Posts Tagged ‘bumbling and fumbling’

tuesday… right? today is tuesday?

yes, ok… the 6th. right? the 6th?

paul’s birthday is friday.

cards. can’t forget the cards. mine, jackson’s, and the dog’s.

THE BIG GIFT. must NOT forget THE BIG GIFT.

my knee resembles the balloon jackson got at trader joe’s.

even the reddish tinge. nice.

got an orthopod to see me today at 2 thanks to a cancelation.

someone must love me.

mother-in-law arrives tonight so i can be off my feet for the next 3 days.

magoo and i head to atlanta saturday.

sunday i go help with the twins. THE TWINS.

shit, my knee.

fuckin baby gate.

crap, i cussed twice in two sentences. mom will be mad.

i want my mommy.

new ottomans come today.

yes, ottomanS, plural… we got two.

our couch is 9 feet long.

we are big people. we need big furniture.

i hope this orthopod gives me better drugs than vicodin.

if i have to go in an MRI tube, i will lose my shit.

whatever, my shit is already lost.

i should start packing for seattle/portland trip.

returning from THE TWINS trip with 24 hours to repack and head out west for 10 days.

10 days no magoo.

cue tears.

but yay, cuz i’m getting this tattoo!!!

dad will not like that i’m putting it on my arm.

“rut ro reorge.”

i’m an inked mom.

i LOOOOOOOVE being an inked mom.

no, i don’t see myself going back to teaching.

my master’s degree will not serve a purpose in the future.

i’m a writer.

i have 4 book proposals going.

i just started writing fiction!!!

holy crap, can’t believe i just wrote that.

I’M WRITING FICTION!!!

i’m stoked.

i’m a mom.

i’m a writer.

i’m a gimp.

dammit i better not need surgery on my knee.

*big sigh*

how do people do this with more than one child?

honestly?

how?

oh, and how do people do this with their placenta???

tom… katie… suri… scientology… whut???

no, i didn’t just say that.

eyebrow wax thursday.

CANNOT forget that.

i need an agent.

really need to get on that and make that a priority.

need to call in some favors…

need to have my fuckin knee not make me want to drive an ice pick through my eye cuz maybe that would hurt less.

don’t trip over baby gates.

don’t get your foot caught on the handle of the baby gate as you step over it.

just take the damn thing down to walk into the next room.

sure, it might be more of an effort… but heed my words you parents of not-yet-toddlers.

don’t trip over baby gates.

seattle/portland bloggers, i will be out there oct. 17-27th.

let’s hang.

i think i’m running out of last minute favors to ask of my mother-in-law.

seriously. she should start running a tab on me.

i’ll have to be bed-ridden the next three days in order to help with THE TWINS come sunday.

oh i can’t wait to see my rach.

nana will have three straight days of magoo… and then return with pops to have 10 (yes, TEN) straight days of magoo while i’m out west with paul.

i’m a spoiled bitch.

can i ask for percocet?

can you ask for stuff like that? just out right ask for it?

i mean all they can do is say “no,” right? and then look at you like you’re a pill-popping-mom-junkie.

awesome.

weeks ago i received a tweet from someone unexpectedly.

aidan confessed in this tweet that she was “addicted” to my blog. in fact, her exact words were, “I’m a rookie blogger, but I am newly addicted to your site. Your voice and sensibilities are more than compelling. Thanks.”

i then realized who that tweet had come from, and shit my pants.

it was aidan. AIDAN. AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY… as in holy shit she’s a published author who’s book comes out next summer and i can hardly wait another moment, let alone wait through fall, winter and spring to then read it.

in the midst of soiling myself repeatedly, i call my mom. i proceed to tell her what’s just taken place on twitter. and while i’m closing in on a state of hyperventilation, my mom remains calm and fairly unemotional about this AMAZING THING THAT HAS JUST TAKEN PLACE.

while on the phone with me, i email mom links to aidan… to her book, blackberry girl… and gush and gush and gush about how much of a fan i am of her’s. (she had me at pinot grigio).

then mom socks me in the stomach with “well apparently she’s a fan of your’s.”

huh?

upon getting off the phone with mom, aidan and i begin (what i refer to as) an email love affair. i skip my shower during the magoo’s nap… aidan skips packing for a wedding in order to continue emailing me back and forth and back again.

an hour passes. we talk about everything and nothing. we talk about publishing and blogging. we talk about her being in nyc and me being in annapolis, just a train ride away. we talk about motherhood.

we connect.

and the entire time this email love affair of our’s goes on, with each minute that passes on the clock, each tick tock, i think to myself “OH MAH GAWD, IT’S AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY.”

**********

fast forward a few weeks… aidan and i continue to email back and forth. we strike up a deal that one of us is to teach the other about something we’re both passionately interested in. (no, i’m not going to tell you what our deal consists of).

with time the AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY-NESS of her dissipates. she becomes aidan. she becomes a friend.

our emails become more personal, delve deeper and deeper into who exactly we are… as women, as mothers, as writers… what we are seeking as women, as mothers, as writers.

our differences peak out here and there, but at the core of each of us, aidan and i are so very similar.

and then she goes and writes this. about me. about herself. defining WHY she blogs… including me in her definition.

i am left speechless.

she writes in this piece, “I relished in the uniqueness of my new quasi-friend.”

*deep sigh with a smile*

so did i, and i still do with each email i receive from this fantastic woman.

**********

so how do you thank someone for that? for writing so eloquently about the absurd beauty of our “encounter.” how do you thank someone for including YOU in what is THEIR definition for WHY they blog?

**********

i’m not good at this part. i’m not good at receiving. compliments or criticism, i am not good at receiving it. i struggle to even reread the post aidan wrote about me, about our encounter.

i can give it. i can’t receive it. i can write about others; even write about myself as though i have exited my own flesh, and can then write words about the person existing within the flesh.

but reading about myself from someone else’s point of view, as beautiful as their perspective may be… i’m not good at that. and i struggle to reread what i know is aidan’s exquisite post, as she is an exceptional writer.

i am humbled. i am flattered. i am grateful.

for you, aidan. thank you.