One reason I love my husband

A quick entry tonight regarding my deep and undying love for my "baby daddy."

It's the end of a very long day for both of us. Don recently found out that a classmate of his had a heart attack in Maui and died. He leaves behind two young daughters. The combination of Danielle's murder, numerous family issues, and this most recent death has made us both feel quite fully depressed. Despite his low mood and intensive day at work he comes home ready to be an amazing dad to Georgia. I could go on and on about how he smiles at her, how deeply she loves him, and what a truly amazing dad he is. But tonight's entry is a focus on his husband-a-tude (if I might invent that word). 

Tonight as Georgia plays with her puzzle on the floor, Don stages a film we are going to make. As he lays out the plot-line, characters, and scenes...I remember why I fell so deeply in love with him these years ago. An excerpt of his artistic work:

The Scene:

He will be caught in bed with Mrs. Butterworth (his one true love). She will giggle her classic giggle and I will run in from the other room. "Who's in here?" I'll shout. "No one" he'll swear, with syrup dripping from his face and chin. I'll slap him across the face "you'll pay" I will declare. Two days later he will catch me on a date with the Pilsbury Dough Boy.  (and....scene). 

At this point we are laughing too hard to continue the film.

And have you heard his song about potatoes? He brilliantly rhymes "au gratin" and "tater-tottin'" - I love this man!

The Poetry in the Vomit

Okay, a sketchy title, I know, but let me explain. Sometime in February I planned a trip to Maui for the whole family. I mean the WHOLE family, including Grandma and Auntie Mango. Although I wanted to stay at the Four Seasons or the Fairmont (and spent weeks browsing different suites and packages) I knew that financially a condo was more likely to be our final destination. With each passing month Maui was closer and closer, I could taste the mango and smell the perfumed air under the Banyan Tree. I did not know that 5 days before our plane took off my friend would be brutally murdered. The days that lead up to our "Vacation" were some of the most chaotic and painful days of my life. I don't know that I have ever been so tired in my life ( and this is coming from someone who daughter woke up every two hours for the first year of her life).  I boarded a plane just 10 hours after Danielle's funeral.

I wavered back and forth between depression, excitement, anger, and exhaustion. By the time we arrived in Lahaina was stuck on depressed. I spent several days crying, trying to enjoy myself, but feeling like there was really nothing worth smiling about. So....here's where the poetry in vomit comes in.

We sat down for dinner at the Lahaina Fish Company, a far cry from the quaint table at Spago that I had shared with my husband on our first trip to Maui, where we relaxed in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons. I felt sorry for myself as I sat there eating my fish and chips, remembering the organic coffee "flight" I had ordered at Spago. I sat next to Georgia as she screamed and squirmed and shoved her mouth full of too much food.  Suddenly, after shoving that last bit of bread in her mouth, she threw up on me. All over my shoes. I quickly cleaned it up, kissed her on the head, and went into the bathroom to cry. I cried and cried - and then I cried some more. I cried for Danielle, for the life I used to have, for Samantha, wherever she was, and for all the pain that lives quietly under the surface in the lives of so many. And as I cried, my tears turned to joy. I had a transformation. I reveled in the vomit on my shoes. I rolled in the blessing of my life. My family at my side. My gorgeous, hysterical, brilliant Georgia. I sunk into the beauty of my new life, as different as it seems, as wonderful as it is. 

There is indeed pain in the world. But is a pepper in a delicious meal that is being served everywhere. Occasionally the meal is just too spicy, so I set it aside. That's okay too. 

I will return to the Four Seasons, mark my words. But in actuality, I would rather stay in a Motel 6* with my amazing daughter and husband, than be alone at Spago. 

(Okay, not a Motel 6, let's not be hasty, but a Sheraton maybe...)

So, I guess I have a blog now...

I've considered it for months and now the time has come - I have officially created a blog. With so much on my mind and heart in the last few months, there just had to be a way for me to get it all out. Writing in a journal is so 1990's (don't tell my husband that). Having a blog seems like the thing to do for Kombucha drinking mama's like myself. Blog entries may be short or long, they may be sad, they may be hysterical; it's hard to say what this will shape up to be. I do know, that Georgia (my 16 month-old) is currently in the living-room doing everything she can to NOT let Don put her to sleep. I may have to intervene at any moment, so I better get to it.

Two weeks ago my friend Danielle was murdered. She was beat to death in her own yard less than a mile from our house. Her daughter Sam and my little Georgia were playmates and after not seeing each other for 10 years, Danielle and I had just reconnected and formed a friendship. Don woke me up on Monday morning...early. He had a look in his eyes but I wasn't awake enough to know there was something wrong. He basically just said it. "Danielle has been killed." I tried to wake up, "Keller?" "Yes," he replied. My mind instantly went to car accident, she must have been killed in a car accident. As the fog of sleep lifted and before I could ask for details, I screamed..."Did he kill her?" I knew the answer. "Yes."

The chaos that ensued after that news has been nothing short of heart-breaking. I stare into Georgia's eyes and wonder who Samantha is with at this very moment. I pray that God guides the hands of justice and steadies my heart. I don't have enough time or energy to document everything I am doing and feeling when it comes to Danielle and Samantha; but I am hurting. I think that's all for now.