No Guarantee

Benjamin Franklin is known for having once said, "In this world, nothing is certain but death and taxes."

Some of you can only recall a gorgeous, Devilish Brad Pitt uttering that phrase at the conclusion of the painfully slow movie "Meet Joe Black." But trust me, the grey-haired Constitutionalist said it first. (Don't hate me for the gratuitous photo above...he's better looking than Mr. Franklin any day.)

I have been thinking about that notion lately—that nothing is certain, that nothing is guaranteed.

For example, we assume, as growing women, that getting pregnant when we're ready is a guarantee. That it will happen, when we're prepared, and on our terms. Lately, I have experienced a friend who painfully, and patiently, has faced that uncertainty with grace and optimism as she and her husband have entered into the not-so-certain world of infertility treatments and blood tests and hormone shots and implantation. All with the hope against hope that they, like so many, can be assured of a result that goes against all uncertainty in life.

There's no guarantee.

Similarly, a family circumstance has occurred where we all put trust and faith in the judicial system under which we're protected, and hoped, against hope, that there would be a certain outcome. That the evidence, or the partiality of the judge, would reign and the result would be what is logical, rational and, well, guaranteed.

There's no guarantee.

Likewise, I've been faced recently with my own realization that in my own personal search for lifelong love, and therein a future marriage, would come to fruition in due course. The cold, hard and painful truth is that we're not sure. No one can promise that the outcome will result in lifelong happiness—even if one does find what they deem to be lifelong love, a partner forever. People can change, or not, and the life you'd envisioned may not turn out the way you planned. Or, conversely, the life you'd planned may never come to be. And you have to find a way to be satisfied by the life that is—the one that you are currently living. You may actually never find that type of love; it may just not be in the cards for you.

There's no guarantee.

And, quite frankly, maybe that's the hardest part.

If someone told the hopeful couple, trying to conceive a child, that it wasn't going to happen for them naturally, ever, they'd feel more resolute, more comfortable with that fact. I believe that the lack of knowing the outcome, in this case especially, is the most difficult fact to swallow. Those same two people, who wanted so badly to be parents, to conceive and give birth to a child of their own genetic strands and through the natural and most functional of ways, may in fact come to the more restful conclusion if they were just told up front that it wasn't going to happen. I believe, through my conversations with such people, that it is the uncertainty that is the most unsettling.

If it was clear, up front, that the law was the law, and that there was no way to undo that, no matter what efforts you made to the contrary to prove that the proper course of action would be something different, you may be better able to accept that course. To understand that it was meant to be, for good reason, would be easier to identify with, and therefore, would set your mind to rest.

If you knew, upon your wedding day, that the marriage had an expiration date, and that you were going to have a great life for thirty years, but that eventually things would dissolve and unravel, it may be easier to accept when that finally comes to be. And, if it was clear, at a certain age, that you were destined to live alone, and that you best find a way to be satisfied with that, it may not be as difficult to manage each day just not knowing. In a more positive approach, if someone pulled you aside, at a crucial point in your life's search for a partner, that it would happen someday—guaranteed—and that you were charged with just enjoying the station you were in at the time, for now, I'm certain that that level of certainty would grant you a peace inside.

Clearly, I'm wrestling with my own level of uncertainty. And unwillingness to give in to that—I just wish there was a guarantee. Obviously, I want to find that special someone with whom I'm going to spend my life, and I am unhappy with the unknowing that accompanies the process. Evidently, I'm searching for something, and feel that I'd be more resolute with the present, if someone could just guarantee the future.

I'm pretty sure, however, that Ben Franklin was right. The only guarantee in my future is taxes (made certain by my residence in the city of Chicago) and my ultimate death.

Hopefully, I can count on one sooner than the other.

In the meantime, I can promise that I won't give up hoping, praying, wanting and looking.

That much I can guarantee.

It's a Gift

I am a shopper. Guilty as charged.

I like a good sale. I enjoy browsing solo, fingering all of the fabrics, trying on clothes, imagining all the places I'd wear them. I love jewelry and shoes and purses and coats. I enjoy the feeling of bringing home bags full of bargains, pulling them all out and laying them on the bed. I immediately hang up new items, taking pleasure in how they'll look when paired with old pieces.

However, this time of year, the shopping turns outward.

Not that I don't give gifts throughout the months, but this season I really do enjoy thinking not of myself, but of what those in my life want, and wouldn't buy for themselves. There's nothing quite like the feeling of knowing you've selected just the right gift, and watching that person open it with glee. I get a certain sparkle in my eye as I witness someone enjoying the present that was selected just for them.

I think it is funny how when someone is opening your gift, you get all nervous. People tend to get a little apologetic, even before you've gotten it out of the tissue paper. Have you noticed that? You know, "well, I just thought you may like it, but if you don't, there's a receipt inside and you can take it back, no hard feelings, I promise." They hardly breathe, and it is one giant run-on sentence.

The truth is, just having someone go to all that trouble is enough. It is flattering to think that they took the time to choose, buy, and gift wrap something with you in mind.

At our unwrapping ceremony, which we've somehow managed to make last about four hours, complete with mimosas and a breakfast casserole break, my Dad undoubtedly sticks a bow to his head, with a totally straight face. Last year, George's first Christmas with our family, when he put a bow on his head, I knew he was the one for my sister.

One of my favorite parts of the holiday shopping season is all of the secrets. The projects, mentally plotted and meticulously crafted, all designed to fit that certain person's character. The gifts, thought-out, budgeted for, and purchased with just one person in mind. The boxes, stuffed full and gift wrapped carefully (though it's not my greatest skill) with names attached for Christmas morning.

I keep a list each year, in this flimsy little notebook, of each person on my Christmas list, and what I have bought for them. It's a tally, of sorts, to make sure everything is kept fairly even (and to make sure that my Dad doesn't get pajama pants every year). I tend to spoil my family, as I just go overboard in finding lovely things that I just know they'll adore.

This year, which will come as no surprise, we've all committed to "take it easy" and "pare down" and "go light" on the gift giving. My family has hosted a wedding, and several trips, quite a few parties and showers and 30th birthday parties and other festivities, so we're all tightening our wallets.

Or so we say.

It can't be helped, really. It's not about the money for me. I just love giving gifts.

My family has never been one to draw names, or just give one present per person. Our tree, quite frankly, on Christmas morning, looks like something that belongs in a mall. With a fake Santa seated on a plush club chair nearby. See?

That doesn't really even do it justice. What you can't see, off to the left, is the 50 other gifts hiding under the base of the tree. The poor nutcrackers and reindeer that decorate the base of the steps in the foyer are just about drowning in there.

I can't wait.

Let the projects, secrets, sales and list-making begin.

I'm in the spirit.

It All Depends

People always talk about love as "unconditional."

Turns out, there's nothing unconditional about it.

Even the love shared between family members has conditions put on it. With long-term friendships, there are rules to the game. Boundaries you must respect, actions you have to take, protocol you must follow, lines in the sand you must draw.

People will hurt you. They will pull away. Friends need time to heal and figure out their own issues. Family will say things that they don't mean. Loved ones will act as if they are less than that, loved ones.

The conditions of the love are there, whether or not we're willing to acknowledge them.

You have to call every so often, so the friend knows that they're in your thoughts. You have to say the right thing, so the person knows how you feel. You have to be honest with yourself, to own you role in the disaster that has become normal. You have to respect the facts that face you, even if they tell you that everything you know is based on misconceptions. You have to try, put forth the effort, to go the extra mile, to answer the phone, to reach out. To give.

There's nothing unconditional about love.

Like anything else worth having in life, it comes fraught with conditions.

If only there was a manual for this game.

She Was There

She was there to tuck me in at night, reading me a story over and over.

She was there to pluck me out of the closet when I was having nightmares.

She was there to put bread bags over my tennis shoes, when Atlanta got a rare snowstorm.

She was there to make my lunches, while I ate breakfast before school.

She was there to dye the macaroni green on St. Patrick's Day, just for giggles.

She was there to drive us to Six Flags over and over one summer, so we girls could hang out all day.

She was there to take us to the mall on Saturday, to put up with our wanting and wishing.

She was there to teach us how to walk with confidence, even with a shopping cart.

She was there to coach basketball, or softball, or tennis, whatever we were playing that season.

She was there to help me pick out just the right outfit, so that she could take our photo on the first day of school.

She was there to make sure we were doing our homework, propped on our bed with a lapdesk firmly in place.

She was there to decorate my room, resplendent in Pepto-Bismol pink, because that was how I wanted it.

She was there to repair the hole in the wall after I'd slammed the door open one too many times.

She was there to let me put posters and clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazine on my walls.

She was there to tell me that one day, I would grow into my height, if you know what I mean.

She was there to teach me right from wrong, but give me enough room to figure it out myself.

She was there to listen while I cried from a heartbreak, without saying that it was just puppy love.

She was there to teach me how to drive, reminding me to look in the mirrors at more than my lip gloss.

She was there to answer my questions about sex and love, even when it made her blush ever so slightly.

She was there to laugh at my jokes and put up with my stories, despite the fact that I'd lost track of the point.

She was there to witness my graduations, ceremonies and awards shows, to tell me she was proud.

She was there to cheer from the sidelines, and drive me home from the far away basketball games on Friday nights.

She was there to cry with me over romantic comedies, and Christmas commercials, in the dark of the living room.

She was there to drive me to college, setting up my dorm room and leaving me to grow up on my own.

She was there to give me the space freshman year, because she'd read a book that advised parents to do that.

She was there to support me, to teach me, to let me make my mistakes as I should.

She was there to move me into my first apartment, and my second, and my third, and my fourth...without looking back.

She was there to say goodbye, as I left my hometown for a bigger, brighter future in a new city.

She was there to listen while I sobbed after getting laid off, being dumped, or just plain hurting.

She was there to spackle, paint, refinish, tile, reorganize, decorate my new condo, even when nothing seemed right.

She was there to calm my nerves, ease my worries, comfort my doubts, just when I needed her.

She was there to remind me that being smart was more important than being pretty, that being confident was more valuable than being right.

She was there to urge me to be myself, to love me no matter what and to always answer the phone when I call.

She was there.

And, today is her birthday, and I have nothing, not enough money, not enough time, to tell her properly how much she has meant to me.

Because, like mothers should be, she has always been there.

Our relationship has ebbed, flowed and changed, and I am so thankful that we've arrived at this new place. Where we're friends, equals, partners, peers, and family.

Today, on her birthday, I celebrate my Mom. I know that I inherited a lot from her—on the outside, yes, but more importantly, on the inside where it really counts.

I love you, Mom. On your birthday, and always.

Thank you for being there.

Healing Words

I can't bring myself to write a funny, clever or silly post today. I just can't do it.

Just when you think you have it bad, life throws a curveball into the mix. I don't want to imply that God does it to remind us that things are good, and that we are blessed, but I will say that when times are good, and I have the inability to see it, I find that something reminds me of how lucky I am.

To those of you in my family that are struggling and are dealing with something grave, huge, insurmountable and painful, please know that I am praying for you and am asking for you to be granted strength, comfort, patience and love at this time. Surround yourself with those that love you—it is the only thing to do at this time.

For those that read my blog regularly, but with whom I'm not personally acquainted, I ask that you read this, and instead of focusing on the "whats" and the "whys" of what's going on in my life, and to which I refer, I hope that you'll focus on the people that surround you and the things that make you happy, rather.

Hug your children. Smile at your significant other. Love your parents. Acknowledge your blessings.

That's what I'm doing, and I am finding small comfort in knowing that this too shall pass.

Babies are born each day—new lives brought into this world with a clear conscience, an unblemished heart and a loving disposition. That alone should make us all feel good. (Unless you're Mandi, and the sweet little one just refuses to come out!)

Since I am not a poet, and often cannot find the right thing to say, I turn to Maya Angelou, the giver of great words of wisdom and comfort.

To one that hurts, by no doing of her own, I offer this:

an excerpt from Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.


To one that mourns, and knows not how to heal, I offer this:

an excerpt from Touched by an Angel
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
...We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.


To one fears what's coming, and knows not how to recover, I offer this:

an excerpt from Alone
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

I find comfort in the beautifully crafted words of Maya Angelou, and I hope that those in my life who hurt will too.

I love you all and will continue to pray for your healing.

A Toast to Lauren & George

Photos by Tom Smarch of A Wedding Tale where noted.

As you likely saw awhile back, my sister Lauren and her lovely George were engaged to be married, and the big day finally has come and gone. The week at home was really wonderful, but man, was it a whirlwind of activity!

George is from Czech Republic, and his parents, brother and sister-in-law were in town to celebrate the wedding with us, and it was such a joy to meet and get to know them. I know now very clearly where George gets his good looks, kind heart, gentle nature and sharp sense of humor. I also more fully understand what people mean when they say that a wedding is a merging of families, not just two people. We are fortunate to be a part of this union.

It was an emotional whirlwind - we met the family, prepared the details, put together the floral bouquets (which is quite a feat, but clearly feasible with some patience and creativity!), bought the party supplies, set up the venue and got ready for the big day. Friday, September 11th was the date for the wedding, and it was incredibly fun, hectic and beautiful.

The weather held out and we were able to have the ceremony outside on the green grass of the golf course, and the blue sky was revealed right before we descended onto the lawn. I was strong and not emotional until the very last moment - when I walked down the aisle ahead of the flower girls and my sister, on the arm of my Dad, it was at that moment that the emotions hit me. I began to shake, and tears welled up in my eyes.

As I watched my sister, younger than I by three years, walk down the aisle looking radiant, happy, gorgeous and smiling, I could hardly keep it together. It was as if there was no one else there, just her, as she walked our way. Time had stood still. Thank goodness Jill had the forethought to give me a monogrammed hanky before I left town - I needed it more than ever. Gripping my lime green roses with one hand, I dabbed at the tears that tried to fight their way down my face, and snuck a glance at George. His grin was genuine, heartfelt and huge - which was all it took to send me into a happy cry.

The wedding ceremony was lovely, special and intimate. The party afterwards, held in the gorgeous ballroom that was graced with all of Lauren's special and thoughtful touches, was part fun and part a blur. You know that feeling when you are in a moment, but can't seem to slow it down enough to really notice all of the detail? That was how I felt. My Mom and I wish we could go back and rewind it all and attend as a guest - just to take part in it all again.

My toast was sincere, and I managed not to sob as I delivered it. I believe it states concisely (yet not fully) how it feels to watch your sister marry the man of her dreams - it is not enough to say that you love her. She is part of who I am, and I am happily, willingly, letting go enough to watch her walk into her new life with George. I am fuller now, with him in our family, and know that lifelong happiness is headed our way.

I reprint the toast here, to share it with my family again for posterity, but also to try to capture in writing how I felt at that moment. For those of you that don't know us personally, George is a very tall man and fits in nicely with my tall family - anchoring us if you will. You'll get more out of the below you if you know that up front.

I am so honored, proud and in love with my sister, and couldn't be happier to have been a part of the day celebrating her love with George.

Congratulations to you both! I love you so much.

--

I am pretty sure they call you the Maid of Honor to make you feel better about having to get up here and spill your guts to a large crowd of people. No, really, it IS an honor to be a part of this day celebrating Lauren and George.

Having a sister is a strange thing – and by the time I started to figure out how lucky I was to have one, I had moved away.

First to college, leaving her to take over my bedroom and drive my car (both of which kind of irked me at the time). Then, to an apartment downtown, while she was still in Athens living life and growing up. And finally, I moved 1,000 miles away to Chicago, and we became closer than ever.

Life is funny that way.

But for most of our lives, Lauren and I struggled to cherish how incredibly fortunate we were to have a built-in, God-given friend living under the same roof.

We fought, likely over who got to be in charge, bad 80s clothes, use of the phone, and mirror time curling our bangs and spraying them into something unrecognizable. It felt like we were either too far apart in age to have anything in common, or too close to want to admit it. We were clumsy as sisters, and I’m talking about more than just that time that I accidentally ran over her with the riding lawnmower.

Come on, the blade was turned off…

But then, it all changed. When I was in college and Lauren was in high school, she met a lot of the people who are here today, and I remember looking at her differently. She was not following my footsteps, she was forging her own. Then she joined me at Georgia and continued to grow up. (Not just taller). I liked her not only as a sister, but also as a person. Which was a far cry from trying to kick her out of the car on the way to high school for being grouchy in the morning.

Sorry ‘bout that one, kiddo.

It wasn’t really until I moved to Chicago, and found myself missing her point of view, or her stories, or her wide-mouthed belly laugh, that I realized that Lauren was my friend. As she got a new job, I filled with pride as I knew how impressed her bosses would be. When she bought a new condo, I was anxious to see how she’d decorated it (in under 2.5 hours flat). When she met a new guy, however …that was harder.

As the parents or older siblings in the room can attest – there is this instant feeling of panic. Not that she’d make the wrong decision, or do something stupid – more that she’d get lost in the moment and get hurt. I wanted to protect her, to teach her, to help her avoid the heartbreak that comes with dating. And it wasn’t like I’d had it down to a science. But Lauren, true to her personality, grew smarter and savvier, and pretty soon had it all figured out.

I’m still waiting for her to teach me….

When she met George, she talked about him in a way that suggested that she’d found a mate. Not just someone with whom she could see eye to eye (well, almost!), but also someone that could challenge, balance, teach and love her. Someone who could protect, advise, laugh with, and adventure with her.

Apparently, it was true.

I’ve always been inextricably linked to Lauren. I now realize that I was never fully me without her. And now I’m willingly letting go, just a little bit, to share her with George. I figure it’s a win-win. We needed another man around the house, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. Given the amount of legroom the five of us take up, though, it should be interesting just trying to GO ANYWHERE in the car together.

George, I couldn’t be happier to welcome you to the family, and know that you and I will become the best of friends – as well as family. You are a kind soul with a heart of gold and I know you will take care of my sister always. You probably won’t run her over with a lawnmower, either.

Lauren, I have never been more proud of you than I am today, and I have never been more certain about something than I am about you and George choosing each other. I have never been more thrilled to be included, and I have never been more honored to offer up this toast, to my beautiful sister, my friend.

I’m so lucky to have you in my life, and I know George feels the same way.

So let’s raise a glass to Lauren and George:

I wish you both a lifetime of lasting love, belly laughs, good health, smart kids...

and…extra legroom.

Na zdraví!
(Cheers in Czech)

Big People, Beer, Babies and Blankets

My mom's side of the family, the O'Briens, got together in St. Louis this weekend (her hometown) and I drove in from Chicago, and my parents, Lauren and George drove in from Atlanta. It was a great time, and I learned a few things along the way.

We reconvened on Friday evening at my Aunt Mickey's house, which she shares with her charming and sweet husband Jerry, and laughed at dinner as we collectively tried to solve the world's problems - first the mortgage crisis, then immigration issues, then relationship battles and then corporate frustrations. We were not always in agreement, yet at the end of the night, we all knew where we stood. Together.

Saturday afternoon we toured The Gateway Arch, which is quite an engineering marvel, and all stifled our own bouts of claustrophobia as we boarded the tiny 5-person capsules to elevate to the top of the 630-foot monument where we could see far and wide, east and west. In the trek up into the sky, we had fun trying to squeeze all five of us into the car, equaling almost 30-feet of legs into one tiny little space. We are big people. Being inside the monument brought back memories of that very same visit from about 25 years ago, when we cousins were all little kids leaning on the carpeted observation platforms to look down into the city below. When we stood at the base and took photos along the stainless steel, reflecting in the metal and in each other's faces.

That evening, we gathered at my cousin Carrie's lovely house to celebrate and surprise my Aunt Maureen's 60th birthday. At one point in the evening, while we were all chugging Anheuser-Busch products just to stay cool, I stopped pounding the city's staple beer long enough to realize that eight of my mom's nine siblings were there - and one look around the room confirmed it. They all look so much alike, like carbon copies of the others, really, that it fascinates me. Genetics were good to the O'Briens, and it is fun to see them all in the room together.

Even their voices are the same - except Uncle Terry's this weekend as he was suffering from laryngitis - and more than once I mistook one of my aunts for my own mother. As for the noise? Wow. The din rose to nearly deadly decibels at times, causing many of us to wince at least once. Terry, I think you're free from blame this time.

My favorite thing about these gatherings is to sit with a cousin that I may not see very often and really connect - find out what's been going on since Christmas, or the last wedding, and how life is treating them. It is always interesting to acknowledge how much alike we all are, too, in the second generation - having been raised by parents with the same values and ethics and moral compass - so we all seem to respond to life's challenges and celebrations in the same way. And, we all like a good party. Michelle - I have no doubt we'll figure it all out and look back on this time and laugh - let's just enjoy it now while we can. The rest of them are probably envious of what we have!

All in all it was a great visit, capped off by a girly bridal shower for my cousin Maureen in San Francisco at my sweet Aunt Sharon's house. It was our first "virtual" shower as we had her on the phone (Skype was being finicky) and showed the gifts to one another before wrapping them, all to go into a large postal box headed west. That will be one fun box to receive! Hopefully it arrives before the baby girl does. I spent much of the day marveling and my cousins' beautiful children - but when naptime was long overdue, was not too sorry to give them back to their mothers.

Yesterday's drive back to Chicago was fairly uneventful, albeit long and boring. After leaving St. Louis, and the hilly green lush landscapes near the Missouri River, I was treated to 4 and a half hours of flat, brown fields of farmland, with vegetables and grains that this city girl is hard pressed to identify. Either way, when I passed Midway airport and could finally make out the skyline in the distance, I felt a sigh of relief.

I'd had a lot of time to think while trekking north through my state. It felt good to walk into my apartment and drop the bags at the door. While I love leaving town every now and then for a fun weekend filled with family, witnessing great monuments, surprise celebrations, technologically savvy parties and shocking road-trip moments, I'm always thankful to be home. I already missed my family, and looked forward to the next time we'll all be together, which thankfully is in September for Lauren and George's wedding.

I can't help but compare family to a blanket, though. As I had plenty of time to think in the car on the way back, I realized that family, no matter the size, is as reliable and comfortable as a blanket you've had for years. Not the nubby one that your mom cut up into smaller and smaller pieces to wean you off of it, or the scratchy one at a cheap hotel, but the one that is lovingly draped across the arm of your favorite couch.

Forgive me as I explore this metaphor.

With family, as with every good blanket, there are areas that are frayed and showing wear and tear, and there are holes where the knots aren't as tight as they used to be, and there are stains that show the history of its use, but one thing holds true.

Just as with a blanket, where it pulls tighter and the threads stay woven close together, family has a way of pulling together when it is important to do so. I witnessed this phenomenon in several instances this weekend, some happy and some sad, and feel reassured that when in doubt, family pulls together and comforts us when we need it.

I realize, too, that not everyone feels that way, and even I doubt it sometimes, but I do believe that our family does it well. We can all recognize that we're threaded together in different patterns, taking various paths and making unique choices, but at the end of it all, we're all interwoven, made from similar fabric. Sometimes it just feels good to shrug that blanket onto your shoulders and bask in its warmth, and sometimes you don't need one, and are better off on your own.

But, we all would be lost without the others - no one has ever warmed themselves in winter with just a scrap of fabric or a few loose threads - we are better together for certain. Our family is built on, proud of, and strengthened by the traditions that are handed down through the generations, and we will ride out the areas of life that are wearing us thin. We'll show off the beauty of our clan and celebrate the milestones as one cohesive unit. We truly are a beautiful blanket to behold.

And, quite frankly, we all look good laying on the couch.

Kool & The Gang is Stuck in My Head Now

As I indicated in my previous blog this week, a lot has been going on. Not just to me, but to those around me.

It seems that there are many things to be thankful for, and quite a few events to CELEBRATE! Please allow me to turn the focus off of myself for once and shed some congratulatory light on those that I love.

And, I apologize in advance if Kool & the Gang's standard wedding hit of "Celebration" is in your head now. Mine too. Yes, it is annoying. Sorry.

Lauren and George:
I couldn't be happier for you. Engaged! I can't believe my little sister is getting married. I am so thrilled that you two are planning a marriage and focusing on the real deal, rather than spending so much time and energy on planning a wedding. While we'll all enjoy a lovely weekend celebration of your marriage in early September, I'm so proud of how you two are handling it all. It seems that you have it all figured out, and I'm excited for you as you begin your life together. You are a blessing in my life, both of you, and I am honored to be a part of your special event. And, George, welcome to the family. The birthday gift (of a bike helmet) may come in handy as you graciously join the Snell clan. We're a rowdy crowd! Welcome to the family.


Brenna and John:
You're married! It was one of the loveliest, most thoughtful and fanciest party weekends of all time, and I was honored to be included in your wedding party. I enjoyed meeting your friends, your families and your extended families. I even enjoyed the part where you tried to set me up with every man over six feet tall who attended the wedding. (John, you know you're guilty.) After what I can imagine was two glorious weeks in Spain, I welcome you back to the city. It's a bit muggy, but at least you can find restaurants selling chicken.


Jill:
A special congratulations to Jill for passing your professional HR certification test! I know how hard you studied - and how difficult it is to stay awake while reading that boring material! - but it all paid off and now you are finished and fancy schmancy professionally official. I'm so proud of you and your new job. I hope that it brings you all the success you deserve, especially given how much you give to everything you do. They are lucky to have (the newly certified) you!


Mandy and Dave:
Again, a baby!! I can't believe how God works - isn't it such a glorious and wonderful miracle to behold? Peyton is one lucky little lady to have had you all to herself for four years now, and I am certain she will enjoy playing Big Sister to your impending arrival. I couldn't be happier for you all. And, if Peyton's darling little face is any indication, your second child will be a stunner!


Bethy and Guy:
Congratulations on baby number 3! I can't believe you guys have three kids. All I've accomplished in that amount of time is three different jobs, a few haircuts and a couple of extra pounds. Brendon is darling and I'm sure your girls are so happy to have a baby brother to pick on, I mean, spoil rotten. Spare the kid some pain and avoid too many pink hand-me-downs. Enjoy him!


Katie and Jeff:
I love your new place, and I love the fact that I've already been invited over twice to celebrate fun times with you. I am glad you forgive me, Jeff, for rearranging your bedroom before you'd even unpacked all the way. It is just who I am, I can't help it. I hope that by putting together the wine rack in the kitchen I earned another invitation. I promise not to touch the electronics or to hang any more pictures. Scout's honor.


Mandi and John:
Congratulations on the impending arrival of baby girl #3 in the family. John, I am sorry that I live too far away for you to teach me how to throw a football - I'm pretty sure you'll have to train at least one of your daughters on the finer points of how to QB and call plays. Because three girls? God Bless You.


Tracy and Vytas:
After 21 months, approximately 20,000 nautical miles, two trans Atlantic passages and visiting 19 countries - I am so thrilled that your adventure at sea is complete and you are back safe and sound in Chicago. It is so great to have you back, and I will keep a watchful eye on you and Sunshine Daydream at home in Monroe Harbor from my office window. Prepare yourself for unannounced visitors arriving by tender! I promise to come bearing (fancy imported) beer.


Elizabeth and Walton:
Now that it is out in the open (or at least it has hit the Internet!), congratulations on your impending baby boy!! I can't believe it, and am so happy for you. Now, the big question on everyone's mind is, what color will your son wear during football season? My personal preference is red, but I'm pretty sure there will be some orange items in his repoitoire. I wish you a healthy and easy pregnancy, a healthy and happy baby boy, and a national championship Bulldogs 2010 season. I may be getting ahead of myself here. Two out of three?


Peter:
Now, this isn't all that well-timed, but after having finished your novella I am fully convinced of your enormous talent for capturing the everyday moments that most of us miss. I'm impressed with your turn of the words, and wish there were more men like Brandon out there. Congratulations, and keep writing - for the good of all!
Heather and Kristen:
Happy birthday to you both! That was timed nicely, now wasn't it? Heather, this birthday wish is early since you're quite a few hours ahead of us here in the States, but oh how I would love to with you to share a basket of fish and chips for your day. Frankly, I just wish we could sit in the back of a London pub all day and laugh about our lives. Enjoy it without me! And, Kristen, I'm looking forward to toasting you tonight. Two girls' dinners in a handful of days is just delicious. And, I hope that soon we'll be toasting your new status as a first-time homeowner...



Okay, so I said it would be about everyone else this time, but here's one reason I'm celebrating a little bit these days.

Lil' Old Me:
I am finally over him. I don't miss him anymore. I still miss the comforts and fun of a relationship, but I realized two weeks ago that it isn't him that I miss anymore. It hurt so much for so long, and then as quietly as the heartbreak came, it left. I feel 100 pounds lighter, mentally healthier and emotionally settled again. I even replaced all of the framed photos in my home with lovely, and positive, evidence of my girlfriends and family. It felt great to put his images in a drawer. I'll forever be grateful for our time together, I'll miss his parents dearly and will envy the girl who gets to have them as her in-laws, and I will cherish our memories. However, I will not cry anymore about him ending things so abruptly and without a sliver of explanation, and it will not stab me in the gut to see him at parties anymore. I'm in a much better place now, and that's reason enough to celebrate. I can even handle the news that he is dating someone. Honestly? I am over it. And freedom from that ache feels so good.


How lucky am I to be surrounded by such great people and exciting things?

Cheers to all!

Anything else we should be celebrating?

(The fact that the song is finally out of your head, maybe?)

(Great. Now it's back. RATS!)