Archive for the ‘Family’ Category

With Twisted Tongue

Posted: March 29, 2011 in Family, Funny, Love
Tags: , , ,

I admit that I laugh when my husband confuses himself. He frequently trips over his tongue when trying to make jokes. He has admitted the reason this happens is due to over-thinking what he will say. He also reports that he gives himself pep-talks telling himself not to say the wrong things. This leads him to make these mix ups, especially when one option is potentially insulting. I have lost count of the times he has choked on his own foot. At these times he spits a tornado of apologies and blushes profusely.

A couple nights ago he had a blip though it was not really insulting at all. This one stood out amongst the rest.

We were discussing our beta fish, Marely, and his mad bubble-making skills. Erik was talking about how our Marely became upset when he accidentally popped the “bubble nest” that betas make when they are happy and ready to “nest” while refilling the tank with water.

Erik was getting tired and it showed. He he started his comment with “It makes me funny…”

I cut him off, “It makes you funny, huh?”

“No!” he declared angrily and then began again, “It makes me funny when Marley shows how angry he really is ”

“Do mean that it makes you laugh, or that you find it funny?” I asked, because yes, I am that much of a smart aleck.

He was thrown off. He didn’t even notice that he had even made the mistake the first time; let ALONE the second. The blushing began, and he admitted that he must have crossed them. He cursed the way his mind processes language. I, on the other hand, told him how much I loved him.

“The best part is, Erik, that you corrected me by saying the same thing again! And in the long run, it really DOES make you funny to me,” I giggled.

He grinned profusely.

It reminded me of a crisscross that one of my aunts made growing up. She stated a fabulous combo “crack my butt off“. She must have really been cracking up, and in the end we all were laughing our butts off.

I have always had an affinity toward Fleetwood Mac, as well as Stevie Nicks. If we rewind to an evening in early October, my mother gave birth to her youngest child. It was her second daughter. She had a spat with my father over this daughter’s name. Would she be Stephanie or would she be Michelle? My father desperately wanted Michelle, but my mother won. That little girl, also known as me, was named Stephanie.

My mother wanted to name me after her idol, Stevie Nicks. Stevie had been born “Stephanie”, and took Stevie as her stage name. I went by Stevie with my extended family ever since, though to my friends I was always called Stephanie post 3rd grade when I mastered spelling my own name with confidence.

I share this little jewel with you because from time to time I will pop my Fleetwood Mac Greatest Hits album into my cd player in my car, just to feel a little closer to home.

I grew up listening to a lot of The ‘Mac, as you could imagine. It just seems that the older I get, the more I actually understand and relate to the songs that I used to sing along to on the long road trips to my grandmother’s house. Each song has begun to speak to my heart and remind me of feelings and memories I can not express in my own words with such eloquence.

On my drive home from work yesterday, I popped the disc in after hearing my mother’s voice on my voicemail. The song that roped me in was an old one, but surely a good one.

“Gypsy”, written and sung by the one and only Stevie Nicks became my car ride anthem. I must have listened to it about 8 times before getting home. Stevie reflects upon a younger version of herself, and how from time to time that self shines like a lightening bolt lighting up a midnight sky.

It made me think about my prior post. I know deep down inside I am still that same old gypsy, though my actions are now a lot more careful rather than carefree. And from time to time, I can see my husband’s eyes light up when I do something quirky that reminds him of the person he fell in love with only 3 years ago. I have changed dramatically and aged quickly, but that gypsy is still twirling on the mountainside in my heart.

As I write this, I miss my mother. I have not seen her since Christmas, and can’t wait to hug her tightly again. I talk to her frequently on the phone, and last night I called her back after my drive home was complete. Almost as if I was destined to listen to “Gypsy” and reflect the car ride, my mom mentioned a little tree I gave her one Halloween. I was teaching at the time, and went to work dressed as a gypsy for the holiday. On my way out the door, my boss handed me a tree that was donated to the school to be handed out by a local nursery. Living in an apartment limited my ability to plant such a tree, so I drove from work to my parents farm.

I bounded through the door the way I did when I lived there, and my mother looked at me with smiling eyes. “What are you doing here!? Won’t Erik (my husband) be missing you?” she squealed with glee.

“Well mom….What do gypsies give out for Halloween?!” I exclaimed back, with my gift hidden behind my back.

She looked bewildered until I whipped out my tiny pine from behind my back. My mother giggled with delight.

She planted the little tree outside of the living room window where she could see it from her favorite spot on the couch. She was out shoveling every snow storm this winter to dig the little tree out for its own safety, and she is determined to keep it alive despite everything.

On the phone last night she was giving me my regular update about the little tree, but instead of calling it “your tree” as she usually did, she called it “The Gypsy Tree”. My heart smiled a little, as I accepted my little bits of happiness and reassurance.

I am still the gypsy after all, so I guess you can still call me Stevie.

I was once known to be a wild child. I was the renegade nerd girl that spent my youth being an inspiration to those who were close to me, yet I was invisible to those who were outside of my immediate circle. I was a social weirdo before I even learned how to try. I then basked in being the most unusual that I could be to give them something to find weird.

You see… I found it challenging to find my place in the sun when following behind the greats that my siblings were born to be. I had a genius for a brother and a social queen for a sister. I felt invisible. Don’t get me wrong. My family treated me well, but the shadow of their ‘bests’ was a dark place to be at times.

College set me ablaze. I became a blue haired, pierced ,indie-punk rocking, party princess. That eventually lost its luster and I felt no better than Jack Skellington realizing he was the pumpkin king all along.

The best gift that chapter of my life gave me was my fabulous husband. We were friends for two years as I dated one of his friends, but eventually we found one another. We dated a year, were engaged for another, and now will be celebrating our first year of marriage together on Thursday.

All is well and quiet. We relocated from Illinois to Wisconsin so he could advance his career. I left behind my sulking teaching career to create a new life and support the nerd I would die for…

But the question is who am I?