I miss you

flowersYou know who you are.

I miss getting together for lunch or a cup of tea or coming over for dinner. I miss hanging out whenever we can.

I miss sharing the details of our days, telling you stories – and hearing you laugh at how ridiculous I am – and complaining about school or jobs or crazy people we have to deal with regularly. I miss the time we had to be with each other.

I miss the way I used to make time for you… for drinks or music or movies or scrapbooks or long walks or cups of tea, for whatever we felt like doing.

I hate that I have let my fatigue and my overwhelm and my never-ending quest to get my act together get in the way of, well, everything. I hate that I don’t know as much about your life right now as I would like to, about your joys and your frustrations. I hate “liking” your activities on Facebook when I wish I could be a part of them but I realize it is my own darn fault that I am not.

David will say, “Yeah, but are they calling you? The phone works both ways.” But seriously – and I’m not being a martyr here – why would you keep trying?  I’ve made plans and not kept them; I’ve made promises to improve and not kept those, either. You’re completely aware that I’m too tired, too stressed, too sore to get up and do anything. Wouldn’t you figure it makes more sense to wait to hear from me, to wait for a time when I will feel like being sociable again? Of course you would, because you want the best for me and don’t want to add one more stress to my life, one more thing to my To Do list.

I hate that I am letting the people I care about slip away from me.

I don’t want to come home and fall straight into bed for the remainder of my waking hours. I don’t want to keep pulling the covers up over my head, distracting myself from how I feel by clicking around the internet on my phone until I manage to fall asleep. Day after day after day…

It obviously serves some purpose, gives me some comfort, offers me some support – or I wouldn’t be doing it – but I don’t want this kind of life.

So I’m going to reach out. It might take me a while to break free of the inertia and make an effort to really be present again, so please be patient with me… but I’ll be there, soon.

I’ve really missed you.

The language of love

20140813_181946I have an amazing relationship with Quinland. Just had to start with that. He is awesome and I love him.

We had the nicest time together tonight. He had persuaded me to take him to get his hair cut and to get his two-year phone upgrade. We managed to sneak in to Great Clips with 6 minutes to spare, so “haircut” got checked off the list. The phone upgrade did not happen, as he’d forgotten to back it up before we left the house – and he needed to turn in his old iPhone 4s to get a rebate – so we left the mall and decided to go get dinner together.

The whole time, we talked about relationships:  love interests, past and present; the excitement of being in a relationship and getting to know the other person; the five love languages and how important it is to express love in a language that the other person understands and values; the importance of good communication.

It’s interesting to think about where Q’s relationship style comes from. His own innate love language, temperament, experience? My relationship with David, and his experience of seeing that throughout his life? Some combination of these things and others that I cannot even imagine? Probably the last option, I know. But it was interesting to talk about how David and I communicate verbally (extremely well) and how we demonstrate our love (not nearly as well, since our love languages are very different and we each need to make herculean efforts to overcome our natural tendencies); he may or not have been aware of some of the ways that his dad and I relate to each other, even if he’s been around us his whole life.

I just thought it was so cool that we could even have this conversation. High school relationships and dating can be such a minefield of emotions and decisions and stress, and I’m glad that Q feels comfortable talking with me. I’m sure I don’t hear everything, but that’s to be expected as he grows up and separates from us to become his own autonomous self. I just feel lucky that there is so much he is willing to talk about, at his age.

I feel like my time with him is running out. The thought that he’ll be living on his own in less than three years is too scary to even think about. I’m going to miss him like crazy.

Trees for sale!

Q and Maude 2005Advent is here!

I love this time of year. I love to sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” I love to deck the halls. I love to hang up our outdoor lights (which I did at 7 AM yesterday after “running” at the Wilson track in 30-degree weather). I especially love to get our tree.

We had an opportunity to purchase one from Tree Salesperson Quinland this year, as he was selling trees for Wilson Drama, but we love our Century Farm tradition (as modeled above by tiny Quinland and his adorable friend Maude) far too much to give it up for even one year.  The Drama department will have to be satisfied with selling me some swags instead… but if you are in need of a tree and have no tree-lot tradition to maintain, head down to A-Boy on Barbur and pick one up. The sap that Quinland was covered in on Saturday attests to their freshness!