October 5, 2018

the upside down

One night last year when we were in Venice, Freddie and I got lost (as one should in Venice), and ended up at this little bar. There were only about four tables set up really close together--good ol' intimate Italy. We ate delicious food, ordered some of our favorite drinks, and talked. We talked about how we were both finally ready for kids. We talked about what that might look like--having kids and being parents. We took guesses about which parent from Modern Family we felt like each of us would be most like as parents ourselves. We sat there and laughed, opened up about our potential fears of having kids, and connected for what felt like hours. That night will be one of the nights that I think I'll always remember when I think back to my mind's top five featured life moments. Click. Save. Forever.

Of course I was wondering if that let's-have-kids conversation was spurned more from a vacation high rather than reality, but once we got home we were still on that high so the baby making began. Whoa, sheesh Emily, TMI. Fast forward to today. We're now thirteen months into that initial excitement of baby making. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I still have a glass or four in my hand in most pictures. That's not a cover--there's no Weiss baby hanging out inside of me, so I'm still allowed to have that glass of wine hanging out in my hand.

I wasn't going to write about this topic because the thought of sharing it so publicly feels like A) we want people to read this and go, Awwww no, poor Weisses! or B) I was just another twenty-first century human, oversharing on the internet. Let's not all pretend like we don't live for the vague, yet oversharing Facebook posts though. You see, I'm not writing out this because we want sympathy. Sympathy is the last thing we want. Sympathy makes me feel like something is wrong with us, and the sympathizing person knows it and we don't know it. I don't think I'm strong enough yet for that. I'm also not writing out this because I'm interested in oversharing our lives. There are a lot of emotions to this story that I could never even begin to share. I even asked Freddie if he was okay with me hitting publish on this post because sharing this seems like sharing a very private part of our lives that isn't supposed to be shared.

But I want to share this struggle in case this story is able to be the realistic support to someone. Because in times when I have felt like something bigger is going on with me and Freddie and that I couldn't possibly dig myself out of a dark hole, I haven't found very many places to which to turn. When I turn to the people who have had little-to-no issues conceiving, they're so wonderful and sweet, but they don't really understand. When I turn to the internet, I mostly only find stories of this timeline happening when there is something bigger going on. When I turn to friends who have gone through years, sometimes a decade, of trouble conceiving, it's hard for my mind not to go to a place of worry that Freddie and I are about to embark into many more years of this, and that's scary. I say all of this really just to say that I know there is at least one person out there also struggling feeling like this. Like there's no place, with no real story, to turn. Maybe you're feeling like you're not allowed to struggle with something,  and not allowed to worry. Maybe you feel like you could control your feelings if only this one thing would work out. Maybe you feel like you don't understand anything. I am right there with you. I have felt all of the feelings this past year, and I am still going through all of these feelings almost every single day. I am learning how to rely less on others to pull me out of that dark hole, and instead use my own tools to pull out myself. Some days I'm really good at using my own tools, other days I cry in public in front of strangers. Sharing part of my struggle is for you, and it's also for me.

I've spent the last several months struggling. Big time. In fact you probably read about it here when I wrote about how I couldn't stop crying. I wrote about how I found myself questioning everything. Seriously, everything. (Everything except my Ricky Rick, duh). You see, I've always felt like my purpose here on Earth was to be a mom. And no, it hasn't been because I'm a woman and other than being in the kitchen, being a mom is the only other thing I'm good for---right?! Gag. Me. My purpose came from the fact that I think kids are the greatest. Hands-down, any day I would rather be in a room full of kids than a room full of adults. I've taught kids, I've nannied, I think my sister Ann is still five-years old---I just found my niche with kids, and I've known being a mom would be something at which I'd be good. When you think you've found your purpose on Earth you don't often stop to think, but what if that isn't my purpose on Earth right now... 

There's this yoga class I've started to take on Fridays. It's kind of the highlight of my week. By kind of, I mean it is without a doubt the highlight of my week. At the end of class the instructor reads a quote/some words/a proverb/something for you to take with you into the post-yoga class world. Every single week that I've taken the class, these words have eerily lined up with things I am needing to hear and pound into my soul that particular day or week. It's gotten to the point where the more frequently this keeps happening, the more frequently I find myself leaving the studio on Fridays going, Okay God and Universe, I hear ya loud and clear. This past Friday's words were no different:

Do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know the side you are used to is better than the one to come? -Rumi

When speaking with my doctor last week, I said something that I now realize is utter and complete bull you-know-what. After giving her our spiel of the past year she stopped me and asked, "Okay, but how are you doing?" I responded with my gut response which was that I'm miserable. I'm sad all of the time, and that I've never felt as lonely as I have this past year.

But you know what? My gut response to that question is bullshit (there I said it!). It's total and complete crap! I am sad, miserably sad. I do have a lot of days in which I feel extremely lonely through this, but that's not the complete truth. The complete truth is that I'm finding that by my life turning upside down this year (I realize how dramatic that statement sounds), that this new upside down side is much better. (side note: we're all on the same page that by saying upside down we're all thinking of Stranger Things, yes? Yes. Cool, moving on).

So you win, God and Universe. Freddie and I are becoming stronger because of this. We are becoming more mindful because of this. We are becoming more well-rounded human beings because of this. We have had so many emotional conversations that we would have never had if this wasn't happening to us. And I wouldn't trade that aspect of this past year's sadness for anything. I wouldn't trade the heartfelt conversations while standing in the kitchen. I wouldn't trade the time we've taken to look at our lives and figure out how to better our lives. I wouldn't trade the tears, the hugs, the support, the holding of each other. I'm trying to cherish my time, cherish this life I've been given, and maybe dare I say this, but cherish the struggle a little bit more. We are so completely different than the Freddie and Emily last year who sat down at that Venice bar and talked about Freddie and Emily as parents, but I think we're better than that Freddie and Emily.

And lonely? That's my own issue. Just as I stated in my last therapeutic blog post, I have the greatest people in my life. Friends and family members who are also struggling with their own things, but somehow manage to show up for me and show up for Freddie. Friends who listen even though they might not understand. Friends who watch me cry or cry with me even though crying makes some people so uncomfortable (i.e.: Emily 1989-2017).

So ::insert small screams:: here I am sharing a snippet of our lives and our struggles because being vulnerable brings much more happiness to my life, and that happiness overtakes the suffering. I'm not anyone from whom you should take advice, but! But but but! I will say that every now and then if you'll just let yourself be a tiny bit vulnerable, I promise you're going to get so much in return. We have people are our lives for a reason, and that reason isn't just to say How are you? Good? Good. and move on. We have people in our lives because we're meant to hold up each other, push each other along, and just laugh. Because if we aren't having at least a little bit of fun then what's the point of it all?

*I'm hitting publish on this after several weeks of writing it. Hitting publish today because today feels like a good day. Not every day feels so good, and that's okay. Give. Yourself. Grace. In the wise words of one of my best friends, accept that some days you'll feel shitty and embrace it.

August 15, 2018

on crying

I cried at my parent's house last week.

You see, I do that a lot now. Crying, that is. I also happen to be at my parents house a lot now too, and that's a great thing--it's just the crying thing that I've always thought was not-so-great. While I've dealt with different levels of anxiety and worry throughout life (some warranted and some very unwarranted), I've never been one who cries often. Minus when watching the movie Up, obviously.

So there I was, last week, sitting on the couch down in the den at the Moore house with my brother next to me, and my dad standing across the room from me. My dad had just said something along the lines of, Well, maybe your purpose here is to be a light to others.

I'm with my family who I love beyond words, in my childhood home that is filled to the brim with the best memories, listening to my father say something nice to me and about me, and yet I was crying. Weeping, in fact. I think eventually in the conversation my father got teary, too. That's the thing--the week prior to this I somehow acquired the talent of A) crying often and B) making those around me cry with me. I cried with my parents, my siblings, my husband, and several of my close friends just in the span on several days. But why? Why, when I've got a supportive family/uplifting husband/hilarious friends/roof-over-my-head/more than I could ever want or need in life, do I feel the need to get weepy so often lately?

That question ^^ of Why? is just one of many questions floating around in my head lately. Much like my newly acquired talent of crying, I seemed to have also acquired a talent of questioning things. Everything. Big or small. Doesn't matter, if it's an ideology or a thought or even a fact, I will question it.

This is a story for which I don't really know where to start because I'm not really sure where the beginning is. If we're getting really introspective, which is oh-so-fun, then this story could start all the way at the beginning of time! Whether you believe that that is from day 1 of God creating the world, or if you believe there was a bang and now we're here into existence, my biggest question(s) right now is WHY are we here? Why are we on Earth? What are we doing here? What's the purpose? Why do we have to suffer here?

For purposes of a semi-readable blog post that doesn't take five hours to get through, let's have the beginning of the story be the beginning of this year, 2018. 2018 started with deaths and funerals, a lot of them. There was a span of time at the beginning of the year in which three deaths/funerals occurred in two weeks. I vividly remember crumbling into Freddie's shoulder one night saying It's just too much. Too close together. in between gasps of air and get-the-snot-back-up sniffles. Somewhere in that timeframe I wrecked our brand new car and Freddie got pretty sick, but you see, it's not really anything through which I'm personally going that brings me to this current weepy/questioning stage (although, come on Baby Weiss. We all want you here one day.)--it's watching those who I absolutely love and adore have to learn to live with and through grief while all I can really do is watch and learn from them.

It's not understanding why these great people have to deal with terrible things. Seriously, I have the greatest people in my life, and what has happened to them just isn't...fair.

It's not knowing the right thing to say to comfort others in their time of need.

It's not wanting to accept that maybe my timeline for life isn't the right timeline.

But you know what else happened at the beginning of 2018? One of my best friends had her baby. Her most precious baby who knows just when a smile needs to be broken out. Then another friend had another precious, perfect baby. Then I had several amazing job opportunities come up. Then Freddie and I got to take a trip to one of our favorite places, and spend time with yet another wonderful friend. There's been so much good in this year. Dare I say, the good has outnumbered the sad. I've asked/sobbed about all these Why, Why, Why questions a lot to people this year, and I've gotten some really wonderful answers.

Which leads me to now. To today. I've spent the last month really trying to get out of this poor me/poor you/woe-is-us mentality, and get into a healthy mindset of gratitude, service, and proactive changes. I've tried to reach out more to friends, and let them know what badasses they are. I've tried to listen more, even when it's to Freddie explaining some work thing to me in which I understand every third word. I've tried to show my love and appreciation to every single person in my life because Heaven forbid anyone in my life not know how grateful I am for and to them. I've tried to stop getting caught up in myself and my minuscule problems, and instead get caught up in others. Shout-out to the moment in time in which I deleted Facebook off of my phone. #noregrets and my cleaned out house and hand-lettering practice book are thankful to that moment. 

And you know what? I think I'm slowly starting to realize that it's okay that I'll never get one, tried-and-true answer to all my Why?! questions. Because through all of the uncertainties that the past year has brought, I've found the greatest certainties of all.

It's bursting with pride at my friends and their grace as they deal through unending grief.

It's listening to my husband share his story of losing his mother in an attempt to help heal others' wounds.

It's opening my mind and heart and emotions, and receiving so much more in return through friends and families being willing to be vulnerable and share their stories of struggle.

I am certain that the relationships I have in my life, and the people with whom I get to share all experiences, good and bad, are reasons enough for being here on Earth. And maybe I will keep crying until the end of my time here, but I promise the tears will be happy tears that I get to know and share my life with so many strong, courageous people. I get to!

Be a light to someone. Touch the lives of others, and make a difference in this world.

Do it.

October 13, 2017

on eating a weekday lunch with my mother

There are certain activities that, when accomplished, make you feel like you've really got your life together. Cleaning a car (yourself) is one of those activities.

So obviously I cleaned my car last week.

I know, I know. Yay me. Just try to even get at me, Life! I've got vacuumed car mats, wiped down coin holders, no more Lupe snot infested windows, and dust-free AC vents. What now?

Oh I know what now. How about now I dust off this ol' keyboard and get to type-type-typing?

You don't know how many times in the past lots of months I have sat down to start writing. And that clean car bit was the best I could come up with! I would stop attempting to write because where should I even start? What was so interesting about my life that it needs to be shared? I felt like I had no words. No muse. No reason to write. Mostly because I was/am still trying to sort through my thoughts and feelings about so many things so how could I write on topics about which I had no idea how I felt?

I still feel that way. Suddenly I have found myself in a season of life where I question things. All the things. Everything.

Did we make the right choice to move? On all moves?
Does Lupe need to switch up his food to the seafood flavor?
Do I keep eating chocolate until I turn into an oompa loompa or stop now when I'm halfway there?
Why does Rick put up with me?
Is it time to start a family?
Do I learn all the words to the Moana songs or just the one line?
Is it okay to start The Office again for the fifth time?
Is happiness a choice and am I doing a good job at choosing it?

^^^listen, that's not even scratching the surface of the inside of my head recently. It's as if the characters from Inside Out crossed over with the leads in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

But one thing I've come to realize is that I don't necessarily need to have the right words or feelings---I just need to start type-type-tying through everything and I will possibly find the right words. So here we are.

Hi! I'm Emily. Nice to meet you. Yadda yadda yadda.

Want a quick rundown of what's been going on? Cool. No big deal, Rick and I moved (again), but this time it was back home.
This means a lot of things. For instance, just this past week I had lunch with my mom on Monday, my siblings-in-law came to dinner Tuesday, my sister spent the night Wednesday, on Thursday I taught a new client who remembers watching my grandfather broadcast on TV in Atlanta, and by Friday another new client realized she knows my father-in-law and even helped him set up my rehearsal dinner. 
All in a week's work, my friends, all in a week's work. Lupe spends just as much time, if not more, at my parent's house playing with their dogs, and Freddie and I often end up at places we frequented while dating. It's all so weird, so deja-vu-y, and so wonderful.

But I have to be honest, it's also been hard. I was talking to a client who has moved many times throughout the past twenty years, and I asked her if the moving and starting over was difficult for her. She thought only for a second before responding with, You know, it wasn't. I really tried to bloom where I was planted, and I enjoyed every place we were. 

Bloom where you're planted. I love that! Freddie and I have really have enjoyed each town and each apartment where we've been. We became fluent in being beach bums in Charleston, walked miles up and down King Street, and picked out fun little bungalows in the Old Village. We also became fluent in Texas cowboy, went to fifty million Rodeos and are ready to go to fifty million more, and biked miles and miles and miles around the city of Houston.

Each place has really left a deep impression on our minds and hearts, and I feel like in return we've kind of left pieces of ourselves in each place. Charleston Rick and Emily were different than Houston Rick and Emily who are different than Atlanta Rick and Emily.

Here's where my fun brain comes into play: did we bloom too much where we were planted? Did we get our roots too deeply in too many places? Are we making things harder on ourselves by having to start over every few years? Which Rick and Emily were the best Rick and Emily? And the big one: did we make the right choice to move?

I might not know the answers to most questions I create on a daily basis, but on that last question ^^^ up there I know the answer.

When I get to see and hug our families on a regular basis, when I get to visit my grandfather in the hospital, when I get to teach in the Pilates studio where I fell in love with Pilates ten years ago, when we get to spend a Tuesday evening cooking with old friends and a Wednesday evening playing games with siblings, when I get to go to bed knowing that the next week will bring all those familiar feelings and people again then yes, I know we made the right decision.

What I'm trying to say is A) obviously I need to be medicated, right? ;) B) a lot has been going on, but being Georgians again is fun and C) remember the whole cleaning your car bit from earlier? I guess what I was trying to say there is that coming home is much like cleaning out your old car: a little refresh and shine are all you really need to spruce up things and make something old and familiar feel new and exciting again.

Shoot! I knew I was going somewhere by starting this post with a clean car story. Wink.


pee-sss: I have a very big respect and appreciation for anyone, military or not, whose job requires them to move often. You are my hero. 

pee-pee-sss: Chucktown and HTX friends, we miss the bleep out of you. 

April 13, 2017

famous last words

I'm going to the bathroom to read.

A party! Let's have a party!

Mozart!

I'm bored with it all.

Famous last words. If you Google famous last words you'll find some of ^these^ along with many, many others. If you stalk my blog, you'll quickly learn that I am a frequent famous last word-er. Not sure if there's a support group for us FLWs, but if so A) let me know which church basement I should be going to for this problem, and B) do they serve donuts?

A little over four years ago Freddie left Atlanta for Charleston and never really looked back. Well, he looked back long enough to grab me by my left ring finger and bring me with him marry me. Whenever we were asked if we'd move back to Atlanta or Georgia one day we'd always laugh and say Probably not! Because duh, we had lived in that area our entire lives. Come on, people asking questions, get it together! We wanted to explore, to travel, to be in our own bubble. So we did. We explored, we traveled, and we started building our own little Rick n' Em bubble.

side note: I used to babysit a boy who couldn't say bubbles so naturally instead he called them boobies. It was the greatest

Which is why right at two years ago when Freddie got the opportunity to work in Houston we said Yee-freaking-haw! and traded in our bathing suits for cowboy boots (uh, still my most favorite rhyme ever). Freddie never really looked back after that move either, but I sure as word-that-rhymes-with-bit did. Not living in the town of Chucks was a hard pill to swallow, but once Rodeo Rick and I experienced our first taste of Texas BBQ and watched our first round of Mutton Bustin', we were hooked on all things bigger and badder in the Lone Star State. Still we'd pretty frequently get asked when we were coming home or when we were moving back to the Peach State, and still we'd give people the oh puh-lease chuckle. No. Thank. You.

And now I present you with an intermission story of 
Freddie and Emily: Through The Years Of Moving
Blurry bar pic of Freddie's last night in Atlanta circa 2013
The freckled Lowcountry Weisses circa 2014
Texas Weisses with the addition of Lupe Tortilla Weiss (and his tongue) circa 2016

Being away from family is such a strange feeling. Some days it's nice to have distance and make whatever time you do have together that much more precious, but being away slowly started to feel more like a punishment. Why couldn't we get more than just quick holiday catch-ups with our families? Why, Delta flippin' airlines, do I have to pay $600+ for a plane ticket if I want to go see my family on a trip that wasn't planned 3-4 months in advance?

I remember when Atlanta and thoughts of the potential to live there again one day started creeping back into our heads. We'd casually mention it to each other, and then as if we knew we were saying something wrong we'd take it back.

But we always said we'd never go back! 
But it's Atlanta! 
But it's where we grew up. 
But there are so many other fun places.
But but but...

**It's important to note when I use the pronoun we that 85% of the time I am talking about me/I. I could be in a corner having anxiety attacks about going back on my word while Freddie would be sprawled out across the two patio chairs, beer or cocktail in hand, already having moved on and/or completely forgotten about whatever he said that may sound crazy. Let's all be more like Freddie.

Anyways, who's still with me at this point in the story? Mom? Dad? Good because here's the point of this long butt story:

Georgia or Bust, am I right? East coast, best coast?

We are moving back home! Back to Hotlanta. It's scary, stressful, super quick, but it's oh-so exciting! I hope you inserted your proper response of ::squealing:: right about ^^there! A job opportunity for Freddie came up, and next thing you know we were out champagne toasting Freddie accepting said job opportunity and us planning a move.

Houston was a big bleeping deal for us. We didn't have much money, stability, or even much of a support system when we moved here. It felt a lot like starting from scratch, but we did it. We figured it out. We spent a lot of time just the two of us. We made the best of friends. We budgeted. We found the coolest dog ever (our biggest accomplishment in life, thanks Reddit). We lived here. Here I'm using the verb live not in the yes-we-have-a-Houston-address way, but more in the we-got-through-the-sticky-times-and-created-the-party-times-here way. Because that's what living is really all about, right? Life shouldn't be all butterflies and rainbows, but it sure should be about finding the butterflies and the rainbows even on the cold, dreary days.

Ugh, I hate myself for that analogy. My b. Eye roll. 


I will finish by quoting the great T.I. feat. Rihanna, So live your life (Hey!) Go be, go do, just go. One of my close friends recently moved back home and although her move was for different reasons than ours she shared with me a simple, yett powerful sentence from one of her friends: You will never regret going home. 

So on that note...we're gonna go to Jawjuh!
Over
and
out. 

February 27, 2017

on being distinguished

I have this note on my phone where I jot down just about any thought that comes in my head. The purpose of this habit is, of course, to use these genius ideas as blog posts one day. 

Will our future children be as cool as Lupe? I should blog about it, but obviously the answer is no.
Peanut butter&jelly + traffic. Not sure where I was going with this one, but obviously needs a post. 
0 and 5 years old + laughing. Kids? Laughing? That is nice. Needs a post. 
Changing name. Banana Hammock or maybe I meant last name? Who knows. Needs a post. 
Two types of people: like gasoline smell and don't. Right on, right on. Important stuff. Needs post. 

Wait! I need to stop giving away all my good potential blog material! 

^^But first, let's go back to that last idea up there. Seriously people, how can some of you like the smell of gasoline? My nostrils and I just do not understand this. Please explain. 

Moving on. 

I found a grey hair. Let me rephrase that, I found grey hairs. Plural. Emphasis on the ssssssss part of that word.
a sampling

side story: if you ever say, I am going to get my hair cut around my grandfather he will undoubtedly respond with You're only getting one of your hairs cut? Obviously the hilarity in our family is unreal. Wink. 

This whole grey hairs things kind of all happened fast. One morning after teaching I went to wash my hands. I looked up in the mirror, and my eye was drawn to this one rogue hair sticking up like Alfalfa. I pulled it out and went on with my day. But as I was showing Freddie later, I moved my part over farther than I normally do and wham bam thank ya old ma'am, there were so many little grey hairs just hanging out on my head. Like they'd been there forever. Like I'd lived on this Earth forever enough to have grey hair(s) grow.

Now I'm not freaking out, and I haven't scheduled a hair appointment to dye the bleep out of all my hairs, but I do find it amusing. I've never considered myself a distinguished person, but suddenly I'm viewing the world through my new grey hairs glasses. I feel taller. I feel cooler. I feel like I can hand out advice. I feel like I've lived. I feel like chuckling at the teenagers throwing candy at the movie theater instead of wanting to hurt them. I feel like sipping straight liquor and reminiscing on the good ol' days.

**it's important to note I only have found about 10 grey hairs, and yes, like always, I am exaggerating things. 

**it's also important to note I am not really feeling or doing any of those things. 

Anyways, now that I'm all distinguished and grey and stuff, I decided to cook dinner the other night. This really proves that I am a changed woman because I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've cooked dinner for us. And by one hand I mean three fingers. Don't even need a whole hand to do this math!

BUT WHO IS COUNTING?!

I'm not counting. Well, that's not true. I am counting. My grey hairs. Every time I stand and look in the mirror. One, two, three, four...

Along with being a changed woman and having gone grey (as they say!) (who says that?) (no one) and cooking dinner here are some other new tricks I've got up my sleeve:

  • Buying a new duvet cover and changing out bedding. Big things are happening here. 
  • Taking recycling to our old complex since our new complex doesn't recycle. 
  • Getting my master's in full time Pinterest planning of our upcoming Italy trip.
  • Teaching Pilates to children.
pondering the meaning of grey hair

I've always wanted to sleep with an older woman. -- Freddie on my grey hairs.
But I don't even have that many grey hairs! -- My mother. Thanks for giving me your genes, Dad.

And with that I'm over and out.

I'm glad we could both completely ignore the fact that I haven't posted in a million months. Or just two. But anyways, thanks for ignoring that! Wink. 

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