Posts Tagged ‘memories’

my appropriately titled post “something happened” comes from one of my many fantastic college roommates (you can stalk her here.)  she slightly harassed politely asked me to post about certain evenings of debauchery events that took place throughout the course of this past weekend.  i will refer to my roommie as “special c” and her hub as “special g” seeing as paul and i stayed at their home.  (ps- thanks again for your hospitality and abundance of hangover food.)

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once upon a time, special c and i lived in a house with a total of 7 (i think, somewhere i lost count) girls/women… some of us finishing our undergrad, some of us starting grad school, some of us just plain ol’ not wanting to leave our happy home that we had come to know and love.  (and yes, there was waaaaaay too much estrogen in this house.)

during the two years i lived in this house, as both a college and then graduate student, i spent many-a-night intoxicated.  those of us living in this house worked tirelessly throughout not only every semester, but through summers to accomplish the goals we had set for ourselves.  and dammit, some times (ok many times) we needed a bit of a reprieve in the form of “the wineses” (no, not just “the wines”…. but….  ”the winesES”.)

occasionally after nights that included the wineses, special c would emerge from her bedroom the following morning, slowly creep into the living room of our house (where a few of us would be laying on couches/each other with bags of devoured food from krystal) and say the following… “something happened.”  she would then proceed to the bathroom in search of tylenol.

all of us would bust into uncontrollable (yet painful due to our hangover) laughter and nod our heads in agreement.  and thus came the birth of the post-drunk night phrase “something happened.”

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lots of “somethings happened” over the last 3-4 days…  aside from hosting this amazing madness, with this amazing woman, i traveled yet again.

paul and i had a wedding to attend in birmingham for another one of my college roommates.  you will find her in all her spectacular wedding glory below…

we left early friday morning, after i had kicked off Blogher@Home thursday evening with a BANG, resulting in a really lousy hangover, which made for not so fun early morning travels.  my mom met paul, the magoo, and i in the atlanta airport where the magoo was transfered to said grammy, and paul and i took a car and drove to birmingham.

i slept off my hangover the entire 2 and a half hours in preparation for the rehearsal dinner we attended friday evening.  friends of mine have more appropriate pics from the rehearsal dinner than i do, so i will refrain from posting mine and wait until they have emailed me theirs to share with you all.  (sorry to disappoint.)

saturday morning, i was lucky enough to join the bride and maids in a candid photo shoot as she dressed, stressed, and prepared herself for her wedding day…

i guess it should be noted here that i chose not to take photos of the actual ceremony.  the sanctuary was so beautiful, the ceremony was so personal…  it just didn’t feel right for me to photograph that.  so…  on to the reception, which was held at a magnificent (but friggin hot) art gallery that refused to turn their ceiling fans on, so brace yourself for some sweaty photos…

some peeps and me (rockin out the boob-ige... yikes!)

(umm… ok, so apparently my bewbies decided to start peeling from the cruise i had been on the previous week.  dumb ass me decided to “cover up” said peel with tanning lotion.  so please don’t think i have some strange skin disease…  i just suffered from momentary dipshitness.)

wedding cake (which was entirely devoured)

me and a roomie, miss L

miss L and my hub bub (lookin mighty fine!)

special c and special g (our hosts for the wknd)

so special c and i look naked, what else is new?

my dance with the bride

paul was REALLY excited about playing with fire...

so he lit mine...

YEA BABY!!!

yes, special c, something in deed happened.

***in other news, since i was semi-working this weekend on Blogher@Home, pop on over there for some awesome info and see who won in the giveaways.***

i’m writing this post on Delta flight 1759, sitting in seat 24 A, next to my brother, brian (obviously seated in 24 B).  that’s right…  32,000 feet in the air, and definitely worth the $10 to obtain internet access, in my opinion.  this may perhaps be the smartest $10 purchase i make during this trip. *har har har*

and so we’re off…  from atlanta…  to miami, at which point we will board royal carribean’s majesty of the seas and spend the next 5 days island hopping through the bahamas, jet skiing, snorkeling, and enjoying a catamaran boat ride.  all of this gloriousness is in celebration of my kick-ass brother and this…

so yeah, b and i are off to the islands “yea mon,” to celebrate his overall awesomeness and completion of college.  (incase you’re wondering, he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business administration with a concentration in risk management from the terry business school.

(anyone with full-time job opportunities for a stud like him, lemme know!)

over the next 5 days, while the magoo gets spoiled by his grandparents, b and i will island hop from nassau, to coco cay, to key west, and then back to miami on friday.  we plan to tan.  we plan to celebrate.  we plan to make memories.

(i, being magoo-less for 5 days, plan on sleeping…  A LOT, and waking up occasionally for an umbrella drink).

the magoo didn’t quite know what to think of b and i this morning…  our childlike joy…  our dancing around the kitchen…  our island accents…  and the suitcases.  he was a bit confused.

dudes, i’m stoked.  5 days with my bro…  just what i need…  just what i want.

life doesn’t get much better than that.

i don’t often write about paul being a pilot in the navy on my website.  i mean, it comes up here and there because it does dictate our family’s life, especially in terms of where we live, how long he’s gone for when he deploys, where he travels to… location is huge for us.  and it’s always up in the air.

always.

i don’t often write about being a navy wife on my website.  i mean, it comes up here and there because it’s a part of who i am.  honestly, i don’t like the label.  i don’t like labels in general, but i really don’t like the label “navy wife” or “officer’s wife.”  i’m not down with some of the things that are associated with the label.  nevertheless this is part of who i am.

part.

this morning, i strolled jackson across the street from our apartment complex to “the yard” as they call it, and witnessed I-Day at the Naval Academy.  call it what you will “induction day” or “initiation day” or “idiot’s day” (i’m not the only one who has referred to it as such)… but it’s the day when recent high school graduates who have been accepted to USNA show up for plebe summer.

without going into too much detail about the actual events that take place on I-Day, or during plebe summer, or the fact that i live quite literally across the street from USNA (don’t stalk me), i find myself acknowledging the pendulum that swings back and forth and back and forth more so now than ever before.

10 years ago to the day, paul checked in on I-Day.

july 1, 1999 paul went from being a civilian to joining the navy in the hopes of one day becoming a naval aviator (check that box), and scared shitless (sorry hun, just stating the obvious).  his parents and brother walked with him as he checked in with a folder of paperwork and a duffel bag, and said goodbye.

and this morning, i walked my son across the street and watched as his dad stood guard and separated weeping parents from their children.  photos were taken.  television crews were there.  a helicopter flew over.  and jackson drank his juice.

paul took a brief break from his “bouncer duties” and came to say hello to us.  we reminisced for a bit, being that we are high school sweethearts, and were “going out” during this time 10 years ago.

the night before paul’s I-Day, he sat on the floor of a hotel bathroom talking to me on the phone.  i think i did more crying than talking.  i wouldn’t see him for 6 weeks during plebe summer.  i thought that 6 week separation was the worst thing in the world.

stupid teenager.

little did i know 10 years later i would wind up standing with paul and our son, on the yard, watching kids get checked in and saying goodbye to their parents, their former lives…

the pendulum swings back and forth…

and time marches on.

i’m learning that it marches a little faster once you have a child.

my grandfather died almost 17 years ago (this coming september).  i was 11 years old… my brother was 7.  my parents were devastated.  our hearts were shattered.  poppy died of a massive heart attack while playing golf with my gramma in lake tahoe.  the med examiners said the heart attack hit so hard that he was gone before he even hit the ground.

what a way to go, right?

i mean, now i can look back with 17 years of perspective and say that…  what a way to go.  and honestly, of all the ways a person can die, that’s pretty remarkable.  while i think that, i also think about the strength and bravery my gramma was called to summon within herself to perform CPR on her husband (who was 60 years old) until EMS arrived, hoping, praying, wishing that this wasn’t it.

the magoo’s middle name, ray, comes from poppy.  our precious jackson ray…  his first name honors paul’s grandpa jack, still alive, though ailing and in need of much healing after a stroke… jackson’s middle name honors my poppy whose middle name was raymond.  

first beach experience. attire included pjs and crocs.

being at poppy’s beach (indian rocks beach, florida) always brings a smile to my face.  the smell…  the sand…  the ocean…  and it’s not just like any other florida beach.  indian rocks is where poppy taught me how to fish… how to drive a boat…  and how to wash my hair in an outdoor shower using a bar of soap instead of shampoo.  

the pizza shop we frequent when we’re here knows us all by name… nick shut down his shop on the day of poppy’s funeral.  never before had it been closed like that, not even for a holiday.  i’ll never forget seeing him sobbing for the loss of his friend.

and so being here, this week, is amazing for me…  because life has truly come full-circle.  my 3 cousins arrived, 1 of whom has a 17 month old little boy who is spectacular and will make great friends with jackson in the days ahead.  

 

there is joy here at poppy’s beach.  pure joy.  there are incredible memories…  hysterical stories… and monumental firsts…

 

i feel safe here.  i feel at home here.  i feel loved here.  and now i’m here with my own family…  and it is awesome.

Everyone has one… some have more than others. But stories put everyone on an even playing field. We all have stories of joy, stories of sorrow. Pain. Love. Pee-in-your-pants laughter. Cry-til-you-vomit breathlessness and hurt.

We choose who we share our stories with, who we allow into our little worlds. We choose who gets to know us at our best and our worst.

And I have been meaning to post this for a long time. I have been meaning to write about this for a long time. But writing one’s story, even pieces of one’s story, is not an easy task.

So I waited… until the time was right… until my muse sang in my ear… until I felt strong, brave, stable, ready.

And I am.

I have tattoos. I love my tattoos. I have three (well, four but the fourth was an addition to the third so I guess that counts as one).

In the middle of the sun tattoo is the first tattoo I ever got; a Chinese symbol that means “to seek.”

I was a sophomore in college, at Auburn University, and months into my recovery process and healing after having been raped.

I am a rape survivor.

What specifically took place to me on the night of September 26, 2000 is not something I am willing to share here, yet. But the fact that I am a rape survivor is.

At that time in my life, I was seeking something, anything, everything… and I found it in the form of a small Chinese symbol etched with an ink-filled needle into the small of my back.

That’s how this story began… and since September of 2000, it has grown, spread, and taken on an identity all its own.

And I am proud.

As my healing continued, so did my love of expression… Self expression. I learned to love my Self again. The love of my life still loved me for my Self, visible/invisible scars and all.

And so years after my own rape, when I worked as a rape victim advocate, I embraced the true survivor in me and got this tattoo…

It is fitting and now almost laughable that “Self” is my maiden name. I promise; it is. I grew up with the “ooohhh, Nicole loves her SELF” jokes as a child.

During a time when I was newly married, having just taken Paul’s last name, I also found myself encouraged, strong, and empowered in a new way.

I went back to my roots. I needed my maiden name on my wrist… my pulse… because at my core, that’s who I am. I am a Self. A self provider, a self lover, a self seeker, looking to affirm one self, my self…

The color that fills “Self” on this wrist tattoo of mine is teal, the nationally recognized color of rape survivors. I love the color, now. It’s beautiful, now… almost 9 years later.

My story, that portion of my story I should say, left its mark on Paul over time. We had been married a few years and he too loves his name, his middle name… Dempsey. It’s a family name, passed down. Strong. Masculine. Proud. And so he chose to express himself and his love of family by tattooing “Dempsey” in Gaelic on the inside of his left bicep. It suits him well.

If you have tattoos yourself, you know that its addicting… it’s like this itch that is never quite satisfied. The itch that you can’t quite reach no matter how much you stretch your arm behind your back and reeeeaaaach to scratch. You kinda get it, it goes away for a bit, and then the itch creeps back.

So the day that Paul got his “Dempsey” tattoo, I asked our tattoo artist (who became a friend) to draw the sun around my Chinese symbol.

I hadn’t thought it through. We went to our tattoo artist/friend with the intention of Paul getting his tattoo… but within minutes of being there, hearing the buzz of the needles, seeing the tubes of Vaseline and strips of gauze, my itch came back.

I love the sun, the light, the warmth. I love when the sun surprises me behind a cloud, poking out to say “hello.” I love that it brings out the freckles I have on my nose. And I love that the sun lights up the darkest parts of my life.

And then comes Jackson… my SON… my SUN. My joy. My strength. My light. My love. And so it was only fitting that his name and birth date be etched in ink on my other wrist, my other pulse.

Because once upon a time, our hearts beat together.

And so that’s where my story in ink ends… begins…

A story is a work of art.

i have been purposely delaying this post, putting it off and busying myself with other tasks, other writings, cute videos of jackson… not wanting to “go there,” and yet here i am.

jackson had his 1 year check up last friday, and i’m now just posting about it. he had his vaccines, his “wellness” exam, met his milestones… and was weighed.

current magoo weight: 21.2 lbs.
current magoo height: 31 and 1/4 in.
current magoo head circ: 48 cm.

percentile-wise, he’s ok… his friggin meat-head (thanks to paul) is in the 95th percentile. his height is in the 85th… his weight is in the 30th… and that’s when i hang my head and let out a low, groveling sigh.

for the last 3 months, we have intentionally not weighed jackson. paul and i worked hard to remove ourselves from the mentality that we were in for so long, of tracking everything, recording everything, monitoring everything. so we just didn’t do it. each month, of the last three, would pass and we wouldn’t do it. at his 9 month check-up, jackson weighed 19 and 3/4 lbs. and here we are 3 full months later…

it’s not so much that i’m discouraged right now. i’ve been there and done that. it’s just that i would almost rather not know. ya know?

i see my son every day. i see how successful his feedings are now. i see him eat spaghetti and chicken and sweet potatoes and chips and salsa… drink from a cup with a straw… and do absolutely anything for goldfish. and on top of that, he still takes 4 bottles a day with 6 oz of formula. he’s eating more now than he ever has.

and we’re “supposed to” start weaning jackson from the bottle because now he’s 1 year old.

yeah, right! like that’s goina happen! are you kidding me?! i just got him to friggin start taking a bottle! i don’t care if he’s 30-something, getting married, and his bride walks down the aisle to him and he has a ring in one hand and a baby bottle in the other… i’m NOT taking that away right now. suck it, doctors!

i digress…

to think of the days i spent on the computer and phone simultaneously, searching for pediatric feeding programs, filing paperwork with the navy, begging, pleading, and forcing our son to eat… i see that we have come so far.

but damnit, i hate knowing the weight… the number… the truth.

so i justify things to myself in my head. i tell myself “he’s really active and just can’t keep weight on.” which is true (?) he is all over the place, especially now that he’s walking. he can’t sit still to save his own life. paul and i can barely get him to stay in his highchair long enough to take a full meal before he’s squealing to get out and go play.

i mean, hell, i’ve lost weight just trying to keep up with him. (BONUS!)

we’re not worried… we’re not. i’m just updating everyone because people ask. you guys have gone through this with us as you have read our blog. you have been with us at the hospital. both times. you have been with us at jackson’s feeding therapy sessions. and you have been with us when we have been at our wits end.

and so the journey continues… we have a healthy, happy baby boy. long and lean. he rocks my world, and everything in it.

***i debated whether or not to turn off the ability for you guys to comment on this post, just because i don’t want the “oh, he’s fine, my child weighs bla bla bla….” type of stuff. but whatthehell… bring it on!***