That being said, this song touches me in a way I can’t really explain. The lyrics are incredible and the actual music video is moving as well. If you’re so inclined, listen to this song. Really listen. Maybe it will speak to you too.

Be warned, this is not the radio edit of the song. But, as my friend Kris says, explicit words are sometimes required.

I was worried that Joel had lost interest in me completely until I came home to this.

The orange rose has mainly come to be regarded as the symbol for desire, enthusiasm and passion. Being a literal mixture of the colors yellow and red, orange roses [are] often seen as a bridge between the feelings of friendship symbolized by yellow roses, and love associated with red roses. – ProFlowers.com

He even told me the reason he picked orange flowers. He said we’ve had the perfect balance of love and friendship and he thinks we can get it back again.

Just the right amount of cheese.

I love him.

That makes for a lot of dirty dishes. In case you were wondering.

I hate doing the dishes for this reason. I had done more dishes by the time I turned 18 than some people do their entire lives.

Or at least it felt that way. I’m not a drama queen. Shut up.

When I was growing up I used to babysit for a family with three adorable kids. Their mom was young and became quite a good friend. I spent a lot of time with her. One thing she told me was when her and her husband got married they made a deal, she’d do the laundry if he’d do the dishes.

Even at 13 this plan seemed brilliant. I knew I would employee this whenever I finally got married myself. They were such an adorable happy couple* and my friend? Never had to do the dishes. Ever.

Brilliant.

When Joel and I were talking about getting married I pitched him on this plan. He did not seem convinced. Always having to do the dishes? Always? Just in exchange for laundry? Yeah, I wouldn’t have gone for it either.

So I upped the ante. “How about,” I said “I do all the housework. I’ll cook, clean, do laundry, everything. As long as I never have to do the dishes.”

He was sold.

That plan lasted a really long time. And by really long time I mean it lasted until the first time we had guest coming in ZOMGthey’llbehereintwentyminutesandthishouseissomessy!!!1!! and I politely asked made him help me clean the house.

I still did the laundry though. Eventually the deal became what I offered originally. Dishes are Joel’s chore and laundry is mine. This may or may not be partially because I am obsessive compulsive a little picky about how my clothes are washed. Also? Joel did manage to destroy several of my shirts in one load the first time I let him help me with the laundry. He says it wasn’t on purpose… but he almost never does the laundry anymore either. So I’ll let you be the judge.

Anyway, this weekend Joel was in Memphis at a conference. Luckily(?) I had the plague and basically didn’t eat** for two of the four days he was gone. I did have cereal Sunday morning and ate some dinner and things though.

Today I realized Joel was going to be home soon and, even though “his” job is the dishes, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count when he hasn’t contributed to them in four days. So, I did the dishes this evening before Joel got back because I am a fabulous wife like that.

Side note: Did you know that milk, when left a day and a half in a bowl in the sink smells and looks just like yogurt? Gah! No wonder he gets annoyed when I don’t rinse it out in the morning.

There weren’t that many and it wasn’t a huge deal. But I was reminded today how much I appreciate having a husband that doesn’t mind doing the dishes all the time. There were a million other little things I missed about him while he was gone this weekend too. But the dishes were a big one.

I’m so happy he’s home.

*They did later get divorced. So maybe not the best marriage role models. At least their dishes plan worked out.

**I weighed myself Sunday after two days of hell. I lost 8 pounds. In two days. Yeah. I wasn’t kidding about feeling like I was dying.

For sisters who look like me.

For cousins and nephews and their cheesy smiles.

For future nieces or nephews.

For football and snuggles.

For time spent laughing and talking around the dinner table long after the food is gone.

For puppies that love attention.

For the one I adore and for being adored in return.

And for a million other things….

It was a wonderful Thanksgiving full of delicious food and quality time with so many that I love. Those that weren’t there were thought of and missed. I’m so lucky for everyone and everything in my life.

Hoping every one of you were surrounded by love and warmth on this holiday.

I rolled out of bed and went to my computer to catch up on whatever happened while I was away sleeping. While browsing through Facebook I came across this article: If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we’re addicted.

I’ve heard it before, parenthood actually decreases your happiness. According to this article the only reason people keep popping out babies is because of the occasional high you get. Most of the time parents with young children are miserable.

Yikes.

The thing is, I suspected that all along. It’s a huge part of why I’ve waited and resisted all the pressure to start adding more humans to the planet so far. I’m so happy with my life as it is, am I really ready to screw that up?

Will I ever be ready?

Who is ever ready to be less happy?

Joel and I have what is my idea of a perfect marriage. We love each other fiercely. We fight but we do it fairly. We forgive each other and move on after making mistakes. We have long afternoons filled with passionate sex and intimate cuddling. We take trips to exotic locations on a whim.

All these things and more make me so happy. When I lie in bed staring at Joel I can’t imagine doing it through bleary, sleep depraved eyes that haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months. Will I be able to stare at him in those last moments of sleep or will I desperately be trying to catch every last second of shut eye before I have to return to my motherly duties?

I know myself. I become a grumpy monster without good sleep. Not sleeping makes me miserable. Naughty, whining children drive me crazy. I’d love to believe that I’ll be such an awesome parent that I’ll produce perfect children but we all know that’s not the case. My kids will have my DNA which means they’ll almost certainly be stubborn, creative, little evil geniuses.

When I remember some of the ways I acted towards my mom, dad and babysitters I cringe. I once convinced a babysitter to play a game that involved tying her hands to a doorknob. Then I convinced her to sit down. Then my sisters and I ran giggling out of the room leaving her unable to stand up. From the time I knew how to talk I knew how to manipulate things so they went my way. I never took no for an answer well. I got in a good deal of trouble but was very good at talking my way out of my punishments.

Then of course there was Joel. The stories he tells me about jumping off roofs, climbing trees and doing flips down steep hills on his bike terrify me. He basically poked his eye out when he was 6 and is now blind in that eye. Frankly I’m shocked that that’s the only major injury he ever got. He was such a dare devil. If we have a child like him I don’t know that my nerves can take the experience.

But then again, I look into Joel’s beautiful blue eyes and wonder what a mini version of him would look like. I see my beautiful sweet nephews and wonder if I could be as good at raising kiddos as my sisters have been. In the end I want to be surrounded by my children and grandchildren. I want a big happy family.

However, taking that leap into years of less happiness kind of feels like jumping out of a plane with a questionable parachute.

The smell of wet dirt, grass and pavement.

The feel of the cool breeze against my face.

The sounds of rushing water, as if I suddenly live under a waterfall. The whishhhh of cars as they drive past, and the rumble of thunder in the distance.

It’s even better when it thunderstorms. The darkness to instant day as lighting streaks across the sky in it’s tree like form. The giant claps of thunder that almost make your heart stop for a split second.

The other day it thundered so loud Joel hit the living room floor. After we stopped crying from laughter he told me he thought it was a gunshot outside. Then I cried laughing all over again.

Thunderstorms change the weather in a matter of minutes. It can go from blistering hot to nearly chilly. From dry to humid. Or humid to dry. You just never know.

The unknown is the best part. There’s always a vague sense of danger. But as long as I’m home cozy and dry I know there’s little chance any harm will come to me.

Nothing makes me happy quite like rain. Nothing soothes me to sleep better.

I’m grateful for days when the skies are blue and the sun warms my face. But I wouldn’t mind if every night I was lulled to sleep by the song of rain.

- We have a tip jar at work. Some people drop the extra change in, some people leave a whole dollar. More often than not people don’t leave anything at all. It’s whatever. I don’t really judge you if you don’t leave a tip. Obviously I like you more if you do but like I said, whatever. Your pennies and nickles don’t make or break my day. We have several regulars though and one of them is a really nice, retired guy that comes in most days and does his crossword while he has his coffee. We’ve had several nice conversations and never have I noticed whether he left a tip or not. Until today.

For some reason, after he paid for his coffee and I handed him his 18 cents he felt the need to explain himself. His words were

“I would leave you this as a tip but I have a jar at home that I’m saving my change in. It’s about the size of your tip jar but it’s full of quarters. It probably has $1,000. I’m saving for a vacation.”

My outward response was “Oh, how nice.” What I was thinking though was “Um, good for you?” I tweeted as much.

The thing is, like I said, I don’t care that much if you tip me. Whatever, it’s your money. However, if you don’t tip me I’d like to think it’s because you didn’t think it was necessary. Don’t tell me that you specifically considered giving me a tip, thought about it and decided you were better off with your 18 cents than I am. Then you just look greedy.

-Joel and I had lunch together at an amazing Chinese buffet near our apartment. We sat next to a couple tables where what appeared to be a class of high school students were sitting. There were probably 10 students and 2 teachers at the table and they were discussing trying new food and some kind of study questions etc. Things you’d expect to hear from a field trip. I only caught snippets of their conversation and wasn’t paying much attention until I heard the teacher say,

“No, I don’t got a pen.”

And then I died a little inside. Oh god, our educational system is so broken even the teachers can’t speak proper English. I visibly cringed. Thank goodness not a moment later I heard her say,

“But I might have a pen.”

She was correcting a students grammar by being snarky. And then all was back to being right with the world. It probably shouldn’t have mattered that much to me, but it did.

And now I’m planning to sleep as long as possible. Even after taking the nap I could have slept hours and hours ago. Hanging out with my coworkers was totally worth it though. It’s such a rare thing to enjoy all the people’s company that you work with as much as I do. I’m a lucky girl and I definitely know it.

People are so stupid and mean and hurtful. It’s even worse when it’s unexpected. Then I feel stupid for not expecting it. For not seeing the oncoming hurt and avoiding it. For allowing myself to be totally blindsided by the situation. It wasn’t even directed at me. But I hurt for my friend.

I’m fiercely loyal. I become vicious towards people who hurt those that I love. Most personal hurt I can move past fairly easily. Hurt someone I love and I will cut you.* Not being able to do anything makes me crazy. Because nothing I could do would make any difference.

So I just sit here, reeling in anger and feeling cut to the core. I want to shake them and scream at them for their idiotic behavior. I want to demand an explanation and if it’s not good enough (which it almost certainly wouldn’t be) demand an apology. At the very least I want to force them to look at what they’ve done, to make them feel the pain that they’ve caused. They should not just be allowed to walk away.

Then suddenly I realize in my venomous haze that the anger isn’t totally directed towards that person anymore. I’m angry at the one who hurt me. Again. It’s no longer about protecting a friend, it’s about protecting myself. Even though my situation is long over. And this realization makes me even more angry. I shouldn’t hurt this much. My friend shouldn’t hurt this much. Neither of us did anything deserving of this.

But it is what it is. Those people get to walk away and move on with their lives while we stand with wounds that refuse to heal no matter what. And part of the reason they refuse to heal? Because of stupid people that keep ripping them open at the least expected moments.

*Obviously not actually. But I’ll want to.

Also, remember how I was concerned about the number of pages left in my passport? The Indian consulate was nice enough to use those “extra” pages in the back that aren’t squared off for stamps instead of taking up two whole pages. Two pages that I didn’t really have mind you. I counted, I have 15 spaces left. Not pages, spaces. Should be plenty for this trip since they used the pages I thought were useless. Such nice people.

While in the car I got a phone call from a friend of mine who lives in Arizona. They are not only in town but were wondering if we had plans as they unexpectedly had two extra tickets to a White Sox game and would love it if we could join them. Um, yeah! Not only were we free but we were like ten minutes away. Perfection.

Jenny is one of my oldest and dearest friends and it was amazing to get to see her unexpectedly.

Seriously love this girl.

We didn’t stay for the whole game since tomorrow is going to be an early morning. We didn’t even actually stay for half the game. In fact, as we were walking to our car a parking attendant was all “You’re going the wrong way, game’s that way.” Thanks dude, the giant stadium with bright lights and screaming fans was not enough of a hint.

But can you actually blame him? Who leaves a game before the 4th inning?

Us, apparently.