This week,  I came out to Little, Anne-wise.  (Sorry — ‘crossing the streams’ used to be the code phrase, but it started to sound like some golden shower/outdoor peeing kind of thing.)

I sent her my first year of posts, since taken down.  Like boiling a frog, I figured if she started where I started, instead of throwing her into the present, there was more chance she wouldn’t jump away screaming and scalded.  Or I’m a coward.  One of those things…maybe both.

I hit send and immediately sweated through my shirt.  In a daze, I sat for forty five minutes, occasionally pressing the SEND button, like some elephant in an elephant graveyard, touching the skulls with inscrutable and reverent horror  of what has happened.

I stood up, intending to rehydrate and apply deodorant.  But soon as my ass was in gear, I piled the kids into the car and fled the house.  Grab your shoes.  No time to put them on – you can do that in the car. To the park!  Grocery!  Repression! 

Little hadn’t replied when I got home a few hours later.  Or when the kids went to bed that night.  I knew she had it, since we’d had this conversation only moments before I’d sent it:  (Me) I’m sending you part of my blog.  (Her) Fire away.

Late that night, her email arrived.  This is the funniest shit I have ever read. 

I’ve  opened and closed the email about fifty times, reading it over and over, struck dumb with wonder.  Each time I open it again, I go into it the experience sure I’ve misunderstood some context cues.  It can’t really mean what I thought it meant.  But then, there it is again.  Acceptance.   I close the email when I’m done, afraid some of its awesome will leak out of an open letter, like pixie dust dispersed into the bowels of my computer, never to be regained.  Then, like thirty seconds later, I open it again to read.

*

As I walked through the kitchen yesterday morning, full of my own drama and self-induced exhaustion, I announced, “I’m blogging again.”

My husband turned from the counter, coffee cup in hand, and in perfect imitation of the Old Spice  ‘Man your Man could smell like’ said, “Look at me.  I’m Anne.  I’m a blogger.  Look away.  Back again.  I’m doing the cool thing.  Back at me.  Now I’m blogging.”

He raised an eyebrow, sipped his coffee, and leered at me before sauntering off.  Can’t lie.  I felt pretty badass.