Risk

On Sunday night a thought popped into my head as I was getting into bed: "Tomorrow is going to be either really good or really bad." Being very tired and realizing that nothing I could do could change the situation, I focused on the upcoming Friends episode on my tv. To my surprise I fell asleep really fast.

Hubs has been gone for two months for specialized training. In a prior phone conversation on Sunday he warned me that he might be coming home sooner than he wanted to. Not because of a failed test, poor performance or anything of that sort. His shoulder was giving out and the the remainder of his training "fate" rested in a military doctor's decision.

Monday morning came fast and his fate was relayed to me via text message- he was coming home. He was not happy. A quick bout of anger on his part, tears on my part and we were quickly reminded that the military moves fast, and we had to keep up. A craigslist search and a dozen phone calls later we secured a new home in a new location.

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Back to Sunday night. In the moments prior to checking out, mentally, to watch Friends I thought about all of the risks that we've taken this past year. Especially the past couple of months. All of the risks were very calculated, weighed and obessesed thought over: we packed up our entire house and uprooted two states away knowing that he could come home early. We knew that being separated during the holidays would be extremely hard. We knew that me living out of a suitcase, dragging two dogs around and bouncing between two sets of parents would have some pros but a lot of cons. Et cetera, et cetera, etcetera. I didn't prepare myself to risk picking up broken pieces of someone who tried but didn't succeed.

That's a risk I should have prepared for. And I'm very bad at math.

Hubs is my absolute best friend. He reads me and anticipates what's coming before I'm even ready to let it out. He's spent the past two years comforting, reassuring, pushing me forward, pulling me up and positively reinforcing me... sometimes multiple times in an hour. He's also put up with some very crappy side effects- both mentally and physically. I had become so used to it that I'm guilty of forgetting how to return the favor. Apparently it doesn't take that long to remember how to return the favor.

The best part about risk? It's antonyms: secure, safe, shelter, save... to name a few.

Without the risks we've taken in the past couple months I wouldn't have been reminded how safe I feel in my hometown. I was reminded how absolutely secure my marriage is. I wouldn't have been able to save some of my childhood and family items that would have been given away. I wouldn't have had the most stressful two hours priviledge to negoiate a rental agreement for a condo we haven't really seen. I would not have had the chance to rely emotionally on a person who's growing more into family than friend.

Yeah... I guess risk is okay, afterall. Let's hope I still agree with the previous statement after all the risks we plan to take this coming year. My fingers will definitely be crossed. D exposed himself to a ton of risk... but I'm so glad he did.





Sass

Sass

noun
1. impudent or disrespectful back talk: Both parents refuse to take any sass from their kids.

verb (used with object)
2. to answer back in an impudent manner: Don't sass your mother.

adj (used for a person) but also a noun
3. a dark haired, dark eyed female born in 2003: Wifey's nickname for her niece, Ky.

It seems as if it was just a couple years ago that I was watching her move and kick from the inside of her mom's stomach. Shortly after that I was teaching her dad how to hold a baby, bringing her home from the hospital in my rinky-dink saturn, and watching her turn two people into parents. A few months ago she was carting her security toy- a green rubber alligator named Sandy- around e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e., marching around like a duck, and ordering us into time out for being naughty. Last week she refuses to call me anything but Auntie Erin, went through a I'm-a-dog phase, demanded to watch Home Alone a hundred million zillion times, and found any excuse to eat icecream.

And, yet, it wasn't just the other day that all of this happened because now she's eight. Eight. Now her clothes cannot keep up to the rate her body is growing. She's traded calling me Auntie Erin for just "lady." Most everything she says is laced with sarcasm. Her favorite show is Bones, and she dreams about living on a horse ranch. She says sassy things that I swear I've said when I was her age. She has her own style and isn't afraid of showing it. She's stolen my heart from the minute she was born and I have no intention of ever letting go of her.

This small-fry is amazing. Nothing less. She pushes me to want to be a better aunt, person and mother. I look up to her for her perserverence and resilience... especially since she was born into a less than optimal environment that has only gotten worse in some ways. She's proof that family is worth fighting for, no matter the cost.

And yet... she's eight.

The BEST part about being back in California is being near her. There were many, many a few times that I bawled on the phone with my mom because it was just. so. hard. to be away from this little girl. Now, she's a five minute drive away. We've been two peas in a pod lately:

 

California has been good to the dog-dogs and I so far. But this little sass has made it even better.

For the record- all of these pictures were taken with my cell phone and are mine, and mine only. If you take them- in any way- I will be forced to hunt you down and karate chop you. Or something similar.