Misty Garrison » Gathered Fragments

Who needs a feather boa and a tiara when you have Daddy’s t-shirt and hat? Truth be told, this is more her Mamma’s style anyway.

Been pickin’ apples in the orchard all day.

Is she even real?

And while playing peek-a-boo with her appendages normally brings much joy…
…this is beginning to cause some concern.

And then full blown panic sets in. Because, really, how will she ever get out of that ginormous thing on her own?

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Even dress up Daddy style.

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The following episode is the perfect illustration of the difference between mommies and daddies – you know, men are from Mars and women are from Venus kinda stuff.

Everywhere you look there are adorable boots for little people. I am eagerly awaiting the onset of fall so that bitty girl can slip on a pair for herself. Imagine my joy at finding perfect little Ugg replicas at Target. Ugg look at Target prices always makes Mommy happy.

Being the logical woman that I am, I stood in front of the shelf of shoes pondering whether to purchase the more practical brown {able to wear more} or the girly pink {everyone needs a little sass now and then}, or perhaps both considering the buy two for half of the price of what one real pair would cost situation I had goin’. Makes sense, right? In these frequent situations where the OCD prevents me from actually making a decision, I always default to the Daddy for help.

As I was in the midst of describing the extreme cuteness of the boots in question and all the susequent wardrobe possibilities so that Daddy would fully understand the gravity of the situation, he looks up at me and simply asks, “Are you sure that she is ready for boots?”

Silly Daddy. Since when does a person of the female persuasion have to be “ready” for certain footwear accessories? Surely, we are all born ready. Scratch that, knit in our mothers’ wombs ready. {Except maybe for me and stiletto heels and those extremely high wedges, but that is a personal coordination and comfort issue}.

I say, “Bring on the boots, baby!”

Ready, smeady.

And that, my friends, is the difference between mommies and daddies.

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  • Robin - Easy answer to this one. Both. No question. And she will love them.ReplyCancel

I just leaped from the top of a speeding {and when I say speeding, I don’t mean breaking the law but going really fast in relation to my tiny size} mini-van into oncoming traffic on a two-lane road with non-existent shoulders, and all I have to show for it is this stupid road burn.

Thanks, Mama, for rescuing me from the brink of oblivion. And, shame on you, Daddy. Shame on you.

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Sadly, these beauties will never find themselves on my feet again. They are an unfortunate casualty of the weird changes that take place in a woman’s body after child birth. In this case – my feet grew, or at least changed shape.

The clothes that are still too tight – well, it is in my power to lose another 10-15 pounds. But not these babies. They will forever elude me.

My skirts mourn the loss, as well.

That got me to thinkin’. What clothing/shoe/jewelry item is taking up residence in your closet or drawer that you just cannot bear to part with even though pregnancy {or aging} has forever altered you? Thought maybe we could start a museum, or perhaps write a book. Send me your chapter, and I’ll get right on it.

We could use the proceeds to purchase replacements. If that is even possible – I mean, just look at them. So yummy.

I am convinced that my nose is different too.

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This Man who stands 6 feet 3 inches tall, has biceps the size of a small car, and has run a Half Marathon now training for the Full.

This Man who taught me what it means to love and to be loved.

This Man who cried at every ultrasound and doctor’s appointment.

This Man who is the laughter behind all my tears.

This Man whose strong arms and gentle hands held me up during all the years we waited for our Emmylou.

This Man who is the father of our daughter and any future children we will have – no matter where they may come from.

This Man who is the love of my life.
My Huckleberry.
My Steven.
This amazing Man.

Happy Belated {or extremely early} Anniversary, Huck.

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Emmylou was tackled on the playground by a young man who was attempting, despite all her resistance, to hug her. In order to soothe her distress, I shared a drink of my Chick-fil-A sweet tea with her. And, “Hey, Mikey, she likes it. She really likes it.” Me too, bitty girl, me too.

She was also willing to share with bunny. The cup is empty, of course, but it is the thought that counts, right?

Once the sweet nectar was gone, the cup and straw continued to give her much enjoyment.

Then the sugar kicked in, and I began to get a little nervous.

But then, I was just thankful for the great smiles I was capturing. Sometimes the end does justify the means.

Love this shot of her coming after me and the camera.

Look closely at her eyes. You can see the reflection of one of her little books in there. I love photography, but I’ve said that already – haven’t I?

Next stop – McAlister’s Deli. After all, it is my job to allow her to learn to make her own decisions. Especially when it comes to who has the best sweet tea in town. I plan to groom her into a proper southern girl, after all. Sweet tea being the first step. We may have to drink a lot just to make sure that we can make a fair assessment. Wouldn’t want to be too hasty.

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For posterity sake and because sometimes there is nothing more liberating than a little self-disclosure, I thought I would share some of the quirky things that make me, me. Many of you know these already and must experience them on a regular basis – to which I say, thank you for not running the first chance you got. To the rest of you – sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

1. I absolutely cannot open a bag of cereal without ripping it half-way down the side. Many a cheerio, pop, puff, flake, etc. have been forever trapped in the recesses of a mangled cereal bag because of me.

2. Don’t even want to discuss my futile attempts to open the plastic covering and sticker on a CD or DVD. What is it with the child-proof, anti-theft, bank vault packaging they use on those things?

3. And, yes, I must remake the bed before I can take a nap or go to sleep at night in it. A sickness that goes so well with a 6’3″ giant of a husband who must un-tuck the sheets in order to sleep. We were made for each other.

4. They call me Doc. Actually, Charlie Brown {aka Uncle Cha Cha} came up with that while we were living in California. After a few years of friendship including a short co-habitation with his family while our house was being built, he decided that I most definitely put him to shame in the obsessive compulsive disorder department. I believe his exact words were, “She has a PH.D. in OCD.” OCD. Doc. Cute, huh?

5. Sometimes my fear of making the wrong decision paralyzes me and prevents me from deciding on even the smallest detail. I must walk away and hide when Steven is picking out the Christmas tree. Because, what if that one over there is even better? Which makes the fact that I met and married my Steven in less than a year’s time – simply amazing, unbelievable, really. “Our God is so big, so strong and so mighty. There’s nothing my God cannot do.”

6. Along with my extremely sensitive gag reflex, I have an uncontrollable laugh reflex. Guaranteed to laugh at even the most inappropriate times. Like, say, when someone is sorta seriously injured right in front of me. So, if you are thinking of pursuing that life-long dream as a stand-up comedian and need a little confidence, just look me up. I will laugh at anything.

7. Some of my most amazing ideas come to me during the shower. I also suffer from severe memory loss caused by gestation and child birth {my apologies gentlemen readers – just keepin’ it real}. Because of this, I am seriously considering investing in some of those bath tub markers and crayons that they make for kids, so I can jot down my ideas before they are consumed by the huge black hole that now takes up the space between my ears. I already carry a little Moleskine journal wherever I go. It is filled with writing ideas for my two blogs along with my personal information in case I forget who I am – but I don’t think it would take too kindly to the shower.

8. Only certain French fries are worthy of consumption. I have a method to my madness concerning which fries make the cut, but I am not sure that I can communicate my quality control standards. Emmylou has yet to experience the ultimate French fries, because when we share I pick them out and give her the rejects. She does not know the difference, yet. And, yes the best way to eat fries is after dipping them in your chocolate shake. Judge not, lest ye be judged.

9. I talk to myself. I find my thoughts very enlightening and just a tad bit disturbing. There are numerous pictures of me water skiing as a small child to prove this little behavior. In each and every one, my mouth is wide open as I discuss with myself the next wave coming, encourage myself to cross the wake, point out to myself the lovely scenery I am passing, etc.

More recently, this habit has become increasingly frustrating in light of the aforementioned memory loss . In the midst of my conversations with myself, I forget what I am saying. And neither, me, myself, nor I can remember what I was talking about. Bummer, because I am most certain that it must have been something brilliant.

10. I recently had a wonderful date night with my husband in which we played battle of the 80’s & 90’s music. He was on his laptop, while I sat at the family desktop. We would search until we found a great song, then would try to play it over the other person’s previous selection all the while spouting out all the memories the songs had for us.

Even though I did not meet my Steven until half-way through college, somehow in all my life memories he is there with me. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he is there in my mind. As we played the songs for each other and against each other, I tried to pretend that The Jeff Healy Band recorded Angel Eyes just so my Steven could sing it to me. At one point, I think I even convinced myself it was true.

And while there is much more to my crazy, I am certain that you have had more than enough. Although, if you think of something that I left out feel free to share. I can take it. I am at peace with crazy – it is like an old pair of jeans. It just fits.

Oh yea, the Sunshine is the action that I ran on my self-portrait along with the warm feeling of thankfulness you have right now knowing that you do not have to live inside my head.

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  • Robin - You forgot a few things. Swelling in small spaces, your much needed “alone” time, and freezing when upchucking….I am sure I’ll come up with some more….just wait! :)ReplyCancel

  • Misty - Just be careful, because you may be next. Muh ha ha!ReplyCancel

  • Charla - No matter what anyone says, I’ll always love to hear you laugh! My brother sings?? No wonder you laugh!! LOLReplyCancel