In my 40-year history as a human, I’ve disliked a lot of people for loving me, but none of them as much as I detested my husband.
I just spent a lot of time wondering, subconsciously, mostly, but sometimes at the front of my brain, how he could be so stupid.
So stubbornly blind to my physical flaws and to my pettiness and my meanness and my rage.
So consistently un-revolted by me.
Because the things to hate about me were legion, and I once could have filled pages enumerating them.
Christopher Duffley has had a few obstacles in his life, and certainly hasn’t had an easy route. However, Christopher’s family believes that he was blessed with a gift from God.
School started Tuesday.
On Wednesday, my middle school daughter had picture day.
PICTURE DAY. The day after school started! Which felt like a special form of cruelty, asking me to be organized two days in a row. Like the Universe was saying, “NO, Beth, it’s not enough to have ONE day’s worth of clean clothes; you’re supposed to keep a whole pile of them clean ALL THE TIME.”
When I was a child, I imagined my grown up self differently.
I thought I would be a graceful woman, the kind who glides when she walks into a room. I thought I would smile lovingly at small children and pat them on the head. I thought I’d purse my lips and clutch the pearls at my neck during times of distress. My house would be spotless. My nails would be painted. My dress would be pressed. My husband would be the happiest man in the world. And my children? Angels. Perfect angels.
I thought I’d June Cleaver my way through life, but time and reality have painted a different picture.
By Jeff Goins
Christmas Eve. The perfect picture of anticipation: sleepless excitement for something we’ve been waiting all year for.
Every year on December 24, my parents let us open a present. This was a teaser, a taste of things to come, and we kids relished it. Of course, it wasn’t much of a surprise — my mom almost always got us new pajamas, even when we didn’t need them. But still, it was a ritual of hope, one in which we celebrated the gift of giving, the joy of gratitude.
“There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands.” ~Richard Bach
Recently, I began reflecting on a time in my life I hadn’t thought about in a while.
I began remembering the time when I was five years old and staying with my great aunt and uncle, because the town my mom and I lived in was under siege and unsafe.
So. Our Christmas tree fell over.
It had been leaning for a while (like, since the second we put it up) and then, finally, after a few days, it succumbed to gravity and crashed to the ground amid the sounds of creaking branches and breaking glass and my giant fur-faced husband shouting, “YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING!”