Doing everything myself (A.K.A. be careful what you wish for)

It’s such a mixed blessing to be able to do things my way all the time. I mean, I have spent the last 8 years of my life trying to get a man (that would be Stephen) to do things my way. The house, cleaned how I like it (although not necessarily by me). The children, birthed my way. Jobs, cars, vacations, holidays, eating out, eating in, laundry, free time, money in, money out. All of it was pretty much my way.

And I was wrong some of the time. And other times, I was tyrannical. I remember being pregnant with Ella and coming home from work and going into a blind rage because the appliances were dirty and it was bothering me. Enough so that I felt the need to be upset and throw a fit but not enough for me to do anything about it. He could have called me a crazy beyatch and went to the bar with his buddies. But he didn’t. He soothed my irritated soul and spent the next day (his day off) cleaning counters, mixer, microwave, sinks and fridge. And all the crumbs out of the toaster. And then called me at work to tell me that it was done.

Who does that? I’ll tell you what, I married well. I really did.

It isn’t that he never got to do what he wanted. We agreed on lots of things, important things, and that kept the negotiating to a minimum. But when it came down to it, I got what I wanted.

Now what?

So what.

It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.

It’s a lesson that I hope I carry with me until I get to see him again so that I can be the one to tell him “see…look…I did it.”

I need another hobby like I need a hole in my head. But, I finally got all my digital pictures printed from the last year. That’s right. A whole year. 190 pictures. I sat here one night and downloaded them to and 2 days later a FedEx truck pulled up and left them at my door. For about 30 bucks. That beats standing at the kiosk at CVS or WalMart which is what I used to do. But I digress…

I also have the pics from the 2 photo shoots that we did in the last year. One in May (right after diagnosis) and one in November. What a difference. In me, in the girls.

I got a self-contained scrapbook kit at Sam’s Club for under $20. I figured that since it was all together, it was cheaper and easier than trying to put together something from scratch. Know what? I’m hooked.

I’ve done 6 pages and I’m totally hooked. I love how it came together. I love sorting through the pictures and the stickers and the different papers. It’s kind of like having a kick butt stash except in paper form. But it appeals to my “instant gratification” nature. The pages are fast because they are, for the most part, already done. I could have an entire book of Ella sitting behind Amelia and squeezing her. Or of the children in the same highchair, messed up with the same foods. All three of them.

In a perfect world, I would make a book for the girls about their dad. About who he was and what he loved. But I can’t do it right now.

I can’t make myself go through things and organize them. I can’t even make an appointment to pick out a headstone. I can’t even wash his last bag of clothes. Because then, that’s it. That’s all I can do for him. After all that he did for me, for us, there is so little that I can give back to him.

At least my microwave is clean. And I did it myself.


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