You Fit Into Me

by Margaret Atwood

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye

...

“ I will seek your highest good above my own. I will lay down my life for you.”

I read these words today, in a post on Facebook - written by an 18 year old young man. The topic of the blog was basically what is wrong with today's youth in their pursuit of love.

My point in writing about this is that if GROWN-UPS would apply this concept to their own lives, the divorce rates in this country would be minimal.

My Girl

When I’m drowning in liquid sorrow
And tears are brimming over the sides
The bucket is full … I float
Until the feelings are too much, too strong
Curling into the fetal position
I sink

And she reaches in and pulls me out
Like a child bobbing for apples
Happy with her find … she smiles
And pulls me close, warms me
Holds me while I cry
She’s there

She’s always there

The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for

and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

for love

for your dream

for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals

or have become shrivelled and closed

from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain

mine or your own

without moving to hide it

or fade it

or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy

mine or your own

if you can dance with wildness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes

without cautioning us

to be careful

to be realistic

to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal

and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless

and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty

every day.

And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure

yours and mine

and still stand at the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,

“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me

to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up

after the night of grief and despair

weary and bruised to the bone

and do what needs to be done

to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

in the centre of the fire

with me

and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

from the inside

when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep

in the empty moments.

One Phase Comes to an End ...

One thing I told Chelle when we first got together is that when you have kids, time takes on a totally different spin. When single without kids, a year can feel like forever. But when you add kids to the mix, a year goes by in a flash. A year is a handful of cute haircuts, a couple growth spurts resulting in a jeans-buying-spree, one Halloween costume party, decorating the Christmas tree, playing Santa one time, a couple slumber parties, one or two ear infections, a new backpack, and one yearbook order form (okay, okay, you can compound those things based on how many kids are in the mix). So, it should be no surprise to me that it seems like it wasn't that long ago that I went back to college.

Long story short, it HAS been a while. Long enough for me to finish my degree. I graduated on December 13th. It felt great to know that I had set a huge goal for myself and not only reached that goal, but excelled in the process. At rehearsal the night before graduation, the presiding Dean explained that the December graduation is the biggest for the school. Normally, the colleges each have their own graduations, but in December the schools are all combined into one graduation. He then told us that the person with the highest GPA from each college would carry that college's banner and lead in the students. First he announced the person with the highest GPA of all - a guy from the College of Arts. Then he said "The person with the highest GPA for the College of Business IS ... Kelly Kline!" I couldn't believe it! It was great to be recognized for my years of effort.

So I carried the big-ass College of Business banner, which was way bigger than me. I lead in my fellow students and friends to a bunch of applause and a bunch of people yelling my name. It wasn't until after the graduation that I realized that, had it been a regular graduation, I would have been Valedictorian. -sigh-

Here's a pic of me walking back to my seat after taking the banner up to the stage:

Here's one of me and my dad. My youngest brother, Reid, graduated from University of Alabama on the same day, at the same time. My dad came to my graduation and my step-mom went to Reid's. I didn't tell my dad that I was carrying the banner - I could see him all teary-eyed from the floor. It was great.

And here's one of me and my girls. My son Dylan had to take his ACT test that morning, so he wasn't able to make it to my graduation. He did, however, get to meet us afterward for lunch. From right to left in this pic are Emily, Anna, me, and Katie.

Pee Wee

"2 Friend Requests"

This is becoming more and more regular when I log onto Facebook. It's like my old high school friends are coming out of the woodwork - not really just on Facebook, but through MySpace and other areas. So it has become pretty normal for me to keep the ol' yearbook by the computer here at home.

A girl I was in choir with in high school is in town this week. We're meeting her for dinner tonight, and the girls wanted to know about her. So I looked her up ... or, I meant to, but got sidetracked. I only just now realized that I didn't look her up. Go figure.

I started reading all the stuff people wrote in my yearbook. There's this common theme through almost all of the messages - "You're fun and crazy!" Yeah, I remember that. "Like, do you remember that night we ....." Yeah, I remember that. Well, I don't remember-remember, but I kinda remember. Then there's the boys that thought that the yearbook was a good way to ask a girl out ... "So, I've been meaning to tell you. I'm crazy about you and can we go out? ES+KK" Yeah ... no. But what killed me was all the nicknames.

I mean, if you had asked me what nickname I went by in high school, I probably would've told you Short Shit. Seriously, I got called that a lot.

In 1985 I was called "Mary Lou" all the time, even by people I didn't know. At the mall. Asking for my autograph.

Another nickname was "Frog". I got that one on a warm summer evening, walking down the street with some friends. I was barefoot ... and I stepped on a frog. It squished through my toes. Ew.

Mr. Lynn, my eccentric American History teacher, called me "Little Miss McCreary".

One of the janitors at our school, Ms. Pearl, called me Weezie. I never knew why, until one day she said I was full of spunk like Weezie on The Jeffersons.

And then there's the obvious ones - Shortie, Short Stuff, Short Stack, Short Round, etc.

But I totally forgot that my "official" nickname in high school was PeeWee. And by "official" I mean that it is what I had put on my sorority shirts. Everyone knew me as PeeWee. Even the Principal called me that. The JROTC Commander called me that. My friends called me that.

And it's a funny feeling - some strange nostalgia - to all of a sudden remember something that was so much a part of your every day life ... something you thought you would never, ever forget.

I wish I had my sorority shirt to wear to dinner tonight.

Hard day ... or "Why I wish I could curl into the fetal position and stay there for three days"

* It's been a rough couple weeks at the office. Everything came to a rapid boil yesterday and today. Things will be really cool for me once everything's ironed out, but in the meantime it's been gut-clenching, migraine-inducing, and super-duper stressful.

* Got my son's ACT scores today. He did really good. So I printed out the forms for him to apply at the college he wants to go to. I started filling it out ... and BOOM! There it was, in black and white ... "Have you registered for the Selective Services? blah blah blah"

So today I registered my son for the draft.

* I've been cramming all night for a huge test I have tomorrow night. Usually I can answer all the chapter discussion questions and then study them all the next day. I won't be able to study tomorrow. Ugh.

* I looked at my calendar today. I don't have ONE free day from now until December 13. One month from tomorrow. My graduation day. On the one hand, I want it to come quickly ... on the other hand, I have so much CRAP to do before then, I want time to crawl by.

* I'm so frickin' tired. I guess I should be better about taking my iron pills.

* I don't know what point the elementary school teachers are trying to prove, but my younger kids have 10 times more homework than the ones in high school. When my oldest (who is a senior now) was in fourth grade, he had a couple hours of homework every night. I asked his teacher why, and she told me it was to prepare them for all the homework they would have in high school. Neither he, nor his sister, have EVER had homework ANYTHING like they did in fourth grade. Did I mention Anna's now in fourth?

* I don't know if I'm PMSing, stressing, or a bad-ass combination of the two, but I'm just in a funk. Me, of all people. Crazy. I know, right? I keep telling myself it'll allllllllll be over soon.

And then I can breathe.