Laugh or Cry

Mom often said, "You can laugh or you can cry." As a teenager, I always resented it when she said it. I thought she was telling me I should be able to control my emotions with cool efficiency. Of course I also spent a lot of my time crying.

Now that I'm, well, maybe not grown up, but certainly older, I can hear Mom saying it in my head. "You can laugh or you can cry." I realize now that she never meant I shouldn't ever cry. Sometimes that systemic purge is exactly what's called for. Mom just meant that, if you can back away enough to find humor, situations lose their power to derail you.

Last night I found myself close to tears, and I heard Mom. I decided I needed help, so I call AmyO. Our conversation started like this:

Me: I need you to remind me I'm not a loser even though I'm here at WalMart at 9 at night buying diapers and butter.

Amy: surprised silence. . . .then loud laughter

It was just what I needed. I needed to see that Little Man at home naked (I was out of diapers after all) and probably trying to pee on Z-Man was funny, not tragic. And that me walking through Walmart carrying butter and diapers, wearing no makeup, and sporting unshaved legs was something to giggle over.

So thanks, Mom, for the advice I'm finally trying to take. And thanks, Amy, for helping me laugh.

Passion

I've been thinking about this post for a couple weeks now. I first had thoughts banging around in my head--quite loudly, really--but no time to put them down on paper. And then, when I did put them into words, they didn't sound right. I've been thinking and worrying and just plain procrastinating writing about this because it makes me uncomfortable. Both because I worry it will come off as self-righteous or pompous. And also because I'm not sure I truly do have the right words. But, I'm tired of worrying about it. And, really, I can only take so much thought-banging before I completely lose it. So, I'm going to be brave and write.



I've been told I should use my blog to share my passion. This poses a significant problem for me. Not the idea of being passionate--that's not a problem at all. But the idea of choosing one passion and limit myself to that is beyond me.

I tried listing what I'm passionate about to see if there was something I could focus on, and here's what I came up with:

Z-man--you really don't want to read this every day

my family--even I can't read about my own kids every single day

the happiness of my friends--but these are their stories to tell

reading--but no particular genre and my favorite book is always the one in my hand

music--again the genre always changes

hobbies--never the same one for long

cooking--but only when my kitchen is clean

grammar--and yes, I realize this makes me odd--it's why you love me

Do you see what I'm up against?

I consider myself to be a very passionate person, but rarely are those passions long-lived. I love to start new hobbies and projects. Finishing them, is a different story. I was passionate about Twilight for nearly 2 years. But now I'm much more interested in the friends I've made because of the experience than the books themselves. In fact, I've considered changing the name of my blog to better reflect my current passions. This is more a reflection of my perfectionism than a true need, however. I want everything to be just right all the time. I wanted to change the name to something that would perfectly reflect me and my life. Because that's not too much to ask of a few simple words at the top of a website, is it? LOL

So, as a solution that will both meet my need for things to be accurate and to force myself to make the best of what I have, the blog is staying with the original name. That, and I'm too lazy/busy to figure out how to change the name of a blog and would be much more likely to just start a new one. And I really don't want to have to do that.

For me, Forks is no longer associated with just Twilight, or vampires, or even Edward (sigh). For me, Forks now represents everything good and beautiful and meaningful in my life. Forks is the sense of self that I rediscovered through Twilight and TwilightMOMS and which I still struggle to maintain. Forks is all the people I love, the people who make me laugh, the people who affect the direction my life takes. Forks is my current passion--whatever it is I look forward to. Whatever currently makes it worth surviving the day. Forks, for me, is a place I can simply be who I am. Or where I can pretend to be who I want to be.

So that is what this blog is for me. An excuse to indulge myself; a place to laugh at myself; a reminder that I'm not alone unless I want to be. You're welcome to join me as often as you want. I can't promise regular updates--or interesting ones when I do write. But they will always be passionate.

High Fashion

I try whenever I can to let the kids choose what they're going to wear. I want them to be independent, and I don't want to squash any creativity they might choose to express. However, I realized the other day that both Zippy and Munchkin have ended up with my. . . unique fashion sense. This is what they wanted to look like for the day:

Yes, that's an ER doctor shirt from the dress-up box. And I don't even know what to say about Zippy's hair. That's how he wanted it, and I've let it get WAY too long. I let Zippy keep his hair, but I did make Munchkin change into something that would at least keep her warm when we went outside. So sorry, kids. You'll have to look elsewhere for good fashion advice.

After such an eye-opening realization, I was doubly amused when Rae called that afternoon. The conversation was as follows:

Rae: They asked for names of French fashion designers and I could only name one. Do you remember any more?

Me: Um. . . . . .

And then I just had to start laughing. I mean really, Rae, you've known me 14 years now. Have I ever done (or more importantly, worn) anything that would make you think I would know who French fashion designers are? I love that you think I would.

You guys are just lucky my kids are dressed and that I don't show up in public in my body suits and bright broomstick skirts from the early 90s. Man I rocked that look. Sigh.

Comfort Food

I woke up this morning to a not good, very bad, horrible day. It didn't help that it's been nearly a week since I was able to do anything productive. Little Man has had a fever since Tuesday morning. He's either been nursing, sleeping, or hysterically crying. And the nusing and sleeping didn't last nearly as long as I would like. I haven't even had a chance to buy groceries.

So, this morning when he woke up at 5:30 am, I was grumpy. And tired. And seriously craving some comfort food. But, since it's Sunday, I didn't want to go to the store for anything. But I remembered that I had heard of a dish called potato knish on a show about potatoes the other day. (And don't ask why I watched a full hour program about potatoes--I couldn't explain it now if I tried) When I found a recipe, it sounded even better. Especially since I already had everything I would need to make it.

Fast forward a couple hours to when Little Man finally falls asleep again, and Zippy and Munchkin are watching a movie. I went to the kitchen, worked for a while, and came ended up with these:




Oh Lands. Oh my. Oh Oh Oh OOOOOOOOOOOH. One bite and, glory be, it's like I've died and gone to Forks!

This is the finest comfort food ever!!! I can't wait to tinker with the recipe and figure out what else I can do with these little packets of goodness. But for today, this simple version flavored with cheese and thyme were perfection. Bliss. Nearly good enough that, were I actually eating them in Forks, I might simply float away into the ether. Except these hearty parcels will keep you firmly planted on the ground--nice and heavy and solid.

They're basically bundles of mashed potatoes wrapped up with other bits of goodness inside a sort-of pastry. mmmmmmmmmmmm. I could eat them all day. And paired with home-canned peaches and pears, they make one satisfying comfort lunch. With the added benefit of making me feel all Suzy Homemaker for a few minutes.

Z-Man better hope I don't get hungry again before he gets home--otherwise he'll just have to wait until next time.

You Just Never Know

I'm constantly amazed at what I learn from my kids. Who knew there was so much I didn't know. For example, I, in my ignorance, thought this was a basket. Just a plain, somewhat ugly, plastic basket that should be used to hold toys.

I was, however, very wrong. Zippy has informed me in no uncertain terms that I was mistaken. This is no ordinary basket. This is the Eternal Basket of Happiness. And whoever posesses it is granted, well, happiness--forever. Also, and this was very important, if the posessor of this basket did not wish to share it, all others would be unhappy forever. I have very good evidence of said unhappiness.

Don't worry, though. Mommy has reasserted ownership of this very important basket. And I like to share. Therefore, here's your dose of happy for the day:

WOW

OK, I know I'm way slow with this post. And I know there's probably a lot that I should say at this point. But in the haze of sleepless nights, my brain isn't working well enough to think of a single one of them. So, all I can say about the past 2 weeks is "Wow." He's here, he's perfect, and I'm exhausted. I'll catch up with everyone later, I promise.

Counting Down

I've got just under 4 weeks until my due date. That means it could be anywhere from 2-6 weeks more. I'm hoping for the 2. So, I figured it was time for another belly pic. This may be the last one I post--since I'm not loving how huge I look and feel. And since I'm struggling to just survive these last few days. So, here it is folks: