Apr 032011

Last week was warm here in Virginia. The neighbors emerged, the kids got dirty, deep breaths of fresh air were enjoyed. And then – quick as it disappeared – winter returned. Lots of sassy pedicures are languishing beneath wool socks this week. The neighbors are all back in their homes and the kids are frustrated. The weathermen keep threatening snow. They live for snow, those guys.

Everybody’s complaining about the return of the cold, but I like it. It feels like a reprieve. It’s like the SPRING! alarm went off and God hit snooze.

I love spring, but fall and winter are more comfortable to me. My reclusive side, my writer side, my thinker side, my cozy side, my a-little-bit-selfish and nervous-about-the-world side loves weather that suggests staying home. Spring calls – Come out come, out wherever you are! – but I never feel quite finished hiding yet. Tough luck. Hiding in the winter is cozy and sensible and sweet, but hiding in the Spring is depression. So every year in April, Spring announces – IT’S SHOWTIME! and all of those parts of me that I’ve let go during the past six months… eyebrows, legs, teeth, stray facial hairs, clothes, feet, roots, personality. . .they’re all on display under the bright, bright sun. And all of a sudden, there are people everywhere. People, people, everywhere. And they’re not in hurry anymore, because the cold air isn’t forcing them back inside. So I must remember how to make small talk. And big talk, often. Not just write it, but talk it.

I’m here! Hopeful, optimistic Spring calls as she flits around, weightless, and waves her sparkly magic wand.”I’m back! Now Bloom everybody, BLOOM!”

Thank God for hopeful, optimistic Spring. If not for her relentless invitations, I’d stay safe and cramped in my winter cocoon forever. Nature’s rhythm helps me, forces me, to be a better person. Yay, God.

I’ve spent the last few cold days – my reprieve- decorating my house. I’ve never mentioned it before, but I love to decorate. Move things around, Craig calls it. It’s the homemakiest part of me. Mostly I love to decorate with old things, given-up-on things, discarded things. I like to find a way to prove they are still beautiful and still useful.

Like Spring.

Anyway, here is my family room.

I’d be happy to show you more of my home if you’d like, but I don’t want to assume you’re into that sort of thing. I, for one, am a bit obsessed with peeking into other people’s homes. So…two obsessions, I guess: gays and house tours.A-HA. This must explain my love for Mr. Berkus. He’s the double threat.

The sign was made by Kristi and I just love it. It makes me think of all of you and the good, hard work we’ve done here during the past two years.

Come closer and check out the sticky note I added.

Thanks for visiting me.

Love, G

Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery community on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram & Pinterest

Mar 302011

I found this piece of art in Tish’s school folder recently. When I asked her about it, she said, “My teacher told me to draw a picture of me and my mommy. But I didn’t know how. So I just drew a volcano.”

No further comment.

Go in peace, Monkees. May we all lie dormant today.

Love, G

Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery community on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram & Pinterest

Mar 262011

This blog, it’s sort of a living thing.

I never really decide what I want to write about. Ideas come to me instead of from me. Some story or subject taps me on the shoulder and doesn’t stop tapping until I write about it. Being a writer is like being a parent, actually. It’s like being pecked to death by merciless chickens.

Every once in a while I get post requests from readers. They usually say: Jeeeeesh Glennon- you’ve been pretty heavy lately…can we have some funny? Or Pleeease Glennon – I need some God stuff. And I know how they feel.But I don’t choose what to write about any more than I choose my kids’ moods. Something needs to get written so I sit down and get it done so I can relax already. And I just figure that some Monkee, somewhere, needed to read it. No matter how odd it was. And that’s how this little blog here runs. I just trust the system. So far, so good.

But there is one subject that has been tapping me on the shoulder for a long while now. I’ve ignored it out of fear – it’s a tricky subject – so it started pinching me instead. Yesterday it slapped me right across the face so I said ALL RIGHT. Tomorrow morning. I’ll write.

Sisterhood is important to me- you may have noticed. I believe…I know, that we are all more alike than different. That we are all connected. That one woman’s pain is our collective pain and one’s woman’s joy and success belongs to all of us. In short, I believe that We Belong To Each Other. And no matter how many episodes of Housewives Of Whatever I ogle at, I know that stuff is not True. I know the Truth is taking care of each other. Lightening each other’s loads. Recognizing ourselves in each other.Accepting and forgiving each other’s faults and weaknesses. Noticing strengths and celebrating them instead of being afraid of them. Trying our very, very hardest not to hurt each other. Loving each other. It’s hard, but it’s right.

Twenty one.

I have listened; either virtually or in real life, to twenty one sisters explain that their lives and hearts and families are shattered because their husbands had an affair with another woman. Included in these twenty-one have been women I’ve known for decades and women I’ve never met. But the pain is the same…it’s absolutely brutal. It’s indescribable. It’s impossible. It’s hell on earth.

And it always, always rocks me to my core. Because some pain on Earth is unavoidable, but this pain isn’t. Because I believe in marriage, and I believe in sisterhood. And I just can’t imagine being betrayed by both. Doesn’t leave a sister a whole lot to hang on to.

It’s a complicated issue. I choose not to discuss the husband’s role, because I’m not a husband.

I am a wife, and I am a Sister. And I just want to say this to my other sisters. I’d like to make this promise:

I believe in marriage, and I believe in sisterhood. And I will never, ever betray my belief in either one by becoming intimate – physically or emotionally – with another sister’s husband. I’d rather die.

If you have in the past, we forgive you. If you are right now, we forgive you. Just cut it out. Please. It hurts all of us. No matter what you are telling yourself, no matter what excuses you are offering yourself – the Truth is that you deserve better. We all do.

We Belong To Each Other.

Love You, sisters.

Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
Join the Momastery community on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram & Pinterest

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