Yes, I have another blog. There is nothing wrong with it, except that I have forgotten the log-in information for the 22nd time. I know, I know - you can probably e-mail them and tell them you are an idiot, and then they will feel sorry for you and give you the information after they ask you a magical personal question. (My dad's middle name was Mart, in case anyone desperately wants to know.) That being said, this seems as good as time as any for a fresh start, a new place to call home, a new chapter in life. My story is anyone else's story and no one else's story, all wrapped in to one. I had a mother and a father. One brother. I had gerbils as my first pet, we purchased a pregnant one (unknowingly) and when the mother had the ugly little naked babies, she ate them. It was terrible for a seven year old. My mom took me to the humane shelter and bought me a cat to try to wash away the memories of the gerbil. I am 25 and I still remember the gerbil.
School happens, life happens, loved ones enter the world and exit it. At 16 and 3 months I met a boy. I didn't really meet him when I was sixteen. It turned out many, many years before (when we were only 12) he asked me "out" for another boy. I remember I was mean to the other boy, but the boy who did the asking - well, him I don't particularly remember. Fast forward a few years and he was a harmless, nerdy runner whom I thought was nice and I had no interest in. I think three weeks later I told my Gram I would marry him. Turns out I did - he was too perfect to pass up - a "prince charming in the rough", if you will. We went to college together, we got engaged, we got married, we finished college (at least I did, for the time being) and then we went to the big, huge city. Nate was accepted in to the Indiana University School of Medicine. We got a sweet little house and I thought we were surely going to meet our deaths in the big city. Then we signed a 3 year contract with ADT (this was a horrible, terrible, very bad mistake) after about 2 months in the crime ridden city, we realized we did not actually live in the crime ridden city and wanted to get rid of the $50 a month ADT bill. 2 years and 10 months later I joyfully and excitedly told the ADT customer service agent that we were finally done with the contract. I think I may have giggled and squealed. The agent told me that since we had been such loyal customers we would now qualify for better rates and extra perks. I considered it longer than I should have. Worry not, my friends - I escaped the call and cancelled the ADT.
Somewhere along the line, a degree was earned in history, I got a big girl job, the big girl job laid me off, I got pregnant, I lost the baby, I lost myself for a while. I found myself a little while later with a job at the Saturday Evening Post. I was pregnant once again. Life was wonderful, but it wasn't, there was always something missing, always the next big thing, the "I will be happy when..." statement.
A healthy baby boy was born, and in his room are a few Norman Rockwell prints. They make me smile and he points to them often now that he is one (fourteen months old, because I am a mom that labels all of the months....) Now, I stay at home with the little boy. Sometimes I suffer from the "Grass is Greener" syndrome, and it is on those days that I imagine sitting on the couch in the archives, looking at those beautiful magazine covers that my dear, dear Norman Rockwell painted for me. They have stories and I imagine that Norman (because he is my friend, but to many others I will just refer to him as Mr. Rockwell) is telling me the stories of those covers, those works of art and I am transported to a different time, a different part of America, a different me. This version of Jen is relaxed, calm, and professional and put together. Norman and I chat like old friends over coffee.
After a while, a little boy wakes from a nap. I ask dear Norman to excuse me for this time. I walk in to a room in a messy house to a very happy little boy. This is the best me, the me that is myself and comfortable in my skin, who I am as an individual, and passions that I have. Then, I gather the little boy and we go play outside. I have fun, which often time surprises me. Playing outside is not something that I used to enjoy, but for now it is growing on me.
After the day, perhaps I meet Norman again. Maybe we will chat and have some more coffee in the archives, but this time it will be decaf I will tell him some stories. Maybe my stories will inspire a new cover for a magazine, a young mother playing with her child in a mud-puddle. Maybe a happy wife greeting her husband at the door. Sometimes she is herself, harried after a long day, but joyful, perhaps plopping down on a comfy couch to read a magazine while her husband, the almost doctor gets beaten up by his son's stethoscope.
All of the covers of the magazines are good.
