Goodnight, my someone.

I've seen the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse hot air balloon episode (or is that Handy Manny?) more than 20 times. I am sure of it.

So today when Holden asked to sit with me and watch an episode before bedtime I really didn't want to. But was pleasantly surprised when it was a new episode about Donald Duck playing hide and seek.

I had a bad week. Emotionally I mean. Outwardly it was a decent week. School was fine, everything was fine. But two different times this week I almost called my dad. Once I even started dialing before I realized there wouldn't be anyone to pick up the call.

I want this blog to be real. There is really nothing worse than going to a blog and only seeing frivolous posts all the time (though they certainly have their place). Of course going to a depressing blog isn't exactly fun either.

So I'm conflicted about whether to tell you all this or keep it to myself. I was talking with a friend of mine and she was telling me that she is tired of all the complaining her friends do when they have seriously fabulous lives...wonderful family, wonderful friends...what do they have to complain about?

I haven't ascertained whether she was referring to me or not.
Maybe partially.
I felt a little guilty when she said it--but sometimes I feel like I have two different lives. Part of me is still reeling from the losses I have experienced--and angry at people who don't have to work so hard to feel normal.
Reeling at the isolation I am still feeling. Knowing there must be someone who understands this, but not knowing who to call or how to find them. I sometimes feel like I talk about my life and the silence is deafening.
A blank look and then change the subject.

And part of me understands the discomfort they are feeling.

The other part of me (the happy part) is the one that can enjoy driving on highway 66 and stumbling upon an old antique store, walking in and finding a gem of a place. The kind of antique store you don't find around here--you only find them out East.

My personal theory is none of the really good antiques made the difficult trip out West in the 1800's. So you have to go back East to find them. Anyway, I found an art deco hall table at a good price in excellent condition.

Then while driving to meet my husband for an entire afternoon of sitting on the lawn and drinking beer (him, not me--but I enjoyed sitting in the shade of a big tree all afternoon) I heard one of my top 5 favorite songs of all time...Running on Empty, cranked it up, rolled down all the windows and sang along.

And then tonight...If I could just freeze a moment in time it would be the one right before Holden goes to sleep at night, when we are lying on my bed and I'm trying to get him to settle down.

We pray; I hum Goodnight, my Holden (to the tune of Goodnight, My Someone from The Music Man) to him--and then as he squirms around,

"Close your eyes," I whisper.

He squints his eyes closed, flops to his left side and then his right. It is twilight in the bedroom and I snuggle deeper under the blanket and close my eyes, trying to breathe as if I am asleep, waiting for him to stop flopping around.
I'm not the greatest at faking it.
Suddenly I feel two small hands holding my face, one on each cheek,

"Hi, Mommy."

His wide-eyed, sweet little face is inches from mine,

"Hi Honey. Close your eyes."