Friday, July 18, 2014

This is My Friend, Dede, and She's Amazing!


This is my face. See my laugh lines? I've earned them from a life time of smiling. They're made up of bad jokes (Why won't cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny!), inappropriate comments, shows like "The Office" and "Saturday Night Live" with my family, (Remember the bass-o-matic?) Adam Sandler movies with my friends, watching Quinn & Spencer dance to the theme song from 'Olivia', pretty much anything Quinn says, watching Spencer run and a billion other funny things that I've been lucky enough to be a part of. 
See these crows feet? Those are from six hundred times I've forgotten my sunglasses and I've had to squint into the sun at the beach as the salty breeze cools my face and the waves curl into the shore. They come from hours spent pushing a swing in the summer sun at the playground and helping construct elaborate road systems and monster truck tracks with bright yellow trucks in the driveway, walks on the waterfront while we stop to examine every storm drain, funky looking bug and to smell every summer bloom. 
See these freckles? Those were hard earned with long teen-aged summer afternoons, lazing on a lawn chair with Sun-in in my hair, discussing the various boys in our class or an upcoming teen dance at Happy Wheels. And before that, the dawn-til-dusk games of hide & seek or red rover, punctuated by pulling weeds in the garden or fishing for perch and pickerel with my father on Brewer lake. Or more recently, standing vigil over my littles at the town pool, always ready, watching for the slightest sign of distress. 
See those bags under my eyes? Those I got from countless hours of rocking babies (and not so babies anymore) in the middle of the night, the sweet baby breath tickling the small hairs on my neck while I chased bad dreams away, soothed earaches or fevers or just a sad little "Rock, Mommy?" (I'm always a sucker for that one). Before babies the bags were from dancing all night or staying up until dawn talking with Chris, wishing for a few extra hours before the sun painted the sky with its brilliant announcement of daytime. Or sometimes, a book I just couldn't put down. 
See my little double chin? That's from carrying two healthy boys to term in my forties while battling cravings for buffalo chicken and salted caramel anything. It's from years of birthday cakes, ice cream walks and cookouts. It's from my weakness for dark chocolate and my love of baking. 
This is my face. I was born with it. I've earned it. No Botox or collagen can improve it so please stop telling me that it will.

This is my face. See my laugh lines? I've earned them from a life time of smiling. They're made up of bad jokes (Why won't cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny!), inappropriate comments, shows like "The Office" and "Saturday Night Live" with my family, (Remember the bass-o-matic?) Adam Sandler movies with my friends, watching Quinn & Spencer dance to the theme song from 'Olivia', pretty much anything Quinn says, watching Spencer run and a billion other funny things that I've been lucky enough to be a part of. 

See these crows feet? Those are from six hundred times I've forgotten my sunglasses and I've had to squint into the sun at the beach as the salty breeze cools my face and the waves curl into the shore. They come from hours spent pushing a swing in the summer sun at the playground and helping construct elaborate road systems and monster truck tracks with bright yellow trucks in the driveway, walks on the waterfront while we stop to examine every storm drain, funky looking bug and to smell every summer bloom. 

See these freckles? Those were hard earned with long teen-aged summer afternoons, lazing on a lawn chair with Sun-in in my hair, discussing the various boys in our class or an upcoming teen dance at Happy Wheels. And before that, the dawn-til-dusk games of hide & seek or red rover, punctuated by pulling weeds in the garden or fishing for perch and pickerel with my father on Brewer lake. Or more recently, standing vigil over my littles at the town pool, always ready, watching for the slightest sign of distress. 

See those bags under my eyes? Those I got from countless hours of rocking babies (and not so babies anymore) in the middle of the night, the sweet baby breath tickling the small hairs on my neck while I chased bad dreams away, soothed earaches or fevers or just a sad little "Rock, Mommy?" (I'm always a sucker for that one). Before babies the bags were from dancing all night or staying up until dawn talking with Chris, wishing for a few extra hours before the sun painted the sky with its brilliant announcement of daytime. Or sometimes, a book I just couldn't put down. 

See my little double chin? That's from carrying two healthy boys to term in my forties while battling cravings for buffalo chicken and salted caramel anything. It's from years of birthday cakes, ice cream walks and cookouts. It's from my weakness for dark chocolate and my love of baking.
This is my face. I was born with it. I've earned it. No Botox or collagen can improve it so please stop telling me that it will.


Everyone who knows Dede tells her she should be writing a blog.  Don't you think she should?!

Monday, June 30, 2014

Middle Aged

I've had another birthday.  We all have birthdays, don't we?  But I dread my birthday every year because I have these expectations that never seem to be met.  I want my day to be special, but it never quite lives up to my idea of special.  I understand that people have to ask for what they want; unfortunately, asking to be treated special is not the same as just being treated special.  Does that make sense?  If I have to ask for it, then am I being treated in a special way?  I want people to WANT to do things for my on my birthday.  I want to be so well loved and appreciated that my family and friends just fall all over themselves to treat me super duper all day - and maybe even the day before and the day after.

I know how ridiculous this sounds.  Everyone is busy in their lives and no one has the time or the energy to devote to little ol' me.  But I can still want it.  And I never truly get it.  Why?  Because I don't ask for it, of course.  So it's a cycle of me wanting things a certain way but not asking for those things.  If I were to ask for what I want, it wouldn't feel special though because people would only be doing it because I asked for it.  See, a cycle.

Upon reflection, my favorite birthdays have been when I gave up on my expectations and planned my own day and told my family what we were going to do for my birthday.  So why didn't I do that this year?  I don't know.  Maybe I wanted to feel a little depressed.  Maybe I wanted to see if someone would step up and meet my secret expectations this year.  What I have learned is that I'm not happy on my birthday when I do this - so next year I'm taking control again and doing whatever the heck I want to do on my birthday.  Lesson learned:  my happiness is in my own control and no one else's.

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...