Kim Henry's Belated Birthday Blog

Kim Henry.

I met my friend Kim twenty years ago. Jean short overalls, huge hair, drink in hand and a personality larger than life. The night we met was a bad one for me, and she helped me, which would start a pattern for us that would turn out to be our saving grace for years to come. I know that meeting her that night, I thought she was much older than me(at least 21) beautiful and completely wild. After that night, I have no recollection about how we got together again... I just know that after that night, we were together nonstop. She became my roommate, my sister, my confidant, my thorn in my side, my co-conspirator, my spades partner, and my biggest advocate. Life was not terribly great for either of us at that point and we clung to each other like family. She WAS/IS my family. Only real family, can see you at your VERY worst, your darkest moments, your most horrible hurts, and love you anyway. No judgments cast, no grudges held, just acceptance and a commitment to trying to ease as much pain as possible.

Now, we were young, so there were MANY escapades. I mean, our ways of coping then and our ways of coping now, are very different. (But not nearly as fun!) My friend, Kim Henry, can work three jobs at once, throw a wicked, 21st surprise birthday party for me, cheat at cards with her toes, comfort me when I'm at my end, yell at me when I'm at my worst, do crafts (she can make a bong out of a two liter, and some tinfoil!) stand in a tube going down the river, waterski behind a fishing boat, hide in the trunk of my car to catch her boyfriend doing something he's not supposed to, be the life of the party, make me want to protect her and punch her out all in the same night, teach me how to do laundry, drink ANY man under the table, play a mean game of pool, and do all of it, with the toughness of a cowboy and the vulnerability of a child.

I got married and had a child, and we moved into different circles. We don't keep in touch like we should all the time, and we know it. We've become adults. Adults with children and husbands and busy lives. But we try. I'm horrible at calling people back, or cleaning out voice messages so someone can leave me a message (don't start yelling at me again) and she's busy with two small children, a man at home and a job that she's terrific at. But I want her to know, that I haven't forgotten what she has done for me and meant to me over the years. And although, we don't get together like we should, I cherish the times we do. I'm so happy for her. I see a happiness in her that certainly wasn"t there 20 years ago. She seems content. The wildness is still there, but the storm underneath has calmed, the water serene, some of the hurts replaced with the good things that have happened, not forgotten, but not so close to the shore anymore.

I miss you dear friend. You have meant the world to me, and still do... even though I'm horrible at showing it. I hope you had a great birthday. I hope you have many great birthdays to come. I swear I'm gonna take you out for lunch... we just have to find the right time! Don't expect a card... I'm literally going into sugar shock from the sweetness of this blog! lol. You know it kills me to be sweet for too long...

So... I'm gonna call you. I promise. I'm gonna do it now... except... I can't find my phone.

Love you. Happy Birthday!

(By the way... LOVE the hair in that picture!!!)

My mom was born a shopper. She's a natural. She can keep up with the best of 'em and not even break a sweat. I, on the other hand was drug into it... kicking and screaming. As a child I hated shopping. (I was a total disappointment)lol. My mom, in her younger day, would not just shop til you drop, but would shop at such a fast, harried rate that Jillian Michaels would have begged for mercy. She loved to shop for herself, but even more than that, she loves to shop for other people. I remember as a child, before school would start (elementary) she would take me for the annual, back to school shopping. I would moan, whine, cry, wail, and generally be a little toot. I HATED shopping. As I got older, the shopping experience became... well, worse. Because, Dear reader... I know you're not going to believe this, but as I got into teenagerdom, I became opinionated, willful and incredibly stubborn. Shopping for clothes, was not just not fun, it boardered on warfare. My mom, bless her heart, would want me to wear the cutest outfits (ok, cute by her standards) that matched with matching shoes and accessories. As she would hold up the outfit for me to see, I would look at her, hand on my hip, disgusted expression on my face, roll my eyes and say, "EEEWW, I'm NOT gonna wear that." I, wanted to wear all black. I wanted to be in jeans 24/7, flannel shirts, and doc martens. (It was grunge days, people) My mom would say, jeans are for workers, and oh my gosh, those doc martens are the UGLIEST things I've ever seen. (Mark has a pair he still wears and mom comments on his UGLY shoes everytime!) lol. My mom, would give me "the look" and say... "Christi, just try it on... you won't know how it looks til you try it!." Now, usually these shopping escapades would end up with both of us very mad at each other, a smattering of loaded nastiness, that always came to her saying... "I hope when you get older you have a child that acts just like you". And that curse works, because I did.

Kirsten, took after my mom. She can shop with the best of them. She LOVES to shop. She'll do it all day, and tell you it's her best day ever. At Christmas time, when I was always hoping against hope there would be no clothes, just electronics and cd's, Kirsten begs for clothes, shoes, make-up and jewelry. Kirsten will go to the mall and after 6 hours of non-stop shopping where I am begging to go home, she's saying, "just one more store mom!" She's so UNLIKE me in this area, that alot of times, I just stare open mouthed at how the shopping gene skipped a generation. (kind of like the twins gene) This is where our differences end, and the curse plays out. Imagine this dear reader... Kirsten is opinoinated, willful and incredibly stubborn. (Man, she's gonna make someone a good mom someday! LOL) I like to think I'm fashionably hip...(those of you who know me, stop laughing... I mean it!) but I'm not. I hold up some cute little outfit and Kirsten looks at me... hand on her hip, disgusted expression on her face, rolls her eyes, (I don't know where she gets this stuff) and says, "EEEWWW, I am NOT gonna wear that." I try not to, I swear I do, but I give her "the look" and say, "Kirsten, just try it on... you won't know how it looks til you try it!."

This is what happened last night. Kirsten wants a new dress to wear for Solo and Ensemble tomorrow. She tells me yesterday morning she needs this. So, I take her to Kohl's to try on dresses. None of them meet her specifications. But I find this really cute dress that is black with white pinstripes. It's totally stylish and has a black belt around the middle accentuating her cute little figure. (I would wear it... If I looked like that.) She doesn't like it, doesn' want to try it on, and finally after I make her try it on... and by the way, she looked GOOD in it. She looks at me, and says... "I look like a prisoner, mom!!"

I look over at my mom, who is standing on the other side of Kirsten, and I catch her expression in the mirror. She's smiling. She's smiling the smile of a mother who is finally seeing her curse play out...and she's loving every minute of it. So tonight I realized... I have to let her wear what she wants... (within reason) and try not to fight about it. Cause what comes around goes around... and she's gonna have a child that acts just like she does when it comes to shopping. It'll be 4th generation... God help her. And I, and God willing my mother will be there when she is trying to get her teenage daughter to wear something "cute". And in the mirror, she'll see us smiling... =)

Puppy Love

Dear Reader,

This morning as I sit here, all I can hear around me is the crash of thunder, the strange buzzing of lightening and rain, rain, rain. For me, there is no better sleeping weather... but alas, good friends, I am wide awake.

I don't ever remember being scared of the thunder and lightening... although that doesn't mean much. Much of the specifics of my childhood have slowly slipped from memory. But, I remember fondly Kirsten running across the living room, blanket in tow, to bound in my lap the second the first clap of thunder clapped loudly outside. I would hold her and rock her, comforting her and smelling that baby type smell that I try so hard not to forget. Sadly, as a teenager, she no longer bounds on my lap. I'm not sure if she even notices the thunder or the rain, except to say that it's going to mess up her hair! (And really, isn't that what the real problem with rain is??) So, as I sit here remembering... what do I hear?? Crying, wailing, and moaning. Now I know what you're thinking dear reader, you're thinking that it's my husband. But no, it's the OTHER man of the house... Chance.

Chance is my eight year old weiner dog. (I have three by the way) He is the oldest, but quite frankly he is the biggest baby and the sweetest of the three. (Unless you happen to be a huge 190 lb. mastiff in the waiting room of the veterinary clinic... if you get to close to him or my mom, he'll bite ya... and he did.) He's my only male, and he definitely knows his place. He waits patiently while each of the girls eats their food and then takes whatever is leftover. When Rosie had her babies and had to have a c-section (oh yes, you read correctly) Chance took over her parenting skills and slept with and cleaned all the babies. (While Rosie looked on sullenly.) He, for lack of a better word, has manners. However, Chance's downfall, is thunderstorms. Chance loses his mind. He crys, he shakes, he pants, he trembles (he pees and he poops nonstop) it's really quite sad. But, if you look at Chance in the eyes, you know he is ablsolutely terrified. That's when all manners leave my little man. He will run across the living room and bound in my lap (just like Kirsten, but doesn't smell as good) and he doesn't care who he has to knock over to get there. Ears flapping in the wind, long, fat body in flight, running to me at 90 mph b/c he just KNOWS I'll save him. Sometimes, it's irritating. I mean, I literally can't do anything during a thunderstorm b/c I HAVE to deal with Chance. (As I write, he is sitting perched in my lap, giving the occasional yap.) Then I look into those sweet, brown, trusting eyes and know that, like Kirsten did, he needs me too. (Oh ya, I went there) And my heart melts, and I sit here and comfort my... DOG. Good gosh people, I've been sitting here for 20 minutes talking about my weiner dog.

I need some sleep. (But I probably won't get any b/c there is a rather large WEINER dog sitting on me)

Night Night.

My First Blog

Dear Reader, (whoever you might be) 3:22 am

You will have to bare will me, as this is my first blog ever. I decided to write this blog, b/c, well, b/c I can't sleep. Living life, with little to no sleep tends to bring a different spin on everyday life. At night, when the dark creeps in and it seems there is no one else in the world but you there, you're thoughts wander. It's weird, and it's infuriating and it's beautiful all at once.

It's weird, to be awake when no one else is. When you can't reach out and call someone, when you could drive down the road and see not a single solitary car on the road, as if there is no one else in the world but you. It's infuriating, when you watch your husband fall asleep in 5 seconds flat, or when my mom can fall asleep in mid sentence while she's talking to me, or anyone. When you wish more than anything that sweet sleep would come, come fast and come at the right time. But, it's also beautiful. I walk outside in the back yard, and sit on my swing, totally quiet, totally by myself and watch the stars. I'm free, for a while, of ringing phones, neverending errands, and mindless chatter. I hear the whistle of the trains and know, that there ARE other people out there, awake. That's oddly comforting.

I know this sounds like a complaint. And for the most part, it's not. It just is... and sometimes, when the silence gets too much... and I need to get these thoughts out... I'm going to write. I come by this pretty honestly. My grandmother was an insomniac, my father is an insomniac, now me... and I'm afraid, my daughter will be too. However, with this comes time to think, time to do, and time to blog.

Til tomorrow... or is it today? I'm off to scrapbook something. Or else to read. Or to watch tivo. Or clean another closet. Or do a load of laundry. Or drink a cup of tea. The possibilities are endless, at 3:30 am. when you have no where to go, no where to be, and all the time in the night.

Sleep tight.