Sun-Dried Bean People

Family reunion 2006, St. George Island, FL.

This year marks the 9th reunion, and as each reuinon passes with its own personalities and challenges and memories, I have begun to appreciate the role that I have in my family.

For me, I consider this an accomplishment to acknowledge that I have a role and a place in the family.

For many years, I believed that I was adrift from this group of people, separated by age (the youngust adult 12 years my senior and the oldest child 12 years my junior), by political opinions, by extreme differences in income, education, and personality.

But after this year, I have finally come to some middle ground on the issue- maybe by accepting both sides of limitation and not trying to push those limits - and found a deep sense of appreciation for the people who have been a part of my life since my beginning, and now part of my little bean's life. And it only took me (almost) 30 years to give myself some credit for being a part of thier lives as well. This understanding comes as a huge relief.

I can attribute most of this newfound sense of place to birthing the most gorgeous little child and therefore opening the door to bonding over motherhood with my Aunts/Grandmother/Mother. Or perhaps that my marriage has finally allowed my Uncles to relax with me, as I am now claimed and someone else's responsibility. Or that enough time has passed that we can all laugh at my cheese-colored hair and raincoat that I sported to my Grandparents 50th wedding anniversary in 1996.

Time may not heal all wounds, but it gives a bit of room for humor to wiggle its way into memory, and that means that time is on my side in this instance.

Here Ye, Here Ye, Four Stones and Cranberries and Yes, Father, It Has Been Four Months Since My Last Confession

Bless me, for it has been four months since my last confession.

*I* had decided that blogging was too much self-serving, psuedo-ballsy-diary way of trying to express what a fucking wonderfully interesting person I am, and aren't you all clammoring to read my entries?

*I* was above all that nonsense. Bloggers, the fucking stream of conciousness nonesense from all the Hunter S. Thompson wannabes, *I* saw the light before you all did.

*I* am just so much than a myspace.com hoebag, boiii!

But recently, *I* had a reason to revisit this blog in order to share one of my Bridezilla stories with a coworker, and scrolling through a few entries made me realize how much blogging like *I* am a Rock Star with Bean Child has taught me about who I am becoming as a woman, as a mother, as a friend, and as a wife.

So here *I* be.

Since the last shout-out, Handsome and I have made a few changes, the Bean has become a little person who likes to rip glasses off one's face and hold them for hours, says mamamamamamamama when she wants to get out of her crib, and dadadadadadadadadadadada for everything else.

My inlaws have gotten into family therapy. Hell is now at subzero level, I have heard.

I lost the baby weight, put a few natural pounds back on.

Ah, and I took a new position at work. However, as much as I hate to admit this, the switch to this position was a HUGE FAT BIG FUCKING MISTAKE.

HUGE fucking mistake.

In the five weeks that I have been here, I have taken 200 foreigners to DC for a day trip, lost three of them but somehow managed to pied piper them all back into Baltimore, I make a LOT of copies, and have been forced to listen to my office-mates, as I don't have a choice in the matter.

They call each other BOO all day long and tell me how bad they are trippin', which has nothing to do with drugs, I was happy to learn. Oh, and shop for shoes all day, talk about baby daddy deadbeats, or look at pictures of their Exes. I am learning quite a bit.

At first, I was shell-shocked. Now, I am entertained by Boo 1 and Boo 2. I am starting to like them depsite thier constant gabbing. Yesterday, Boo1 called ME Boo (which makes me Boo 3), which made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy, like I made into the club.

I am back, babies. Back in Boo. Back in Shoes. Back in a size 12. Back and feelin' a little black.

True dat boo, word.