Queen Kelley

It’s been difficult to keep up with the blog lately, mostly due to a heavy workload. It seems that since our Wicked weekend, we’ve faced one thing after another—whether it be a deadline for an editing project, necessary overtime for the King, a UTI for Butterfly, or my own little stomach bug this week. I enjoyed my birthday weekend (I turned 31 on Sunday). We spent it attending the party of my best friend’s little girl, enjoying the company of the fabulous Macon grandparents (who aren’t really grandparents but certainly act like them), and eating chocolate cake. I even got money, some soft pajamas, and a precious homemade card from my Butterfly. Who says birthdays aren’t important once you turn 30? I try to milk them for all they’re worth.

Monday went by normally. The girls and I spent a quiet day in the house, as it was too cold and windy to venture out. We all need downtime, days when we expect nothing of ourselves but relaxed, spontaneous playtime together. By Monday night after dinner, though, I had a mild stomachache, which graduated to intense pain after the girls drifted off to sleep. As the King noted in his post, I felt too awful to leave the couch at my own bedtime and ended up tossing and turning downstairs throughout the night. Of all common sicknesses, I think a stomach bug is the worst, whether it happens to me or my kids. It’s just the worst feeling! Fortunately, I have an incredible husband who stayed home most of Tuesday, even though his workload triples mine right now. He spent quality time with the gals, allowing me to rest and read when I felt like it.

This morning, my appetite is slowly returning. I’ve missed it! The girls are playing calmly, and we’re thinking about heading to the library for storytime. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it to this much-anticipated Halloween and also Butterfly’s combo birthday party Saturday, which she is sharing with her best friend. Maybe….

Reluctantly returning to the real world after a fabulous weekend, I think I know the moral of the story: “Never underestimate the importance of a trip—even a short one—alone with your spouse.” The King and I left the girls at their GG and Pawpaw’s home in Jefferson Friday afternoon. Looking at each other and breathing a sigh of relief as we played OUR music, we headed to the Mall of Georgia. We spent several hours there scrounging up a few Christmas gifts and eating too much at Ruby Tuesday. Afterward, we relaxed in our room at Fairfield Inn—that is, until we decided to head back out for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. We consumed more than 1,000 calories and 64 fat grams between us, then breathed more sighs of relief as we enjoyed quiet reading and TV time.

Saturday morning was the best, though. No little feet tiptoed into our room; no pointy finger tapped our shoulders; no small voice expressed its readiness for breakfast. No. We awoke at 6:00, looked around, then relaxed into sleep again. Around 8:00, we decided to crawl out of bed and check out the continental meal offered downstairs. My husband even made me a waffle! Then we headed back to our room and spent the next couple of hours in unhurried, completely restful bliss.

Finally, it was time to get dolled up for our trip into Atlanta. After managing a couple of awkward timed photos outside the hotel, we were off to find cheap parking near the fabulous Fox Theatre ($10!). We walked down to the Old Spaghetti Factory, where we enjoyed various pasta offerings and I sipped a blackberry Italian soda, all while surrounded by enormous chandeliers and a peaceful atmosphere. As the clock ticked toward 1:00, we finished our meal too quickly by habit, then strolled back up the street, where we were surprised to see the hordes of people already gathered at the theater in anticipation of the afternoon’s show.

We met our friends and then settled down for three hours or so of slack-jawed amazement as incredibly talented performers told us the little-known back story of the Wicked Witch of the West. The show was absolutely astounding—everything people had told me and more. The vocal stamina required of most characters bewildered me. How do they do it? Wicked the musical is a beautiful story of friendship, love lost and won, the trouble with power, the plight of the oppressed, and the ability of an individual to effect change, accompanied by a moving score and breathtaking sets. Sprinkled throughout the show are hilarious tidbits that explain pieces of Frank Baum’s original tale. For any who love the theater, and for those who, like my husband, could live without it, I can almost guarantee that you’ll be entertained and amazed.

The beauty of our night away was matched only by our reunion with the girls Saturday evening. Full of excitement after more than 27 hours of one-on-one attention from GG and Pawpaw, they still gave us the best hugs ever. The King and I are grateful to his parents for the getaway we so desperately needed. Hopefully, we’ll aim to get away more often in the future.

Both of our girls have endured two recent courses of antibiotics for random infections. Normally cautious about accepting prescriptions, as I fear the overuse of certain medications, I was tired of wiping their noses and hearing them complain about their aches and pains.

Whenever Butterfly is on antibiotics, her temperament gets even more erratic than normal. In particular, she sometimes struggles to sleep because she is “sad.” One such evening, I put the girls to bed alone, as the King was at class. Butterfly informed me first that sleep was “too boring,” then said she was too sad to sleep. Even so, I went through her routine of reading three books, brushing her teeth, then rocking and singing. Then I laid her gently in bed and kissed her. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she said, “But Mama, I’m just sad. I’ve reached into my thinking bin, but all I can pull out are sad thoughts. The happy thoughts are all the way at the back.”

Inwardly, I shook my head. Where does she get this stuff? It made sense, though. “I know it’s hard to think of happy thoughts sometimes,” I admitted. “I have a hard time falling asleep some nights too.” I offered her some classical music (written long ago just for little girls like her), gave her another kiss, and assured her I’d check on her again.

The rest of the night passed without incident, but a few hours later I lay in bed pondering her unintended metaphor. To be honest, my thinking bin is often filled with melancholy, worrisome, busy thoughts that keep me from sleep too. How much effort would it take to reach into the back and pull up the pleasant thoughts that I know are there? Maybe I simply need to reorganize my thinking bin and make those thoughts more accessible!

[For the record, when I asked Butterfly what a thinking bin looks like, she said it's a glass box with beautiful pictures at the back and scary pictures at the front...sometimes. She said other times the beautiful pictures are at the front. Maybe we can both get them at the front more often!]

Okay, I’ll admit it. My King was a teeny, tiny, little, miniscule bit right when he suggested our money (sixty dollars!) might go to better use at a place other than the fair. And, as he describes in his post for today, Ladybug presented an enormous challenge as we struggled to keep her safe from manure-filled wood shavings, the powerful hind legs of resting cows, zooming golf carts, and the enticing mashed cigarette butts lying on the road. Her protests whenever we tried to redirect her were loud enough for half the attendees to hear. She much preferred to push the wagon than ride in it. And big sister, as sweet as she was the entire time, cared little for the wagon as well, so the thing ended up being a huge burden in itself. (Thank goodness for Aunt Katie and Friend Erin, who were of tremendous help!)

Despite my earlier predictions, the weather still felt a few degrees too warm, especially in the direct sunlight. The cheese on the pizza I helped the girls eat was a bit rubbery from sitting out too long, the usually delicious roasted corn sported a mushy black spot the size of a quarter, and the funnel cake had enough powdered sugar to make a miniature Christmas village atop the picnic table. My back and arms ached from lugging Ladybug around, and my shirt grew damp in the heat. The parrots were unbelievably loud at the petting zoo (where, as the King noted, my girls did NOT pet the animals!).

Even with all the negatives, though, something in me knew it was right to be at the fair. It’s simply tradition. Four years and four pictures of Butterfly devouring funnel cake (her sister, smart gal, wouldn’t touch the stuff), little girls pointing at all the sights with wide eyes, Ladybug exclaiming at the size of a lazy black cow, Butterfly holding my hand and listening intently as I described the various animals at the zoo, the kids having a blast on the playground display, Ladybug blowing kisses at the rather frightening and enormously tall robot, Butterfly describing the rides Daddy took her on, and just plain old people watching—this is the essence of the fair.

Again, I’ll admit it is way too expensive. I imagine, though, that the King and I will have the same argument again next year.  And what a gentleman he is to indulge his wife’s whims on occasion. Bottom line: the fair isn’t as fun when you have to take fiercely independent toddlers, but somehow it’s still fun. At least for me.

Last night, as we drove home from church, Butterfly commented, “I just love it when it’s dark!” The 7:30 darkness is new for her, as the days are finally shortening with the arrival of cooler weather and the fast approach of fall. A few moments later, while the King was rattling off a fabulous story for her, Butterfly blurted out, “Look! I see the first star.” I immediately began reciting, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight….” I didn’t make it to “have the wish I wish tonight.” In Butterfly’s excitement, she exclaimed, “I get to make a wish! I wish I would have everything I wanted.” She thought for a second and then added, “Amen. Now back to the story, Daddy!”

Don’t we all wish for everything we want? How many of us follow it with an “amen,” with a “so be it”? I imagine what Butterfly wants consists of ice cream for dinner, a movie night, a trip to Disney World, and every desirable toy she might spy. For me, it’s a little more complicated. I want health and long life for my family, more time with my husband, a completed novel that sits on a bookstore shelf with my name as the author, an end to cancer and hunger and economic woe, understanding and humility among the various groups of faith, and…and…and…. The list is too long for a blog post. Sometimes I wish my wants were simpler, like ice cream and Mickey Mouse. Those are a bit easier to acquire. Maybe I can at least try to find contentment with where I am now, even as I strive to make my one little corner of the world a better place. Amen?