Slacky Mc Slackerton
I have a good reason.
I was sick.
Well, first my eldest daughter was sick. Then I was sick. Then the other big kids were sick. Then of course Ella was sick. The, after he thought he was going to escape it, the Hubs got sick too. I think we’ve sufficiently covered our bases now. Thank you. Oh wait, did the dog get sick? OK she’s next. Then we’re done.
Amidst all the business of being sick my Sister came. Yep, Sister. Capital S. Even though she’s my little sister (by 14 years no less), she’s HUGE to me. I haven’t blogged much about my sister but you’ll hear about her. A. Because she’s like one of my children (for a variety of reasons I won’t go into now) and B. She’s A-mazing. Like really. Anyway she’s in grad school right now which means she has time to study and occasionally pee and get food, so I haven’t seen her since two weeks before Ella’s arrival, which might be close to the longest we’ve ever been apart. So she met Ella and it went as suspected… Smashingly. (As an aside: Why don’t more people use the term smashingly? Fantastic. I’m using it.) There is little that pleases me more than having all my lovelies in one place together. If she had come with godiva I might have fallen over dead. On the spot.
Since she arrived two important things have happened.
1. Ella slept on her for like a hundred hours. This gave me the opportunity to bake cookies, bake rolls, make fried chicken, fold laundry. Wow. I should have gotten a massage.
2. She figured out how to get Ella’s stroller open. I confess. I went to school for several years to learn how to care for the afflicted but I haven’t the first idea how to open Ella’s stroller (nor do I care since I carry her everywhere). Raegan figured it out.
She only smashed her hand once.
As a result of her arrival I haven’t even been thinking about blogging or anything else other than talking to her like we do (and blowing my nose).
And while I’m talking about having my loves together and how happy it makes me, let me take a turn to serious town. I have lots of photographs of myself over the years. Well not lots exactly, but enough to document my presence. I typically don’t like the way I look in photos. Do any women? I’ll find something wrong. For example: I look fat. My skin looks bad. My right eye is smaller than my left eye (it’s totally true). I look fat. Or.. I look too skinny (Yes. I had that phase too. We’ll talk about that another day). Or whatever. I’m my worst critic as they say. It’s pathetic. No really. Stop criticizing yourselves ladies. Monumental waster of time. Anyway, I digress.
But recently something strange has happened. Suddenly, and by suddenly I mean like WHAMMO, I see someone different looking back at me. Oh sure I can still find flaw (I’ll spare you that detail). But all of sudden my wrinkles look sweet to me because they mean I laugh. My face appears eased because my stresses pale compared to my joys. My smile genuine because I have so much to smile about. My body relaxed because it is. I might be imagining it but I’ve heard it from other people too. So, probably not.
“You look so happy.”
Why yes. Yes, I do.
There has been a change in me in the last year and a half and even in the last 2 months that I recognize and that others can see. I’m still the same Joni under those wrinkles. I’m just a better version of myself. It’s being a happy and loving wife and mother and a thoughtful and intelligent nurse. It’s being at peace. I like what I see when I look at me.
That is all.
Sister is visiting the other family that’s not me. (What? We have other family? Hmph.) Big kids are with their dad from this evening through Wednesday. And finally after a weekend of sneezes and coughs I’ve got time to re-tidy the house, scrub toilets, wash all the clothes and spend some time being otherwise crafty and housewife-ly. But what I’d really like is for everyone to just come back home.
So we can laugh. And cry. And destroy the house. And I can make some more wrinkles.