Remember

Four months ago, yesterday, my son lived through open heart surgery.  I have been thinking and reflecting on this for the last day or so.  Not a lot, but it's been hanging out in the quiet part of my brain that seems to like to talk to me at 3 in the morning or so.  That part that used to whisper "what if..what if.." now whispers "do you know how fucking lucky you are?"

I do.  I really really do.

I get that every single day between then and now has been an absolute gift.  I think about the things that we have done together- every smile, every laugh, every argument- and how grateful I am that I had the chance to have them.

When I am exhausted and he is covered in Kleenex dust- AGAIN- I remember the way the tubes and the needles looked, when they lived inside his body.

When I am pissed off and angry that he is awake and walking downstairs at 430am, I remember the way the hospital looked and felt and sounded in the middle of the night.

When he refuses to eat whatever it is that I made for dinner, I remember the fact that he used to not be able to gain weight.  He has gained almost 11 lbs since May.

In the last 4 months, it is like we have hit a reset button on Sebastian.  He is off his meds.  He is stubborn and defiant.  He is hugging and loving on everyone.

I have been to the zoo with him twice.  We have been to the drive in.  We have read tons of books.  We have told jokes, had fires, gone for swims.  We have eaten in restaurants, ordered in pizza, gone to RibFests and eaten at carnivals.  We have slept in, gotten up early, had naps and stayed up late.

All of it is a gift.  I know this.  Every day, I think this. 

 

At 5 am, when his light flicks on and I hear him make his way to the bathroom, I usually stumble up.  I wait for him to finish.  He comes out, and looks at my face, with the creases from the pillow still drawn across my cheek.  Every time, he smiles.

"Good morning, Mommy."

Sometimes he will do his funny skip over to me and we hug.  Sometimes he walks past, and I smack his butt to get him moving, and to hear him laugh.  Back up the ladder, back into bed.  Good night Mommy.  Good night, baby boy.

Best way to start the day.  Really it is.

Sometimes, he tries my patience.  Sometimes I forget to be grateful.  Somedays, like today, when he started back at school, I am a little bit glad for some time apart. 

But then I realize.  4 months.  4 months between the great wide open and the big bad unknown. 

How much have I changed in these 4 months?  I don't really know.  In some ways, not at all.  I still worry about the same things, I still make a lot of the same silly mistakes.

But I also think more.  I am a little, tiny bit more selfish.  A good mom is sometimes a bit selfish, because if she is happy and healthy and balanced and at peace, then she can be there and present for her kids.  For a long time, I didn't understand this.  I do now.  I understand that life is nothing to take for granted.  I understand that there are no second chances.  I know that today is never coming back.  And really, all you ever have is today.

Today.  Sebastian started school today.  What a good day.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "new year, new miracles".

Being Proud

Over the last little while (weeks, months, years), as I have blogged more and had more and more people following, reading and commenting to me about my blog, I have had to come to a personal realization. 

Sometimes, you just have to take the compliment.

See, apparently, some people like what I write.  Some people like how I write.  Some people like both.  And sometimes, some of the various groups of people feel enough moxy to actually come right out and tell me that they like it.  Whoa.  I know.  Crazy town.

My first reaction, invariably, is to deflect the compliment.  To make up some kind of excuse for why I don't write well, or to explain why that one single post was actually decent when the rest of my shit, is just that...shit. 

But as I said, lately, I have been thinking about it.  Why is it so hard?  Why can't I accept that I might, might actually be good at something?  That I might be good enough at something that people are actually enjoying what it is that I am doing? 

It shouldn't be hard.  For some people, I don't think it is.  Some people have that inherent sense of their own self worth (sometimes that self worth might even be a bit over inflated.  Shocking, I know, but it happens).  Whether through their upbringing or their surroundings or their friends or whatever, these people understand that they are naturally talented, and that they are deserving of the praise that is given to them.  But what about the rest of us?

I don't have an answer, really.  I guess there are a lot of factors for me.  I worry that people are setting me up.  That the compliment given, was given as a joke, or as a platitude, instead of genuine.  You know that saying "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything"?  I guess I worry that people are just saying nice things, because they don't have anything else to say.  Weird I know, but still there, in the back of my mind.

I worry that there is an inherent arrogance in accepting a compliment.
 "Hey, that was totally awesome.  Well done." 
"Yeah.  I know.  I am amazing.  About time you recognized it".

Ok, my conversations aren't actually like that, but I worry that sometimes the perception might be that it's what I mean. 

So, I guess that sentence is more revealing that I expected it to be.  Perceptions.  I suppose that's what it's all about.  At the end of the day, I worry about what other people think about me. 

Don't we all?  Really?  If you are honest, don't you? 

I know, in my heart, that I can write.  I know that I am a good mom.  I know that I am a strong and capable woman.  I know that I am smart, and well spoken and well read.  I know that I relate well to other people. 

But I guess I worry that other people don't know that.  I worry that just because I think it, that doesn't make it true. What if I am good, but not as good as I think I am?  What if I am actually tricking myself?  I am afraid that my self image seems to be often influenced by outside reinforcement. 

Shame on me. 

So, what do I do about it?  I don't know, really.  I guess self realization is an important step forward.  I think putting myself out there for critique, by writing the blog in the first place is another step.  If I was well and truly terrified of what people would say, then I wouldn't be showing this to anyone at all.  My next step?

Take the damn compliment, I guess. 

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "next compliment, please".

First Day

Today was the first day of school for Sawyer.  She is going into senior kindergarten, so she is one of the big kids.  The day she finished in June, she realized that she had now moved up the ranks and was very clear in the fact that her status as an SK was one that she had earned and was going to wear proudly.

 

The last couple of weeks have been busy ones.  We have been trying to cram as much fun and good times into the end of summer as we could.  We had trips to the zoo, the park and Great Wolf Lodge.  We had fires, and BBQ and even some rain days. 

 
 Through it all, me and the kids were together through the days, the nights, all of it.  Yes, there were the occasional sleepovers at Grammie and Papa's and Grandma's.  But for the most part, it was the 3 of us.  Lots of it was super fun.  Some of it was not quite as fun.  Some days were down right rough.  But through it all, there was the light at the end of tunnel - September 3, the first day of school.

 

After a fun filled last weekend (well, Monday was low key- by that time, Momma Bear was tired and achy and needed some serious couch time), today was the day.  Last night, we packed lunches, we laid out new clothes, we had baths and washed hair, cut fingernails and toenails.  We read stories and at separate times I talked to each of them about the fact that I was in fact going to miss them but that they didn't have to worry about me.  I told them each that I would be working, and I promised that I would be there to pick them up, and spend the evening with them.  I assured them that it was perfectly ok for them to have a good time at school, and that I loved them more than anything else in the world.  That seemed to be enough to settle my anxious little souls and everyone (except me) slept soundly and well.

 

This morning, we got up nice and early, had waffles for breakfast, and even had a dance party to Katy Perry.  It was a great morning and everyone was starting off on a high note.  Sawyer made it to the bus on time, had time to play with her friend Sarah.  The bus was very late, so we had a bit of a rush getting back in time to load Sebastian into the van and off to school. There was a momentary setback to the day when we were advised that in fact, Sebastian didn't start school today, but instead next Monday.  He was thrilled, I was less so.

 

Sebastian and I spent the day together, chilling and working.  We ate lunch from his lunch bag (well, he did, I had scrambled eggs and cheese).  When it was time, I made my way to the bus stop and waited.  And waited.  Aaaand waited.  When we were reaching the 30 minute mark, I was starting to get worried.  Luckily, I had good friends to text back and forth with, to help take my mind off of the fact that my kid was currently missing and riding around randomly on a bus somewhere.  Finally, she made it home, and we were all together again at last. 

 

So, today, as with most first days, was a very emotional day for me.  Did I cry?  Of course I did.  When I was alone and things were quiet for the first time in 2 months, I smiled and cried a little.  I made her bed, and put away a toy or two and I missed her with my whole heart.  I could smell her shampoo when I went into the bathroom, I could hear her feet skipping across the floor in the kitchen.  I had a space in my home when she was gone. 
Of course I cried. 

I will do it all again tomorrow. And the day after.  And the week after and the month after.  All over again. 

Last weekend, I was having this amazing conversation with someone. And I was trying to explain the magic and the romance in my life, that is being a mother.  It is so hard to explain, because when you say it, plainly and basically, in real words, it sounds insane.  How, last week, as I sat on my stained carpet in my bedroom, where I had to literally shove toys aside to find a clear spot, I could see the beauty in my surroundings.  I folded basket after basket of laundry, as I looked at the clutter- my towering pile of yarn, waiting for projects to be started and finished, the stacks and stacks of kids' movies, scratched and worn, but ready to be played at a moment's notice, the cut up paper bits from the last art project, the dollies and the horses, the books and the stickers.  All of it is the jumble of the poetry that is my life with kids.  There is an inherent magic and beauty in it.  I don't always see it.  I don't always appreciate it.  That day I did.  That day, I could embrace the fact that it was noon, and I was still in my pyjamas and so were they.  I could love that I had syrup on my cheek, when I hadn't had pancakes for breakfast.  I could watch the sun come through the window and watch the wind move the curtains, and understand that I was living a fricking miracle. 

Like I said- it sounds insane.  Until you are there.  In that moment.  In the mess and the heat, and the love.  And then it's magic. 

I lost that magic for a little while today.  I will keep losing it, little by little, every day, every week, every year. 

I can't believe I couldn't wait for today.  Silly Momma Bear.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "new school year".

Beaner

Tomorrow, my little girl turns 5.  Five years old.  That is almost as long as it took me to have her.  She has been with us almost as long as I dreamed about her. 

Pretty Princess Sawyer

I talk a lot about Sawyer in this blog and on Facebook, and in person and...well, kinda all the time.  She amuses me to no end.  I always have Sawyer stories.  She is hilarious and awesome and I am just inspired and annoyed and infuriated and in love with her every single day.  I would not be who I am today, without her. 

So, in celebration of her birthday, here are some things that I always want to remember about Sawyer.


She put this outfit together herself.  Giddy'up.

 1. The way she was born.  I had a home birth for Sawyer.  I didn't even believe I was in labour for most of the day, until it got to be round about 7pm, and I started having trouble walking and talking when these cramps would come on.  I asked Geoff to not bother the midwife, even though the contractions were only 4 minutes apart.  When she was finally born, at 10:30pm exactly, the midwife put her up on my chest.  I cried and cried and kissed her goopy, gross head (it really wasn't that bad).  I couldn't look at her enough.  She had dark hair, and stork bites on her neck.  It was probably about 3 or 4 minutes before either Geoff or I thought to even check if she was a boy or a girl.  When I saw that she was a girl, I couldn't believe it.  I cried more.  That very first night, I nursed her for the very first time. It was like nothing I had ever done before, and felt like a miracle.  I fell asleep with her in my arms. 

 2. The way she falls asleep.  Sawyer, from the time she was a little tiny baby has loved to rub people's earlobes to fall asleep.  I don't know how many times I have held her, with my head craned all the way over to one side, so that she could rub my ear lobe between her fingers as she drifts off.  She still does it, occasionally, to this very day.

3. The way she reads books.  When Sawyer concentrates or reads or does anything with intense passion (so, basically when she does anything) she pulls faces.  I used to be (and still am, a tiny little bit) worried that it was something like Tourette's Syndrome, which my nephew has. But I have been assured that Tourette's is mostly prevalent in boys (like autism) and really doesn't manifest until they are much older.  Turns out, she is probably just a weirdo. :)

4.  The way she dances.  Well, and truly, she dances like no one is watching.  Full body, unself conscious.  She doesn't do it once she notices that you are watching her, but if you can catch her in the moment, when she is singing to herself or acting out a play or an imaginary ballet, you can catch magic in movement. She is wonderful when she dances.


Little Miss Blue Eyes

 5. Ketchup.  Forever after in my life, ketchup will always make me think of Sawyer.  She eats it on pretty much everything- at one time or another I have seen her dunk the following in ketchup: chicken fingers, pasta, pancakes, French toast, bacon, toast, gummie bears, pineapple, apple, strawberries and so much more.  She pretty much constantly has ketchup somewhere on her body; on her face, in her hair, on her hands or her shirt. Her kisses often have a distinctive ketchup scent to them as well.

6. How she talks.   Oh my.  I wish I had a tape recorder running constantly for this kid.  She comes up with something new, every day, that makes me laugh.  I try and temper her outrageous statements with some real life lessons.  As funny as it was to hear her tell me today that I was getting a knuckle sandwich if I kept (fill in blank here) up, I did explain to her that it wasn't appropriate to say that anyone, especially her mother.  She is very aware of language right now, and tries out new words and phrases that she hears and overhears.  We have a list of "bad" words, that she knows that she is not supposed to say.  Call me old fashioned, but I don't like to hear certain words come out of the mouth of a 5 year old.  She isn't allowed to say things like "oh my God", "shut up", "I hate...", stupid or other things along those lines.  But lordy- does she love pointing out when you do it.  She is starting to understand a little that some people are allowed to say those things- like grown ups and older kids.  She understands that even her friends might say them.  But she also understands that Mommy doesn't like it, so she promises me that she tries "really, really, really, really, really, really hard" not to say them.  I believe her.  

 7. The way she loves me.  As open and expressive as she is, her affection isn't always worn right on her sleeve.  Sebastian actually spontaneously tells me that he loves me more than Sawyer does.  But how she does show it is in her absolute and total dedication to me and her family.  She will scream my name and come running when she sees me.  She insists on hugs before anyone leaves the house.  She has to have smooches and good dream talks before bed.  She has to hold hands when we are out.  She insists on super tight bear hugs, snuggle time, and tickle monsters.  Love flows out of her in a constant tide.  She is the epitome of the fact that love is in the actions, not the words.  If she never said that she loved me again, I would always know, without a doubt, that her love for me is far and deep and wide.

She is eating peanut butter off her feet.  Seriously. 
She wanted me to take a picture of it.

So, happy birthday, Sawyer Bean.  Your mommy is so very proud of you. 

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "never enough Sawyer".

Just a tiny thing

Ok, you have probably already figured this out about me.  I am a word person.  By that, I mean, I like words.  Like say, over actions, or pictures, or whatever.  Don't get me wrong- I like the others too. Everything has its place.  I understand in some circumstances- actions DO speak louder than words.  For some people, words come too easy- promises made, declarations pronounced- but there ain't nothing there to back it up.  Saying you will do something, and ACTUALLY doing it are 2 very, very different things.  I totally get that. 

But, when all is said and done, I like words.  I like the nuances and flavours of words.  I love to read, and I get literal shivers when I read a well-turned phrase.  It doesn't happen often, but when it does, ah...the bliss. 

I like articulate people.  I like people that can speak, and speak well.  This does NOT mean that I like people that use big words- on the contrary, for most people, that just comes across as douchey.  There aren't a lot of people in the world that can pull off a pretentious vocabulary.  I think one prerequisite is that you have to have an English accent.  Otherwise, don't even try.

No, I mean that I like people that can express themselves, plainly and simply. People that can string their words together in ways that can calm you down, or jack you up.  People that get their point across, without muss, without fuss.  People that know the meaning and impacts of the tiniest little words. 

I had a conversation the other day, while at lunch with the one girl I work with (who I adore, by the way!)  We were chatting about books and other amazing things that we both like.  We talked about movies that we had seen (The Conjuring and Wolverine were at the top of that list.)  Somehow we got onto the topic of comic books.  Sigh.  No matter what, I can't get away from them.  :)

Anyway, we were talking about comics and she said that she really didn't enjoy reading them.  As the wife of a comic lover/store owner, I felt the need to try and sell her on them.  But I realized, that while I very often really, really like the story in a comic book, I don't always like the act of reading the comic itself.  I struggle with it.  I read the words, but I often miss the nuances of action in the pictures.  I skim the pictures.  Geoff will give me stories to read, ones that he thinks I will enjoy, and at the end, when we are talking about it, I have often not taken the same message and meaning out of the story as he has.  And that's because, almost exclusively, I am focused on the words.  Shannon understood completely what I meant and said that it is likely because I am a woman.  Women tend to be driven by words, while men are more visual.  Sweeping generalization, but for me at least, some truth to it.

So, with all of this, I have been thinking about words.  What they mean.  How the smallest words can make the biggest difference.  The best example I can think of is the word "in".

For my cats, the 2 most important words in the word are "in" and "up".  That is all they want in the world.  Every need they have, every want in their bodies, can usually be summarized in one of those 2 words.  Hungry? Rip at the bag of food, until you get in.  Lonely? Find the closest person and just get up.  Bored? Look for the highest up you can find, or the tightest in you can see, and effing go for it. 

But the best example of the impact of this word, is the difference between love and in love.  Ah.  You all see what I mean now.

Tell someone you love them.  See the reaction.  Tell someone you are in love with them.  See the completely different reaction. 

To me, that is the magic of words.  This is the stuff I think about, when it's 5 in the morning, and Sawyer has her feet firmly planted on my kidneys.  When my cat is scrambling towards his latest up.  When the world is thinking about waking, when the day is deciding what it wants to be, when I am liquid and soft and sleepy.  I think about words.  

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "not a lot to talk about today, obviously".

Firework.

Go watch this video.  I will wait.  When you are done, and have dried your eyes and blown your nose, come on back and read the rest.

Welcome back.  All good?   Been crying a bit?  A little choked up?  Welcome to my world.

 

My son, Sebastian has autism.  Unless this is your very first time at my blog, you know this.  I mention this all the time.  It is no secret.  My daughter Sawyer had known the word autism from the time she was 2.  Sebastian knows he is different.  Different, not less, as is the motto of Autism Speaks.  

 Both my kids love, love, love Katy Perry, or as she is known in my house, Kerry Perry (rhyming words are way more fun.)  Katy Perry sings a song called Fireworks.  To me, this song is no more or no less that the anthem for autism. 

I listen to this song all the time- Sebastian loves it because it is in Madagasar 3, one of his favourite movies, and Sawyer and I have dance parties to this song all the fricking time.  We usually have our best dance parties before a big cleaning binge. 

The problem is that I can't listen to this song without crying.  Really, I can't.  Pretty much every time, unless it is the 4th or 5th time in a row that I have heard it.  I cry, every single time.  I can't listen to the words, and I can't sing along, without thinking about my son. 

My life is pretty fricking great.  I have a lot of amazing things going on.  But the relationship I have with Sebastian, me as his mom, him as my son, me as an advocate, him as a boy with autism- very few people can understand that.  My parents are probably closest, since they watch him a great deal, but even then, they aren't there every day.  They tend to get information secondhand, when I tell them I have this great idea to try GFCF diets, and to put him in private school.   They support me, they empathize with me, but at the end of the day, they get to go home.  I live a life only a few people know, and each of us autism parent walks our own path.  None of them are the same.  We all travel a road, overgrown with brambles and weeds, with glimpses of sunlight periodically available through the leaves.  If you are lucky, sometimes there is someone available to help you walk, to hold your elbow when you stumble, someone to lend you a hand up, when you lay down.  Sometimes you are tired, and really don't want to keep walking.  A good partner will help you keep going.  And sometimes, that good partner will help you detour a bit...take you off the path, and into that clearing in the woods.  You know the place- the sun shines there.  There is a breeze, that smells like clover and spring time, that moves the sweaty hair off your forehead and puts a small smile on your face.  It is a respite, a breaking place.  A place to catch your breath, to rest your feet.  A place to let you look somewhere else, somewhere that isn't the next footstep in front of you.  Soon enough, you will be back on your path.  Soon enough.  But for now, enjoy. 

 

I am lucky.  I have lots of people that help me get to that clearing.  As Sebastian gets older (he will be 12 in November), our autism journey is getting tougher.  It is hard, sometimes.  Don't get me wrong, this kid is fricking amazing. He doesn't trash stuff, he doesn't hit or fight.  He tells me spontaneously that he loves me.  He hugs me and will put his forehead on mine and stare into my eyes (he did this tonight in front of Bill, so I have a witness).  He will tell me about whatever it is that is amazing and awesome to him today- Finding Nemo, Jimmy Neutron, the Incredibles, or whatever.  He loves me, and in his own way, he shows me constantly.

 

But he is also growing up.  He isn't always willing to have me tell him what to do. I am about 5'5", or so.  Sebastian is slowly creeping up on me.  Soon, he will be my height, and soon after that, he will be taller.  The physical stuff is starting to happen- I try to take something out of his hands, and he takes it back.  It can quickly become a wrestling match.  I don't want this.  I stop it before it happens, but it is always there on the verge.  My word was always good enough before.  Now it's not.  He is becoming his own person.  I am so happy to see it happen, but I am also so very, very nervous.

 

Don't get me wrong.  My son is not violent.  He has never hurt me, or his sister or anyone.  He isn't a sociopath, or anything like that.  He is sweet and kind and gentle.  But he is also starting to know his own mind and to want his own things.  It is a struggle, for both of us.  We are both walking new ground, trying to find our footing.  We are trying to figure out how we can walk this path together.  Some days are better than others.  Some days, we just call a truce and move on.

But at the end of the day, there is Firework.  There is Katy Perry. 

"You don't have to feel like a waste of space
You're original, cannot be replaced
If you only knew what the future holds
After a hurricane comes a rainbow
Maybe you're reason why all the doors are closed
So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road."

Judge all you want.  This song was written for Sebastian.  I will believe that, to my dying day.

I love my little firework. Me and him, against the world.

 

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "never underestimate my son".

10 things

Here are 10 things you might not know about me:

1. I wear glasses.  I had 3 people tell me today that they had no idea that I did.  I come from a family of people with glasses- my parents, my brother, my grandparents, aunts, uncles.  I am one of the only ones that doesn't.  About 2 years ago, though, I started to feel a bit of strain when I was reading or working on the computer.  They are a mild prescription and I really only need them for reading or computer time.  I sometimes go weeks without wearing them, but lately I have been getting headaches again, so I started wearing them.  The one side is missing the screws, but I McGyvered them with a paperclip.  So, in case you didn't know, here is me in my glasses.

yep, nerd me.  Notice the zombie hands in the background. 
That is my pillowcase.  I know you are jealous.

2. I am anemic, bordering on seriously anemic.  After I caught mono earlier this year, I had to go for multiple blood tests to make sure I was clear.  I am fine now, my liver function is back to normal, but my red blood cell count remains noticeably low.  I have to take high level iron pills and try to have red meat and spinach as much as possible. Hopefully soon, I will stop being tired and lethargic, once the iron gets back into my system.

3. I love the 70s.  I love how the people looked and dressed.  I love the lampchop sideburns and the feathered hair.  I love the tv shows, I love the concert tshirts and I love the music.  I was born in the 70's but I remember the 80s better.  I enjoy my memories of the 80s (mainly because they are my memories) but the 70s have my heart.  "Dazed and Confused" and "Devils Rejects" are some of my favourite movies and some of that is because they are both based in that decade.

4. I like country music.  There, I said it.  I grew up listening to a lot of old school country- Pasty, Waylon, Willie, Johnny.  I can still sing Charlie Daniels songs, and Johnny Horton.  At my wedding, I danced with my dad to Kenny Rodgers, and with my brother to Hank Williams Jr. Adam and I went to see Bocephus this year and it was AAAAmazing.  I loved it.  I don't know much of the new country, but I lots of times like what I hear.  I have no hate for country.

5. I rarely have to pee.  LOL...seriously, I have a large bladder and can hold it like anyone's business.  If this grosses you out, sorry, but I think it's funny.  Some of my best friends, boys and girls, have to pee constantly.  Where ever we go, we have to find a bathroom first.  Not me.  I have never peed on an airplane.  I can lots of times go an entire work day without having to go.  When I was young, I had 2 surgeries on my bladder, where they stretched it out, since it wasn't growing fast enough.  Apparently now, I have a freakishly large one. Or maybe not.  I dunno.  All I know is that I don't spend hours every day in the bathroom.  I live my life, instead. 

6. Even though I am an old lady, I still get crushes on celebrities.  My ongoing and never ending crush is, of course, Rob Zombie.  I heart him so much.  Geoff knows, and understands.  I also crush on Jason Segel.  I love him in "How I Met Your Mother" but it was "Freaks and Geeks" that sealed the deal for me.  And really, after the Muppets, I knew we were soul mates. From time to time, I develop other crushes.  Some come and go.  Some last for years.  I love my crushes.

7. I prefer baths to showers.  Like 110% of the time.  I will have a shower if I have to..if I am in a rush, or extremely dirty and sweaty.  But I love my baths.  If I am sick, or sore, or tired, nothing soothes my soul like a bath.  However, with kids in the house, I sometimes forget what it is like to take a bath by myself.  One of the first things I tend to do, when my kids are gone, is to have a bath, all by myself.  I like my baths super, fricking hot, so that my skin gets red, and it takes a long time for it to cool off.  My bathtub right now is small, short and shallow.  I kinda hate it.  When I re-do my bathroom, someday, my goal is to have a big, deep, soaker tub.  I will probably not get out of it for days.

8. I am shy.  Painfully so.  I find it difficult to talk to people that I don't know.  I find it hard to look people in the eye.  I don't enjoy small talk.  I often plan for social events, thinking about the people I will see there, what I can talk about, how I can not sound like an idiot.  But I do force myself.  I have made a lot of friends by talking to strangers,  but every time, it was hard.  Every time it was an effort.  And almost every time it was worth it.

9. Even though I can watch horror movies, and blood and gore, and terror and other horribleness, I cannot watch a rape scene.  Graphic or not, it makes me sick.  I literally got up and walked out of Pulp Fiction in the theatre, when the "bad" scene came on.  Same thing for Rob Zombie's first Halloween movie, and American History X.  It turns my stomach like nothing else can. 

10.  I have never had blonde hair.  I have had pretty much every other colour, literally, but I have never been a blonde.  I don't know how that would look.  I might challenge my hairdresser at my next appointment.  She is always up for a challenge. 

So there, 10 things that might not have known about me.  You know now.  I am sure your life is that much more full now, because of it.  :)

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "never knew that about you".