First of all, I have to admit that the only reason I'm posting this is because in over three illustrious years of blogging I don't think I've ever missed an entire month before, and I realized tonight that if I don't post at least once in November, then "November 2006" will be missing from my archives and that will totally freak me out inside, sorta like when the orthodontist pulls a perfectly good tooth to make room for your other teeth to move into proper alignment in your mouth but even though your mouth looks normal to everyone else, you'll always know inside that a tooth used to be there and now it's gone forever. Or something like that.
Life is rich and beautiful, and for that I am thankful. I'm so happy. And I'm so happy that for the first time this year I can honestly say that I'm so happy. My family is healthy, whole, undeservedly blessed by God and surrounded by folks who seriously care about us. My children are funny, precious little people who have made us laugh more this week, it seems, than we have laughed all year. They are just so delighted about the world, life and God that they can't help but rub that enthusiasm off on me a little. I'm so grateful that I get to hang out with them every day and pretend to teach them things when actually it's more the other way around. Also, my husband is doing things with his life that fulfill him, with people who genuinely like him and give him the respect that he deserves - and that has rubbed off on the rest of us too. Plus, we have the coolest dog in the world named Sydney Bristow, which is totally sweet icing on our proverbial cake. No, I'm not trying to make my life sound perfect - because it's so not and you'd see through it anyway - but you have no idea how thankful I am right now for everything I have been given.
On the shallow side of things, I'm extremely excited because the other day, our couch broke. You know - that futon thing that looked like a kid named Paisley had thrown up all over it? (Yes, I have heard of kids named Paisley and actually I think it makes a cute name if you try not to have a mental image of an ugly couch stuck in your head when you say it.) Anyway, I honestly can't remember the name of the drug I must have been taking when I chose that couch cover. Because IT SUCKED HIDEOUSLY. I can admit this to myself now that it's broken and I'm finally free from it's bondage.
The day after I chose that paisley couch and paid for it, I almost wanted to kill myself because I realized that I was going to have to live with a funky colored paisley couch for the rest of my life. Because with my luck this couch would have a longer lifespan than the giant tortoise and we are not generally the type of people who go and buy a new couch every 4 years just because they made a huge mistake and chose a paisley one the first time around. We're just too miserly and boring for that. But then I got a grip on myself and tried to make the best of it. Over the years I've purposely taken many pictures of my kids on the paisley couch, which definitely made it better looking. Also I simply pretended on the outside that it is perfectly normal and in excellent taste to own a paisley couch. Reverse psychology worked, mostly. I was going to sit on a paisley couch for the next 177 years (in keeping up with my giant tortoise lifespan theory) and by jove, I was going to learn to cherish my paisley couch.
So when Kevin announced angrily to me one day that while moving the couch to vacuum underneath, he'd broken the paisley couch...I did not yell gleefully or dance around the room right away. I held my breath and asked him to explain what exactly he meant by "broken". Was that "broken", as in, oops, a tiny piece of wood had fallen off and we'd have to drive to Home Depot, what a bother, and spend $10 on super paisley futon glue to glue it back in place so it wouldn't look more hideous than it already did? Or was that "broken", as in, it had fallen so much apart that nobody was permitted to sit on it ever again? When he confirmed that it was the latter, I exhaled slowly, tried to still my wildly beating heart and finally managed to squeak in a tiny voice,"Um, does that mean we have to buy a new couch now?"
Only when he answered in the affirmative did I allow a tentative grin to slowly take over my face. Then I hugged my husband, tightly. And thanked him for breaking the couch. And kissed him a lot. And treated him very well that night, making him wish that there was 20 more paisley couches in the house to break. Then I spent three days looking through the Pottery Barn website and my old Pottery Barn catalogs that I've pored over a hundred times but have never bought anything from and never will. (I have this thing against their ridiculous prices but oh, I so do admire their style.) A month later, after a very long search to reconcile style and budget, I think we have found couch nirvana at our local IKEA. Forget the paisley thing, we're going for really cool stripes this time!
I'm so joking. I have learned my lesson. We're going for a plain, boring, beige couch with MACHINE WASHABLE COVERS. And sometime in the next year, when we actually have time to drive to Frisco and purchase the stuff and haul it back and set it up, we will be finally able to sit on a real couch again instead of the various constellations of folding chairs that have been dotting the universe of my living room for the last month (sorry, Life Questers).
Yes, life is good. And I wish the same, and more for all of you out there. This holiday season, cherish your families, enjoy your children and please, with all things paisley...small doses...small doses.
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