We, as humans, are lucky enough to fall in love. However many times, however long, however blissful or painful… we can feel love and give love unconditionally. It is incredible, isn’t it? Through all the heartbreak and fights and down and outs and loneliness we may feel, there is always love. Really BIG love. Heart-wrenching, body-aching, head-over-heels love. I consider myself lucky! Jan is that big love. After nearly 6 years (2 of which were long distance!), I still have butterflies… He makes my heart pound so hard I clutch my chest. He makes me crazy with frustration and wild with lust. He takes away my worry and amplifies my joy. He is the most considerate and the most forgiving. He is always the center of attention and he is always the funniest person in the room. He gets me. He makes me feel beautiful. He cares about my feelings and encourages my goals. And he truly loves me. ME. He knows my faults, and loves me regardless. It is the kind of love that makes single people cringe. For real.
So, why do I brag, I mean blog, about this? Because I am happy. And because I love expression through words. #nerd
…”you become your own personal therapist. and when you really commit to the process, you find yourself saying exactly what you need to hear.” -Frankie, Grace&Frankie
I don’t ever expect anything to come about from my blogging. Ever. Or my journaling. The only “reason” I have written/vented/complained on paper or online, is to help myself. It is [free] self help. It is therapeutic. It’s the whole get-things-off-my-chest/ clean slate feeling. When I finish journaling or blogging, I feel fresh. Like a BIG BIG sigh. All the shit that floats and swirls around in my brain gets put somewhere else. And often times, I am forced to deal with shit I may have been avoiding. Therapy. See? So, if you are someone who has never kept a diary or written lists or blogged, please try it. There is only clarity. Or full-on random rants. Either way, good stuff.
Other good stuff: My babies. Being a mother is unlike any other adventure I could have imagined. My boys challenge me EVERY GOD DAMN DAY, and I am a better person because of them. Mothers are the least judgmental and most judgmental people I know..but it makes sense. We are in charge of tiny humans. We are responsible for their well-being and upbringing (shout out to all single moms and dads out there!) and all the in-between shit. We are their end-all…their favorite people and their worst nightmares. But we KNOW that, and we parent on anyway. Our kids won’t always think we are the greatest thing since Daniel Tiger, and they won’t always stay little. Having an 8-year-gap between my two boys really puts time in perspective. I love my Oliver very differently than I do Frank. Is that ok to say? I mean it like this. I love Ollie with a respect and expectation that I can’t love Frank with right now. And I love Frank with a sense of wonder …oh fuck it. I sound ridiculous. My point is! The age difference between my babies is amazing. I love it. I love how I can equally share time and experiences with them without feeling guilty. Oliver is a HUGE help and loves his baby brother so much…
I am just full of love. ALL THE LOVE. My family is amazing. I am happy in love. I get to marry the man of my DREAMS, and I’m bursting. It is fucking pathetic how full of love I am. And also grateful… I appreciate my life. My kids. My man… It is such an overwhelming feeling I welcome with open arms. I deserve this. Everyone deserves to feel this.
My Janny and I will be reunited in less than 2 weeks. CAN YOU FEEL THE EXCITEMENT!?!!!?