Christmas Songs: week four

Last but not least, I have found a song to be dedicated to my oldest yet youngest child, my child who has severe autism.

Her song is "Silent Night."

Christmas Songs: week three

This week is a little more difficult for me to write. I have struggled to choose a song to dedicate to my youngest boy. He's so easygoing and likes so many things equally that I am not sure. One song stands out although it is only because he was making fun of me for liking it.

Christmas Songs: week two

Seeing as this is Week Two, you might want to catch Week One if you missed it . . .

For this week's song, I want to dedicate "Last Christmas" by Wham! And so you know, that exclamation mark was forced on me. Why do bands even use punctuation anyway? Seriously. But I digress . . .

Christmas Songs: week one

This Christmas, I want to dedicate a song to each one of my children. The reasoning behind the dedications will be different and as unique as each of them. I hope you enjoy it.

Two things inspired this series. The first is "Feliz Navidad" by José Feliciano, and the second is my little son who is not so little anymore.

I Dream of Genie: The Complete Series

I hope you enjoy my "I Dream of Genie" mini-series. It was a story begging to be told. And please, if you only read one part, read Part Four.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

I Dream of Genie: Part Four

We enjoyed many good times from that first late night talk to the first guitar thank you kiss to being introduced to best friends and invited into a new circle of more adult-like individuals to becoming so much in love that I felt afraid of what we shared.

And that was when it started to fall apart for me, which brings me to why I wanted to tell you about my darling Genie in the first place.

I shattered my own romantic fantasy by breaking up with him by getting back together with the love/hate relationship, best friend of his younger brother guy—twice. I was a pathetic mess because I loved my no longer a crush, genie boyfriend, but I felt tied to my long-time, unhealthy relationship boyfriend for reasons we won't go into.

Confusion reigned supreme. I didn't know how to handle it at all; therefore, I pretended like it didn't happen by picking up where I left off with the old boyfriend who felt safe despite our damaging, unhealthy relationship issues.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty over rejecting a boyfriend after so many years have gone by, but I do. I was so immature, self-absorbed, ignorant, and without a compass. My adult self is disgusted by the thought of such grotesque lack of care for someone's feelings as well as the lack of self respect I employed, but the past is the past, and it can't be redone. I guess I just really wanted to make sure the story got told in a more permanent way in order to immortalize the grand kindness I was shown.

On the other hand, I also wanted to make sure everyone knows that while I am a romantic, I have also been capable of destroying love and trust for which I am deeply ashamed. How I treated him is one of my big regrets in life. So, I will end this tale with an apology in the hope that somehow, someday he might find this story and read it:

Dear Bryan,

I could say a million things—I've even written them out then erased them—but I won't waste any more of your time with romanticized nonsense. 

I really want you to know how very sorry I am for how I disregarded you as a person when we were together. I hope you might be able to forgive me. 

Also, thank you for your kind and loving ways you showed me so generously. You taught me about things that still help me in life to this day.

Warm regards,
Laura

I Dream of Genie: Part Three

When I got home from that magical evening, I did what any young adult who lives at home would do. I raided the fridge, went to my bedroom, locked my door, turned on some music, journaled all about how this amazingly gorgeous in so many ways guy and I talked for hours, then laid awake thinking, wishing, and imagining how life might actually be different in a better way than ever before.

I was lying there awake for way too long, so when I finally crawled out of bed the next day, it was late. I'm thinking around noon time. And let me tell you—my head was hurting so badly. I talked and talked the night before without any thought of drinking anything, and I believe it was summertime. If my love/hate relationship guy and I had only broken up a couple times, I would better remember the season. Alas, it just isn't so. I do recall waking up hot and sweaty. Maybe that's proof enough that it was summer? Well, except we're talking about Las Vegas, so it could have been spring, summer, or fall . . . or maybe a warm winter's day (just kidding).

Back to the point. I woke up with a headache, equaling bad mood, nearly cancelling out the blissful evening I fell asleep to which caused the sweetest of dreams. In this state of aching head and sleepy eyes, I opened my door . . .

I forgot to tell you! My bedroom was a sort of apartment on the back of the house, providing me with my own front door. The only bad thing about this "apartment" was how it didn't have a bathroom or kitchen which forced me to go inside the house every once in awhile. I think my parents planned it that way on purpose. They knew they'd never see me again if I had plumbing out there.

. . . I opened my door and nearly tripped over something. My eyes were still not quite awake, but this event jolted my senses from head to toe. I sat there stunned for a minute with questions whirring through my now very much awake brain: Why was there a guitar by my door? Who could have put it there? How does this seem possible? Could it have been him? Was last night for real or what? Just as my thoughts began to iron out, I realized there was a note weaved between the guitar strings. It was a drawing of a genie with the words "Your wish is my command" scrawled on it.

Can we all just stop for a moment of ever loving silence for that?

Needless to say, I squealed out loud like a freak, read the note again, looked at the guitar, and recalled our conversation the night before. That smile from the previous night spread across my face until it was beaming out my eyes. I threw clothes on, freshened up my face and hair, and drove to his house to say thank you with words—at first—then with kisses. Amazing first kisses that I will never forget because it was all such a dream. My crush from when I was a sophomore in high school was actually, in real life, holding my face in his hands and kissing me.



...to be continued next week.

I Dream of Genie: Part Two

The miracle occurred when I was standing in the hallway. I cannot remember why this impossible crush, older brother of the best friend decided to recognize me as a living being, but he did. It was like an out of body experience. I was invited in to talk about music and art and other such things with someone who was completely beautiful to me already, but now I realized how artistically amazing he truly was. I'd heard him sing in high school, so I knew about his gorgeous bass voice, but what I didn't know was how he lived artistically. Music, drawing, singing, writing, a band, thinking, creating. All that combined with his tall, dark and handsomeness, and you can see how it was almost too much for my cast off heart to handle.

It has been so long ago that I can't remember everything that we mulled over that first evening, but I distinctly recall feeling valued for my creative side. And as I think about it further, it is possible that some of these details of memory are a montage of a few conversations with him. Regardless, up until him opening the door to me that first time, I don't believe I had ever been appreciated in that light. Sure, guys had connected with me for my sporty side or because I liked dancing or for my outgoing personality or my inexhaustible charm (I am so way kidding. Just checking if you're still listening or if you're speed reading through.) No one before him ever wanted to talk so in depth with me about music love. Actually, that is one thing I will always be thankful to him for. It made me feel instantly important and of value during a time when I couldn't see my own worth.

Now getting to that genie business:

We got talking about his band and instruments, and I said that I'd really like to learn how to play guitar. I didn't invest a lot in anything I said or heard him say though. I was in simple awe that he and I were talking face to face. That was all I needed to be happy in that moment.

But all happy moments must end, especially when the day and night have both wasted away and it's time to go home. However, I left with a big smile on my face, driving home on cloud nine wishing new wishes that I could never imagine what they would bring.

. . . to be continued next week.

I Dream of Genie: Part One

As I awoke from dreaming this morning, I recognized a familiar face in the world in which I slept from many years ago. I hadn't forgotten about him, but I also had never allowed myself to really feel the depth of what happened between us. Until now . . .

I crushed on him as a sophomore in high school. I had a boyfriend with whom I was madly in love, but it was okay because he was two years older, and in high school years, that might as well be two decades. So that's as far as I ever thought about him—until after graduation, after my long-time boyfriend and I broke up for the umpteenth time (we had a seriously passionate love/hate relationship for being so young), after I had turned into a very different sort of girl, after I forgot who I was. 

My love/hate relationship boyfriend and I were in the midst of one of our maybe this time is the last time because it sure feels like it should be the last time break ups. Is that enough said? I think I set up the background well with that. I feel ridiculous right now. Please don't laugh. I was only 19 years old at the time . . . so anyways.

I had been rejected, felt quite dejected, and was left wanting a home for my damaged heart. The problem with this scenario is where I went looking. My circle of friends with whom I regularly spent time had become microscopic post-graduation: my boyfriend (ex for the moment), his sister-in-law, his best friend, and his best friend's wife. At the time, I couldn't see how isolated I had made myself, so it wasn't strange for me to still go spend time with these people even though he and I were broken up. I reflect on it now, and think WHAT WAS I THINKING?! and WHERE WERE ALL MY TONS OF OTHER FRIENDS?! Oh yeah, I was an expert idiotic young adult, and I had pushed them all away (There were a few I kept at arm's length, but very few). 

On just a random evening while wanting for company, I drove my chocolate brown VW Bug over to the best friend's house to hang out with my friend Jen (the best friend's wife). I don't remember much except for eating spaghetti squash for the first time, trying to act like I wasn't lonely, and then, just as I was thinking about leaving, being noticed by the best friend's older brother who, until that night, I only ever thought of as my impossible high school crush.

I know that sounds terrible, but it's true. He was trapped in my mind as an objectified crush who was too old for me and had a girlfriend, so he was just there to be appreciated for his good looks, yet completely unnoticed as a person who needs friends and love.

But a miracle happened—in my dejectedness, he spoke to me—opening my eyes more fully to the beautiful creature that he was.

. . . to be continued next week.

Writing of the #PurpleSerial Series

If you haven't noticed, I love to write. I write silly things, weird things, romantic things, and even quite serious things. But somehow I haven't figured out how to write when I am under pressure. It feels impossible. My goal is to blog meaningful words that might cheer and bless those who read them, yet I keep falling silent from time to time. The woman who can talk 'til everyone else drops loses her words—a supremely oxymoronic situation, to say the least.

However, I have other places wherein I write that provide me with a different sense of my audience. The most conducive venue for opening up for me is Twitter. I feel as if we are in a small room spending friend time together and stories, cherished or irritating or funny memories, start spilling out.

At first, I didn't have a hashtag for these stories of mine, but then I would choose one that made sense or made the content feel funnier. Finally one day, I decided to use the same one each time so I can search it easier, my following can find the stories quickly, and it's just really super awesome. So yeah. That's how #purpleserial serials came about and will continue on.

I love telling stories. Thanks for coming back for more in whichever venue you do.  It fuels my fire to no end.