Of teddy-bears and tears

I love stuffed animals. There, it’s out. Yes, I’m 25 and happily married, and yes, I still love my stuffed animals. When I first moved in with B, all of my special stuffed animals stayed in their cardboard box. He did have a stuffed dog on his bed. But, my stuffed animals were private, precious, and I didn’t want to be laughed at. As we continued to adjust to living together, we came to treat his Dog like it was a living member of our house. Jokingly banishing it from the room when we were making out. He’d try to sneak it into the bathroom while I showered just to hear my indignation that the Dog was a pervert.

When it came time for us to move though, I had to break out the toys. And out came Mr. Moosigans. Mr. Moosigans is a stuffed moose. And, I hate to confess, I named him the day I pulled him out of the box and showed him to B. You see, I’ve never been big on naming things, because I don’t talk to them. Just cuddle with them when I’m sad, lonely, or going to sleep. Still, I told B the story of how Mr. Moosigans came to belong to me. He was my Mom’s, she bought him on a summer vacation. She used to collect a new moose every time we went north for the summer. Two weeks before I went to college, my grandmother passed away suddenly. I was left feeling extra uprooted and terrified about leaving home. So my Mom gave me the moose from her bed to hug and squeeze when I needed a hug from her. I still use him for that to this day. Although, B gives much better hugs.

Still, with B in the States and me in Germany, it’s been nice to have Mr. M and the Dog in the hotel room with me. B snuck them into his luggage because he wanted me to have them before our other belongings got here. (what I gem I have) Still, they aren’t quite the same as having my darling husband to hold on to. He’s gotten very good at predicting when I need to be held.

Strangely enough though, our conversation yesterday turned into talking about me crying. Now, I don’t cry when I should. I don’t cry at weddings, or funerals, or graduations. I cry when I’m angry or frustrated. Not necessarily because I’m sad. But, he told me that he felt like a failure of a husband when I cried, because he wasn’t good enough to keep his wife from crying. It puts a different spin on my tears for sure. I didn’t realize that was why it hurt him so much when I cried (which I’ve done way too much of lately. damnable hormones and too much change at once). So I’m going to try to hug Mr M and the Dog more and hurt B less. No more tears. Time to decide that the challenge that is life right now is a grand and fun adventure rather than something to be endured. Besides, I know I’ll laugh about it later.

~The Countess~

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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