve said drama, and live happily ever after. While I enjoy a good fairy tale, the repetitiveness of this exact story is incredibly dangerous to modern marriage. It doesn’t show Cindy and Charming then learn to live together, figure out how much time they want to dedicate to each other, maneuver life with certain expectations, and recognize unique undertones of each others’ words. Cinderella might have babies one day. She’s going to instantly form an entirely uncharted and incredibly important relationship with a new little person and she might have some confusion as to her new dual role as princess wife and mother. Or what if Cindy doesn’t want kids? And Charming does? Did they discuss this before they decided to get married? Probably not. They’ve barely even met. Cinderella doesn’t even have anyone to confide in but a mouse and a jolly old witch. The sequel might be a rough one. Continue reading
So, I haven’t mentioned this amazing visit yet because a huge part of it was the fact that my husband was gone for several weeks hiking the Appalachian Trail. That is a story in itself, but it is important to mention as this blog is about nurturing friendships and providing self care-specifically when your world has been temporarily flipped upside down. I was excited for Rick to live out a dream of his and having young children with easy schedules made this one of the few appropriate times of our life to go on such a wild adventure. So…just to set the scene…Sarah, my BFF since childhood knew I was going to have some long weekends without my husband and planned a rescue visit for a long weekend in June.
I’ve blogged about Sarah before here. We’ve known each other since we were four. She has since moved to Durham where she works as a pediatric acute care nurse practitioner because she is BOSS. To me, though, she’s just Sawah. And I’m just Rebecca. And we’re just the same kids we’ve always been, but with grown up jobs and homes and husbands and all that weird stuff. Here is a picture of us from childhood to remind you that we weren’t always the perfect goddesses we are today: Continue reading
It’s kind of crazy that I was just writing about friendship last week when I got a message from my old pal (and elementary school fiance’) Ari asking if we would like to join him and one of my dear high school BFFs for a day at The Museum of Aviation. Um. Yes. Duh. What time?
Ari and Anna were two of my very good friends in high school. Ari and I go WAY back to literally learning how to speak in speech therapy at elementary school. I knew Anna as a kid, but we didn’t become super good friends until my mom forced me to stop hanging out with the bad kids in middle school. Luckily, the good kids were also entertaining. Continue reading
I don’t know at what point I got lucky enough to truly value my friendships. Maybe it was the summer before second grade. Our house had burned down and we were taken in by many families in our town. It is hard to remember how long I stayed at each place, but I was never afraid. I don’t think it’s normal to worry about homelessness when you lose your home at the ripe old age of seven, but I didn’t have to find out. Our friends (my parents’ friends) stepped up and made sure we had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Continue reading
Blogs about trips are so hard for me to write because so much happens that I don’t know where to begin. I don’t want to overwhelm you with every little detail of our five day trip, but I don’t want to forget the good stuff, so I am trying something different. I’m going to make this a series of short stories so I don’t forget anything while simultaneously not boring the heck out of my readers. Let me set the scene: Continue reading
I visited my Grandbetty’s old house last week and it brought back a flood of memories (no pun intended). I wrote a blog about my Grandbetty after Alzheimer’s, but most of my memories are of her before. When she knew my name. When she wanted to take a thousand pictures of me by her azalea bushes. When she wanted to feed me, even when I wasn’t hungry. I was with her when she died. I sat with her several times a week for the two years she didn’t know me anymore. She was still the same person, just confused. Sometimes, she would get angry. Not often, but sometimes. If she got angry with me, I would leave the room and collect myself. I wasn’t mad at her, but I was hurt. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know what she was saying. Words hurt. I had to cry a little and then I had to come back-because this was the only time in her entire life when she REALLY needed me. Continue reading
You know the type. They’re pretty, they’re popular, and you just KNOW they’re shallow. They have no depth. They think they’re the greatest little tanned bodies south of the Mason Dixon line. They could wear the exact same outfit as you and be the winner of “Who Wore It Best?” every time. You know what else they are? Totally unapproachable. When they walk up to the group you’re talking with you think, “What do I have to say to her?” and “How can she take this perfectly great conversation and turn it in to something I have no input on whatsoever?” We all have those girls that we don’t want to talk to. The girls you don’t even want to see. Those snotty, two-faced, fancy pants-wearing, jerks. Ugh. Continue reading