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My proudest moment? I got a good one . . .

img_0796Day five, (or 296), of this blog challenge thing has me asking myself about my proudest moment. Still too lazy and moody to tackle day three.

How does one choose their proudest moment? I’m not typically one to toot my own horn, but I guess if I think about it, I’ve had my share of moments in life I’ve felt quite proud of myself. Some of those moments were big, monumental even, others were itty-bitty, perhaps even inconsequential in the grand scheme of all things pride worthy, but damn if I wasn’t proud of myself for accomplishing them, but choosing one to highlight

Gimme a sec.

I’m too often too hard on myself. I downplay my successes, finding some reason or external force to give credit for them. I don’t know why I do this, I really should celebrate in them, give myself some kudos and well deserved pats on the back, but it feels weird.

Still thinking . . .

There is this one thing, I’ve managed to rock this particular thing a few times and damn if even I don’t mind saying I did it well. I’m not the only one who’s ever done it of course, doesn’t make it any less awesome and magical and fricking awe inspiring, so I’m going to call this thing the thing I’m most proud of. Best thing I’ve ever done, like not just gold star worthy, but world fair blue ribbon, best in show, top of the class (every class) kind of worthy.

I made a human. Not just one, mind you, humans. I made humans. Remember that movie Castaway? When I watched that movie and the fire scene came on, I remember thinking, yeah, that’s kind of how I felt when I looked at my first little human creation.

It wasn’t easy, blood, sweat, and tears went into it. Poured my heart into it. To this day, people compliment me on my work, “Your kids are amazing!” and I pretend to be all humble about it, “Aww, thank you. I made them myself.”

My pride in this accomplishment extends beyond the act of making them, that was just the beginning really. Phase one in the creative process. It takes a long time to complete a human, a lifetime actually. Once that little rough draft breathes the breath of life you have to start molding it, and keep on molding it until it reaches a point in the life you gave it to take over and continue molding itself into what it will eventually become.

Yes. I called my greatest achievements it. I’m tired, you know, from the 27 years of molding and shaping I’ve done so far. Besides, it’s a thing I do, sometimes I call babies it. Sometimes I call them little bugs, smooshies, or squidgies too.

So yeah, my proudest moment has lasted far longer than a moment, I feel it every day. I made humans. Good ones.

Kudos to me.

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Holding His Hand

img_0580Sometimes I look at him and I don’t see him, not the way he is right now. I see the little boy he used to be, the one who snuggled up so close to me I could feel his heart beating and I mourn for those moments in some small way. I can feel him, the memory is that strong. I smell his little boy smell and I inhale the past like I won’t be able to breathe another breath if I don’t.

Yesterday, I held his little hand in mine. It was so tiny and so dependent on me to hold and guide him in the right direction, to lead him and keep him safe. That little hand of his held on tight. It wrapped around my fingers for security and comfort. I can almost still feel it, a precious hand safely tucked inside of mine.

Today, he held my hand in his. It was bigger than my own, and I held on tight, dependent on the comfort and security I felt within its grasp. My hand, the one that held on to his for so long, was being held. I was the one who needed guidance, I was the one who needed the security of a hand bigger than my own. I simply sat there for as long as I could with my hand tucked safely inside of his.

In that moment, my heart beat in time with his, I know it did. We were one. This amazing human being I once carried within my womb was holding my heart in his hand and I was so overwhelmed with emotion I feared he would think he’d done something wrong. He didn’t though, he felt it too, he understood and he simply held my hand.

When he was born and I cradled him in my arms, I never could have imagined a day when he would be the one to cradle me . . . sometimes I truly do miss the little boy he used to be, but oh, how I cherish and admire and respect the man he has become.

True Story – Mom Brain

Seriously, I do these things. In this past year I’ve put a book in the fridge, a package of ground beef in the bread cupboard, the television remote in the car, my phone in the pantry, and garbage in the laundry hamper . . . I’ll stop there.

I don’t even have little kids anymore. I think they may have damaged my frontal lobe somehow.

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Effective immediately

I, Crystal Reneé Cook, being of sound(ish) mind, do hereby relinquish, surrender, and abnegate any and all duties, rights, and responsibilities previously afforded to and required of me in respect to the cooking duties of this establishment. In layman’s terms, I quit.

I no longer possess the skills necessary and needed to provide well balanced, properly prepared, edible meals that require any measure of high heat. This includes, but is not limited to, the cooktop, the oven, the toaster oven, the barbecue grill, and possibly the crock pot. I do retain continued access to the toaster, microwave, and the coffee maker until and if it is deemed I am no longer able to utilize them with any measure of safety in the manner for which they were designed.

I apologize for any inconveniences this may cause to my family, I am sure they knew this day would come.

Signed in sincerity and love,

Mom

Post script I am still the CEO of this family, I’m just not going to cook for you anymore.

Why won’t they just wash a dish every now and then?

My kids. Awesome. Really, they are truly awesome. I did a damn good job in the momma department. Serious kudos to me. Yeah, patting my own back. Someone’s gotta say it.

That being said, I’m going to admit to a little bit of spectacular failure on my part.

These kids, I say kids – they are 27, 24, 23, and 19 – these kids of mine have yet to master the art of washing a damn dish when they are finished with it! At the very least, they could load into the dishwasher. Sheesh.

*For clarification, the 23 year old girl-child no longer lives in my home, but I’ve been to her house, so . . .

I went wrong somewhere. I mean OK, they are kind, compassionate, respectful, loving and all kinds of other great stuff, but they don’t even rinse off their dishes without me losing half my sht to get them to do it. *sigh

Oh well. I still say I was a damn good parent. I’m putting this one on their dad.


27 Years of Pure, Perfect Love

 

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It’s hard to believe it’s been 27 years since the day we met, my life hasn’t been the same since.

Not everyone believes in love at first sight, but I do. We are proof it can happen. To be honest, I was head over heels for him before we were introduced, something inside me just knew he was the one. The one who would transform me, the one who would always love me as much as I loved him, the one who would change my whole world.

And he was. He still is.

After months of getting to know each other, I was more than anxious to meet him, I have to admit though, I wasn’t quit ready for the way it happened. We were in the midst of finalizing our plan to meet when he decided he simply couldn’t wait and began his journey to me a whole month before I was expecting him to arrive. I was thrilled, but nervous. I thought I’d have more time to clean up the house, maybe get a haircut, and have everything just perfect when he got there.

His arrival changed the way I thought about perfection, it wasn’t always something you planned, it wasn’t always the way you thought it was going to be. Sometimes, perfect was simply in the eyes of the beholder.

I will never forget the moment we saw each other, I saw my future shining in his eyes. I did see perfection. When I reached for his hand and his fingers touched mine I felt everything I’d never felt before, I melted into him and held him so close. I vowed to love him, without condition until the day my last breathe leaves me.

He is a precious, precious piece of my heart, my first truer than true love.

Happy birthday, my beautiful son . . .