Skip to main content

Burying the Lead

Today's Headline: [My] Baby Charms Starbucks by Ordering Soy Decaf Latte

I'm not really sure there's an article here. It's just that it's only 9:17 and pretty much all that's happened today is Ayana ordering and drinking her usual at the Bucks--a Soy Decaf Latte. A few people usually think that's pretty cute, but today it was like the whole coffee shop wanted to throw a parade in her honor. She drank it all without spilling any on herself, and that almost is a headline.



This Week's Headline: Warrior Way on Lockdown for 12 Hours

There is an article here. There's a lot of them, actually, so I'm not going to reinvent the wheel. Type Centaurus High School in to Google or Bing or that ancient search engine with the dog--remember that?--and you'll read about a boy and his bomb. This boy and this bomb, unfortunately, turned up at the high school seven feet from my house on Monday. No students were hurt, the boy is in custody, and the FBI & AFT have stopped camping out on my lawn. Nothing but good news. But. Ayana and I spent a whole day on lockdown with cable and Internet access cut off. We were both uninformed and without Dora. That's not a terrorist act, per se; but maybe we could lock that sixteen-year-old horror story up with my two-year-old for twelve hours to kick off his punishment.



This Month's Headline: Boy Proposes to Girl, Girl Dips Boy in Chocolate

And now the title of the blog makes sense, doesn't it? Because, of course, I'm that girl, Eric's that boy, and that chocolate was fondue, so dipping was expected.

I know, I know. We've hardly even talked about him--wasn't he just my social life a few posts ago? I hate to admit this; really, I do. But he was my fiance then too, I just hadn't figured out how to tell you. The truth is, it's been almost a month since my hunky fireman put a ring on it. Locked it down. Took the plunge. Have we hit the necessary cliches? I think yes. It's been almost a month and I'm just now working up the nerve to share this life change with the general public.



Are you mad? Please don't be. It's not you, it's me. Contrary to what you might be led to believe by my willingness to blog, I'm not much of a sharer. At least not in a way that makes any sense to, oh, anyone. You might remember finding out about my divorce via a relationship status change on Facebook. Yeah. You and everyone else--from my best friend to my very own mother. And you were floored when I admitted to you it was because my ex was, um, not the congenial, beer-peddling, smiley face he always appeared to be in the pictures.

I don't want to think of myself as a liar, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'm cagey. I play things close to the vest--always have. But my friends are starting to call me on it. I'm happy--deliriously so, if I'm being honest. So what's to hide? I have been in love with Eric since we snuck into the basement of the middle school to kiss in 8th grade. Loving someone doesn't mean you can be with that someone, and our time to be together didn't start until six months ago. But as he likes to say, our time is now. And we're going to enjoy it. celebrate it. treasure it.

So please, celebrate with us. Not at a wedding, of course. Who wants one of those? Oh. Stupid Eric, that's who. He probably wants to release pigeons and stuff cake in each other's faces too, but he's in for a surprise there. I don't eat cake. Maybe I could shove a pigeon in his face?


Comments

  1. Jamie ReedMay 15, 2013 at 8:18 PM

    Congratulations! Wishing you an overflowing abundance of happiness!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We're Off to the Icecapades! And Other Roads Paved With Cold Tears.

You know how your Great Aunt Margaret always looks at your baby's long fingers and says she's going to be a piano player? And how that guy bagging your groceries always tells you your slightly-taller-than-average boy is going to be a basketball player? Or how, when you accidentally leave the scissors on the counter and your toddler gets ahold of them, she's going to be a Monster Truck driver for three months because of that sweet mullet she gives herself? Well...I've got a long-legged African baby. And let me tell you, folks, she's destined to be a runner. At least that's what I've been told by no less than three thousand people in the last two years. If qualifying for the Olympics happened based on popular vote of the people, Ayana would have run last year. It would have been a staggering disappointment for Americans everywhere, but she'd have been there. (Shut up, fact checkers. I know the summer Olympics didn't happen last year.) But here...
8 comments
Read more

In the Background

Judging by my Instagram feed, K-12 kids are starting back to school in CO. After approximately 18 years at home in 2020, some are headed back into the germy trenches and others are unsuccessfully logging into 26 different apps and carefully choosing which Zoom background will go with their new sweatpants. And the question for parents across the nation is: How are you feeling? That's a lob, right? Pretty damn terrible ought to cover it. No choice was a good choice and many (most?) didn't get to choose anyway. OK, sure. There's maybe two people reading this who think COVID is a hoax. Hey, guys. I see you. I'm glad you keep reading my blog even though we're really different people. I'm also glad you'll be able to enjoy your kid-free time for the first time in 6 months. Truly. Mazel tov. For the rest of us, it's a fraught day. And when I try to think of how to answer that question— How are you feeling?— all I can think is that this feels just like getting s...
3 comments
Read more

The Triumphant Return of the Beer Coozy

Well I might as well admit I've been dying to start a blog. OR. I have been feeling guilted into starting a blog ever since I went to AWP back in February. Potato, Potato. Huh. That only works if you say it out loud. Moving on. I've been waiting and waiting for inspiration to strike, or for a theme to pop out at me, or for my life to settle down. Here's the thing about that: never going to happen for me. Inspiration is going up in smoke along with my state, themes make my head itch, and the adorable 18-month-old scaling my kitchen table and squeezing all the bananas in my fruit bowl says, "Settled life? Dream on." Well, no she doesn't. Because she doesn't talk. We're all just going to pretend I'm not responsible for her silence, OK? Last night, my parents dropped by because they know it gets a little lonely in my hot apartment. As fun as single mamahood is, I admit to them on a twice-daily basis that I crave adult conversation. So they pop ...
4 comments
Read more