I spent mere moments yesterday, in between ordering The Daver to shave my legs and to feed me grapes while fanning me with a ficus branch (read: shoving my gaping maw with cupcakes and reading trashy books while getting my arms gnawed on my a certain baby of mine), working on the next installment of Proof That Aunt Becky Has Feelings, and I was going to put it up today. It’s done, after all, and it’s just sitting there in my draft folder, edited and reedited (a rarity, I’m sure. You may want to mark on a calendar that I wrote a post AND EDITED IT this one time).

But I’m leaving it there, all alone in my drafts, for now. Not because it’s not good or not powerful, but because I don’t feel like being depressing today. The story ends happily, we all know this–although we’re not sure how neurologically Amelia will be affected yet; nor do we care–and I’ve told you the worst of what happened. I’ll probably throw it up tomorrow or the next day, then I’ll make a separate page or something to put the story together, because you know what? I gain nothing by keeping silent. My dignity (for once) is not on the line here.

No, today I wanted to something even more rare than talking about being afraid and scared and all that good boo-yang, today I wanted to publicly tell The Internet how much my life fracking rules.

See, I know it’s not in vogue to shriek it from the rafters that I’m the luckiest bitch I know. I should, instead, complain about summer vacation and how it’s crimping my Big Pimpin’ lifestyle, or maybe whine about Alex’s sleep schedule and that Amelia would kind of like it if I surgically attached her somehow to my body. Or maybe I could bitch about how Daver can’t seem to manage putting his dirty dishes INTO the dishwasher, instead, he assumes the magical fairies will sprinkle their sparkly dust around and the plates will magically float into the dishwasher.

But yesterday, as I sat with my big butt wearing a groove into my couch cushions, my daughter perched on my lap swaddled like a caterpillar in her pink camo swaddler, intently watching her brothers, who were chasing each other about the house, screaming ebulliently and (no joke) throwing these large beach balls at each other. It was some sort of game they were playing, Amelia wriggled this way and that, expressing her joy through her pumping extremities and the occasional squawk of pure ecstasy (no, not The Good Drug. No illegal drugs until she’s AT LEAST 12)(this is a joke)(put down the phone to DCFS, people).

The screams bore into my head like a drill bit, and although listening to them was making my headache so bad that my eyes began to water, I was so happy. This is my life. THIS. All this: the chaos, the dog pee on the (white. WHITE!) carpet, the toys strewn about the floor, bruising the bottoms of my feet. The pure joy that only kids can express so easily. The messiness, the imperfections, the sleeplessness and the bliss. All of it. It’s mine.

Never in a million billion years the place I ever saw myself. Not even close to the swinging swinger lifestyle, dripping with diamonds and distain, sex on the kitchen table and perfectly arranged coffee table books. Shit, I can’t even go to the store on a whim right now, let alone jet off to France for the weekend or even promise to make it to a local party.

But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. It’s not where I’d ever have guessed I’d be, and Aunt Becky circa 1998 would have rolled her eyes dramatically and threatened to run off with the Peace Corp if you’d told her where she’d end up. But, in the immortal words of The Bearded God Garcia, “Once in awhile you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.”

Because this is exactly where I belong: raising kids, writing a crappy blog and a couple of books, making good friends and the requisite handful of enemies. And it’s why I might maybe have gotten a bit misty-eyed when I saw all your birthday wishes here, on Twitter and on Facebook (we should be BFF! Your updates are hysterical on there). Maybe. Or maybe it’s just allergies.

And then I see this brilliance one of my friends put together, after I tell Twitter (jokingly) that I’m going to make and wear shirts that say “I’m Friends With Aunt Becky.” Then my OTHER friend tells me she’s going to make a shirt that says “Aunt Becky is my Gnomie,” and my face would be on a gnome’s body. And then I full on cried, I was laughing so hard.

And then maybe I said, “I love you man, to The Internet” and told them to keep this talk of feelings and shit between us.

51 thoughts on “Let’s Just Leave This As “I Have Something In My Eye”

  1. For the record, everyday I look forward to reading your posts. Sound creepy? It probably is. But I can always count on you to make me smile, and for that, thank YOU.

  2. Aww! I love you, too, man! I look around and love my crazy life at least once a day. It’s usually after a glass of wine, but still…

  3. Awwwww!
    Should I hug you or give you a play-punch on the shoulder? Or both!

    It is awesome to sit back and realize this is your life and it’s not too bad. Overall, me too.

  4. Awesome post. It’s nice to be reminded that our lives rock every now and again. Also? I would so wear an “Aunt Becky” t-shirt.

  5. Oh, it stays right between us. You can bet on it.

    It IS nice to be reminded of how lucky we are. Thanks, Aunt Becky

    *picture this*
    a shirt with two garden gnomes on it, one with you face, one with mine, our kids and hubbies (all gnomes of course) tag line:
    wait for it…
    “Hanging with my Gnomies”

    1. “Hanging with my Gnomies” !!! OMG that is absolutely the funniest thing I have encountered in a very lond time. Thank you for the belly laugh!

  6. I’m thinking you could sell the shirts at the upcoming beaver fest! Don’t forget to send me one!

  7. Yep, being a Mommy is by far the hardest job but the most rewarding. I mean who else would let someone urp on without so much as a “Are you Frickin kiding me dude” FYI .. in between key strokes I am threatening my 4 year old with the time out chair b/c he is hitting his brother on the head with his Mater car. Good Times but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  8. That’s odd…everyone elses’s name is in black letters on a beige background, then on blue, mine is just black letters on blue…
    This must ust be some type of Al Queda plot – save me – don’t let the terrorists win, Aunt Becky!

  9. Awww. I love you too man! I mean woman! I mean Aunt Becky.

    I would totally get the shirt Kim described….Hanging with my gnomies. In fact I have two gnomes in my front yard…creepy I know…a wedding present because friends of ours know how creepy we find gnomes. I should glue a pic of your face and mine on there. 😉

  10. Aiee, Aunty Becky, so much happening in your life. I think my t-shirt will read “Aunty Becky is my hero” although here it might get written “Aunti Beki his my ero”.

    Happy birthday, sweetie. Wishing you a good year, an easy year with good news and lots more moments on the couch like you had today. So glad you are so happy.

  11. That was precious and so are you. I feel guilty a lot of the time, posting about what a fabulous life I have, dog shit and all. I mean really, it’s like a dream most of the time. And you know what? We ARE lucky because we have these dream lives, filled with chaos and life and dust and imperfection and also because we KNOW it.
    Love you, dear.

  12. So Aunt Becky I am with Kristina on this one every day I check a 10000 times to see if you posted… no not really that would be creepy, but I looked forward to your post every day I just wanted to let you know

    U my Boi Blue Ur my boy!

  13. I don’t know about this t-shirt, but I’d DEFINITELY wear the one that DZub suggested! That was AWESOME!

    And happy birthday, friend.

  14. It sounds ilke you had an enlightening birthday!!

    how about a Tshirt that says “I commented on Aunt Becky’s blog and all I got was this Tshirt ” or “This Mommy wants vodka too!”

  15. Do not tell ANYONE I read Mommy blogs. My steet cred would be shit. But, I have to read your blog because it is #FAB and so funny! You RULE! Let’s keep THAT between us!

  16. I love the I’m With Aunt Becky tee shirt. I also think that you have coined my new mantra. This is what I want on my next tee shirt. Hell, I think I want it on my tombstone:

    “shoving my gaping maw with cupcakes”

    It also works as a band name or a floor wax.

  17. Well, I think the t-shirt ideas are completely rad. (Yes I know… 1988 called and wants its phrase back!) But anyway, you could sell them on cafepress or wherever and part of proceeds could go to help families who have children with Amelia’s condition. Or to more education and research for her condition. Jus’ sayin’…
    I like the suggestions. Who says we have to have just one??

  18. Sometimes you have this magicl knack for posting EXACTLY what I need to hear. I spent the entire day obsessing about how Lennon is showing symptoms of autism and Nolan might have this or that, etc, so on, blah blah blah…but ya know what. I have KIDS. I have AWESOME, beautiful, perfect children who I love and who bring me endless joy. And that’s something. =)

  19. *heh heh* my boys have that same shirt and my husband says I’m mean to make them wear them at their ages. (um, they are 9 and 10 NOT 38 and 40 for chrissakes!) I’m the same way about my life. It’s a brilliantly nauseauting rollercoaster. Put your arms up 😉

  20. Love the reminder. I do post about hard shit because I am finding the blogworld quite soothing that way, and I do read blogs about hard shit because that is where the life lessons are, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE all the lovin’. As I like to tell my friend who always has a glass half empty, fortune smiles on me. I try not to shrug. And then maybe later on I wail some. Hey, am I having mood swings?

  21. I love you, I love your blog! I love your posting b/c while you can make me laugh, there are definite things that I can see totally happening in my life too. We are NOT alone!! That is my favorite thing about all the blogs I read, no one is completely alone!

  22. so sorry i missed your birthday. happy belated! why am I not suprised you are a “cancer” (astrological sign) like me. Cancer makes the best mothers. No surprise there. thanks for lighting up our lives.

  23. Yeah-you rock and so does your life. I actually get tired of reading people who endlessly complain about children and well life in general. yes everybody has on multiple occasions threathened to change their name from mommy and run away, but the for the most part I think more people like their life then not, it just cooler to to botch about it.
    Also I do not have any enemies yet so why don’t we get into a pretend internets war but secretly be BFF?

  24. I love the t-shirt!

    I’m glad you had such a great birthday. And thank you for the reminder. Whenever I’m feeling like this is frustrating and too much, I need someone to remind me that I am incredibly lucky just to have this–my oldest reading me “Where the Sidewalk Ends,” my 3-year-old delivering a 15-minute monologue to a stuffed frog about who-knows-what, and my 16-month-old wiping her nose with pizza rolls. This is a pretty damn good life, and I’d better remember that.

  25. the t shirt: my mom is…pointing a crooked finger of scathing criticism at my smirking face? cause if that’s it, I NEED THREE.

    The Good Drug (so good it forced me, an avid non-[first-letter-of-words-]capitalist, to capitalize): WTF?? does NO ONE MAKE THIS DRUG ANYMORE? can’t a chick who’s been through an awful fucking lot ONE PIDDLY little stamped pill?? it was the one thing i really wanted after i got the IUD…oh well.

    the screaming: as long as it’s not REAL SCREAMING (fighting, whining, waaaaaaanting) i love it as you describe, too. loud toys? don’t care…as long as they don’t fucking FIGHT OVER THEM.

    and, happy birthday. and, i’m exhausted from reading all the birth-and-after posts (goddamn it, lady). and, i’m still finding it freakish and totally weird that i have actual feelings for my internet peeps. so, yes, BETWEEN US, for the love of god…it would ruin my bad-ass rep IRL.

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