Cherish

"A friend is someone who knows us, but loves us anyway."

~Jerome Cummings

As I grow older, making my way toward the dreaded label of "adult" - which I'm sure I'll hit by the time I'm about 72 or so - I am amazed by the way things never really turn out how I think they will.  My perspective has shifted ever so slightly so damned many times in the last twenty years that I can hardly believe that silly little tween was me.

And so, at the ripe-old age of 31, I am here to share with you a small but very important portion of my infinite wisdom.  Pay attention, kids, 'cause here it comes.

Throughout my life, I've had many different sets of friends.  At times, I collected them like trophies to trot out and put on display for all to see.  When the going got rough, though, I always found out who was in it for the long haul.

There are plenty of people out there who are willing to call someone their friend.  Hell, these days it seems as though the majority of new friendships are started online - how sad is that? - and people don't even have to hold actual conversations.  Texting, facebook and twitter have replaced hanging out, talking on the phone until the wee hours of the night and riding your bike to your pal's house.  You can "like" something a person says or slam them without ever looking them in the face.

But when you get down to brass tacks, I'd be willing to bet you can count your true friends on one hand.  It's not a competition here, folks, and I know there will be exceptions, but I know it to be true in my own life and from observing those around me.

How many of your facebook friends would drop what they were doing and drive 30+ miles to bring you your spare set of car keys when you've locked yourself out of your car at a shopping mall in the dead of winter?

How many of your twitter followers would babysit your dogs while you deal with a family emergency?

How many people that you text with would stick out their neck for you?

How many of these "friends" would even pick up the phone if they saw your number on the Caller ID?

See?  Now I've got you thinking.  The gears are turning...I can hear them.  You're really not sure about most of those so-called friends, now, are you?

Do yourself a favor.  Go grab a pencil and a piece of paper - not a smart phone or a tablet...I want you to write this out for real.  I'll wait.

Now, write the names of your friends - not counting family - who you could count on to do any of the four things I mentioned above, no questions asked.

Look at the list.  Study it.  These are your real friends.  Slip this piece of paper into your pocket or your wallet, and revisit it every day. 

These are the people on whom you should be expending your energy.  These are the people who are going to be there for you when shit gets hard.  You need to do the same for them, or they may decide that somewhere down the line, you're no longer worth the time and effort...and these are not the people you want to lose due to neglect.

Nurture these relationships.  Cherish them.  Because when we're all old, grey and pruny, we want to be able to sit in a rocking chair on a porch, sipping sweet tea with our best friends, proudly looking back on our lives.  When I'm 72 (and, presumably, grown up), I want to sit there with T and reminisce about all the dumb shit we've done together...and all the dumb shit we're gonna do together in the next 41 years.

That's right, girlie.  This whole, big, rambling post is just another roundabout way to tell you that I love you. 

Happy birthday, T.  You're my bestie, and I plan on pestering you for a damn long time yet.

Proud

Family picture: Easter 2012

The Princess absolutely loves Nana and Grampy's hill.

Don't believe what I said above?  Here's more proof.  :)

You should have seen her, y'all.  My girl, the one who would scarcely make more than a second's eye contact a mere eighteen months ago, flaunted her advancing social skills all over the place on Sunday.

She ran and played with her cousin.

She ran and played with her daddy.

She ran and played with me.

She approached her great aunt and numerous other grown-up family members without prompting, made eye contact, and engaged them in interactions too numerous to count.

She showered us all in smiles and giggles.  The audio from one of the video clips just kills me.  She cackles, sings and squeaks.  She and her cousin scream together in glee as they fly down the hill with Auntie G.

Sure, she spent a good amount of time in her quiet room, but - dammit - The Princess gets better and better at being around our huge, rowdy family every time we get together.

I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of her.

Rambling

Wow.  It's been a while, I know.  Grab yourself a cup of tea - don't worry about me; I've already got one - and let's sit down and chat.

How've you been?  Sorry for being MIA for so long.  A lot has happened around here, and I'm not really sure where to even begin. 

(Buckle your seat belts, folks...here comes a rambling post in which I'll try to catch y'all up on everything at once, and we all know how well that usually works out!)

The Grumps went a little nutso for Christmas and spent too much money on The Princess.  Big surprise, I know.  This year, her present from them involved a trip to the Stride Rite store for new shoes.  Her previous pair of Stride Rites had lasted what seemed like forever, and the Velcro was wearing out, so we had to bite the bullet and get a new pair.  Which she wore a hole in - I'm talking through the rubber and the underlying leather - in just under two months.  Yep.  That's my girl!  This resulted in a funny letter home from The Fabulous Mrs. G., followed by an evening trip to WalMart for a new pair of $10 Garanimals sneakers.  If she's causing blowouts in her shoes that quickly, I'd rather chew on shards of broken glass than continue to pay Stride Rite's prices.

Grumpa.  Oy.  Grumpa.  For those of you who come here to read all about The Princess and nothing but The Princess, you may not be aware of the fact that my pop had a pretty major heart attack eight years ago, at the ripe-old age of forty-seven.  On February 2, he went in for an angiogram and ended up being admitted to the hospital where I work.  On February 3, he had triple bypass surgery.  He was in the hospital for a grand total of nine days before being released into Gumma's care at home.  This past Thursday, he had his first follow-up doctor visit, and everything looks good.

This past week, I got a promotion at work...yippee!  I'm still lovin' the concierge gig, and I sincerely hope it lasts a good, long time.

On January 22, my beautiful, sweet, hilarious sister-in-law (affectionately referred to as Jello in our little yellow house) gave birth to an amazing little girl.  JAKE (Jello's whole family...their acronym is way better than ours - if you put all our initials together, the best you come up with is SCABS) came in to visit from Ohio this weekend, and The Hubbs and I were really, really looking forward to meeting little E and hanging out with our beloved K-Bear.  Unfortunately, The Princess is a bit under the weather, so we were unable to see them after all.  On the bright side, it sounds like they will be back in about a month for E's baptism and Jello's and my combined birthday party.  If anyone is sick that weekend, we're throwing them in a bubble and calling it a day.

On January 31, my ex-work-hubby and his beautiful wife welcomed their first child, a beautiful baby boy.  This is the dude who kept me sane at the end of my tenure at my previous job, when things got hairy.  We don't see each other much (in fact, the last time we all got together in real life was in June of last year), but these people are family.  R, D, and Junior, The Hubbo Family couldn't be more excited for you.

And now, the subject you've all been waiting for...I just know it: The Princess.  Our girl is still the most amazing little person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.  Not an hour goes by that doesn't involve her doing something that astonishes me.  Case in point: the hour-long snuggle earlier today.  My little introvert is coming out of her shell.  Sure, she still spends an inordinate amount of time in her room, but she now makes a point of coming out into the living room every so often, initiating eye contact with either me or The Hubbs, and climbing into one of our laps. 

There are so many other things I want to tell you about our girl, about the progress she is making and about the ways she warms my heart, but my teacup is woefully empty.  And this can only mean one thing: time for bed.

Before we part ways, dear friends, I promise you I'll start trying to post more regularly.  Please note the operative word in that promise: try.

In the mean time, say hello to your families for me...and don't forget to turn off your computers and cell phones every once in a while to spend some precious time together.

1...and Story Time

One more day until graduation.

*

The Princess is four and a half years old.  She does not speak.  She will stim all day if you let her.  She rarely (if ever, depending upon who you are) responds to verbal requests, though this particular point is getting better on a daily basis for those closest to her.  She has sensory issues.  The littlest thing can set her off.  Try as I might, I can rarely figure out what triggers her meltdowns.  All I can do is hold her and soothe her the best I can.

All of the autism stuff aside, this has got to be the most generally happy kid I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I consider myself lucky as hell that God chose me to be her momma.  I feel blessed every day for what I have with her, her daddy, and our splendiferous pooches.

But my heart breaks a little every day, too.  Other moms of four-and-a-half-year-olds are taking them to see Santa at the mall, having their pictures taken with their smiling faces reflected perfectly in the camera lens.  These other little ones are writing their names and holding amazing conversations.  They sit quietly in their rooms and read, because they want to.

The Princess couldn't possibly understand an abstract concept like Santa Claus.  She can't tell anyone what she wants for Christmas, because she doesn't speak.  She also has no interest in television or most other things that are marketed for kids her age, so it's a moot point, anyway.  Taking a picture with a stranger in a loud, hot, crowded mall?  Forget about it.  Writing?  Not yet.  We're still in the I'd-rather-eat-crayons-than-draw-on-the-paper stage.  Conversations?  I'd be happy with the ability to say yes and no.  Hell, I don't even care if it's verbal.  Shaking or nodding her head would be the coolest thing in the history of the world.  Reading?  More like tearing the pages out of books and stimming to her heart's content with the scraps.

Our girl has received many books, as most little ones do.  The difference between her and these other kids is that she doesn't seem to understand what books are all about.  After a few misguided attempts to let her figure them out, the surviving volumes have been moved to a safer place, out of her reach and - largely - out of our minds.

The Hubbs and I love to read.  I know a lot of people say this, but we mean it.  When given the option to watch TV or read a book, we'll almost always choose the latter.  Throw on a little bit of classical music and we're good to go for the entire evening.  In case you're interested, we've been playing the heck out of Pandora's Mannheim Steamroller Christmas station lately. 

Sunday evening, The Princess climbed up on the loveseat with me while I was reading, and she snuggled up next to me in the sweetest little hug.  After drinking in her affection for a few minutes, I slipped to the basement where her books are, and I grabbed two choices: the original Winnie the Pooh treasury and Wet Albert. 

I brought both books upstairs and gave her a choice.  She chose Pooh Bear, so I put Wet Albert away for the time being and The Princess, Pooh, and I went into her bedroom.

I read her the entire first short story, one about Piglet and a Heffalump, before bed.  Did she sit still?  No.  Did she hang on every word?  No.  But she paid attention in her way.  She spent those 20 or so minutes in constant contact with me, climbing all over me as I read her the story.  From time to time, I asked what she thought, and she mumbled back at me.  Not in English, but hey...I'll take what I can get.  I stopped a couple of times to either rearrange myself or take a breath, and she went forehead-to-forehead with me until I started again.

She loved it.

I loved it.

Finally.  She's four and a half, and I can finally have story time with my daughter.

13...and Lucky

Funny enough, the number 13 always makes me think of luck.  I know plenty of people who steer clear of it...and plenty more who count it among their good luck charms. 

When the gears in my head started turning, I realized I don't say this enough: I am the luckiest girl in the world.  I've been blessed with a wonderful husband, a one-of-a-kind, super-special daughter, the two best dogs I've ever met, and a fabulously charmed life.

Yes, I work Monday through Friday.

No, I don't make a fortune.  Not even close.

But that's not what it's about.  After a busy day at work and a tough night at school, I get to come home to my beloved family.

Really, who could ask for more?