You’ll be happy to hear, though I’ve been terrible about keeping up with the #lentphotochallenge this year, I have been very diligent with my other Lenten practice of choice of not taking my work into my bedroom.
As a workaholic and just someone with a very demanding job, I’d find myself taking my work laptop to bed with me, writing into the night, then setting my laptop down on my bedside table and sleeping for a few hours only to pick it back up in the morning. While my job hasn’t gotten any less demanding, I have gotten stricter with myself about carving out time and rooms that should be work-free and when I should give the reporter part of my brain a rest. And so far, I’ve been 100 percent successful at not cheating on my sleep with my job.
Because I have been slacking on my photo challenge, however, I will be including the words I’ve missed posting photos for in this blog. You can tell them apart by their bold typeface.
Ironically, it wasn’t very hard to fit the words for the last week (or so) into this post, because my main topic is the April babies in my life, notably my mom and dad.
A few weekends ago I had the great fortune of spending some time near my parents, to celebrate their birthdays. What God thought he was doing when he put together two people with birthdays only 4 days apart, I’ll never know, but it at least makes it convenient for their Sagittarius daughter who lives two hours away.
Sometimes I think about the parents I’ve been blessed with and am just amazed at how fortunate I am. Though God knows we’re not one of us perfect, and we’ve had our trials and outright bitchfests, I consider myself very lucky to have two wonderful, talented, admiration-worthy role models in my life like Victoria and Mitchell Allen.
They are not a prime example of how to have a “perfect” marriage (because what the fuck is that?), but of how to weather storms in marriage and grow in love through difficult times. They aren’t the most obvious match to everyone — they are very different people — but to me they complete each other.
Though I haven’t always listened to their every word of advice or caution; I don’t call nearly as much as I could; and I sometimes have to hand-make gifts because I’ve only recently graduated from the life of a brokeass college student to the life of a brokeass journalist, to them I am always enough.
When I visit them, they welcome me home to a place where I can rest, recharge and just be me in peace. I need not bring much, just clothes and the occasional bottle of Buddha Kat’s blackberry wine. They’re always quick to send reprieve in the form of a text of love, a few extra dollars or an impromptu gift/needed item from Amazon.
About my love and respect for these people I often find it hard to stay silent, though I never feel I’ve quite thanked them enough. And though this post is a tad belated, I just wanted to say again in this public forum S and I have created, happy birthday and happy anniversary to the best parents a brokeass journalist could ask for.