Hope

I just got back a few hours ago from another fabulous trip. I never get over how beautiful it is out there; so calm and relaxing. I never tire of watching the boys run wild in all of their adorable ruggedness. I never get bored listening to the family tell stories or joke amongst each other. I never saw anything as sweet as Jamie and Brian. Or Sarah and Cody. Or Hayden and Luke. I never met anyone like Joelene who mothers and worries and loves over us all; big and small. I never miss an opportunity to grab Lukes bum while he's cooking, hold his hand while we're walking, or kiss him while he's smiling. And today as I watched the clock blur hours into seconds I realized I never wanted to leave.

Paper Or Plastic?

So for several days now I've been mulling over the idea of how things look on paper. Not things, really. People. I don't mean paper dolls people. I'm referring to real people on paper. How they look. Now I'm beating a dead horse. The point is, does it matter?

I'm begining to realize that yes, to me it does. Not sure why. I'm not particularly judemental or discriminitory. I try hard not to hold a grudge. But for some reason, I find myself placing significant importance on the life resume's people hold. At least some people. The important ones.

Where do they work? What do they drive? With or without a license? Are they insured? Who are their friends? How do they live? Rent or own? Habits, hobbies, and hang outs? Morals? Do they abide by the law or run with the rebels? What it comes down to in the end is good or bad?

At this moment I hate myself for being so black and white. I miss reveling in shades of beautiful grey. I miss my deep philisophical side. I miss ignorance is bliss. After all...who am I to judge?

I am terribly unaccomplished. No degree. No shiny car. No fabulous house. No high stakes salary. No husband, despite the child. It's been years since I took myself on a vacation, and without government assistance my bills would never get paid. I can barely afford my low income life.

And yet I have a handul of the best friends on Earth. A car all paid off that consistantly starts. Food in the fridge. A little boy whose smile is worth more to me than gold. And while I do on occassion bend the rules by having a bit too much fun, I believe in good deeds, kind acts and keeping my butt outta prison.

So what matters? About me? What about other people?

In todays broken world, how do we judge ourselves and eachother? By how we look on paper? Or who we are in plastic. You know, the barbie and Ken dolls we act like in front of other people. Because Im not sure which version is more real.

What do Boys Want?

Childhood. It's a funny thing. Adults don't realize how kids think, how much they listen, or how literally they interpret what's been said. I was raised by a bunch of adults who talked a lot about sex for a bunch of adults who dont believe in talking about sex. They loved to "beat aound the bush", which is a funny saying in and of itself. But anyway, at five the saying "why buy a cow when you can get the milk for free meant nothing at all too me. Jiberish. I mean, I like a little cuppa milk now and then...maybe a little on my cereal. But who needs a whole cow? Who even has the grass to feed one through the winter? Not me. It wasn't until I was nearly fourteen that I figured out what that meant. They were joking, seriously, about a man not wanting to marry you if you'd put out anyway. What the #%$* is that? Is that all women are worth?

According to my Dad, whose version of the sex talk went either "keep it in your pants" or "boys only want one thing" or some combination of the two, in rotating order...yes. That is all we're worth. As an adult, the thought often occurs to me to ask him where my mom fits in to all that. I certainly hope she's worth more to him than her creamy center. She better be, or the days of "I have a headache" are going to be awful hard on him. I'm guessing he only meant young, unmarried boys, but at eleven, fourteen, even now...who can be sure? When do those boys become anything but?

All I know is, I'm tired of thinking sex is all I have to offer a man. I can cook and clean, too! I jest, but seriously. I have big brains and I know how to use them. I'm compassionate and kind. I'm relatively humorous. Cant a guy love me for that? And can't any love we make, in or out of marriage be more than just getting in to my pants? I'd like to think a guy would be lucky to marry me, wether or not he'd already taken me bed.