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.

Is the grass really greener?

Of all the things I don't understand in this world, I am most perplexed by the "grass is greener" syndrome. Ok, men...but that's another story. Why do we always want what we can't have? Case in point; all the women I know who had boys wanted the opposite and vise versa. Except Miss Becca, who desperately wanted a girl so therefore assumed she'd have a boy. She had girl, which naturally I had wanted. My little Amelia.

Yesterday Becca wrote about how, despite original desires, we end up with just what we need. As usual, she's right. While she rolls on tights and plays with pigtails I throw on jeans and go. While her daughter pushes dolly around the house in the stroller, my son tries to dismantle the lamp. Oh, and the living room. For he is a fire ball of energy, constantly on the move. Rough and tumble, that one. Turns the whole world into his personal jungle gym, and every moment brings the opportunity to explore a new adventure.

If I weren't so exhausted trying to be a single working mom, the same could be said of me. In fact, my boy reminds me so much of myself it's uncanny. He looks like me; same hair, same smile. Same wicked little grin and matching dimples. But that's only the beginning. He's strong yet gentle. Pure and simple. Forever forgiving. The worlds best snuggler. Happy, hyper and wholesome. He is his Mama's boy.

Funny thing, I always pictured myself with a boy. And single. Probably more a self fulfilled prophecy than something deeply insightful. Even funnier; I always wanted a girl because I thought she'd be so sweet. Now I can't imagine a kid sweeter than Hayden, who grabs both my cheeks to get my attention before planting a big smack right on my lips. "MMM-bah! Hayden kisses melt my heart.

So, for now I'll leave the dresses, bows and pinkness to Rebecca. She's good with those things. As for me? I'm gonna slip on an old pair of jeans and go.

So what do you do when it's easy?

I always thought the third time was a charm. Whether or not it's foolish to believe in that type of thing, I got over it. On to guy four; here's to making it to my list of Mr seriouses'. Unless the first one doesn't count. Which I can come up with several very good reasons as to why he shouldn't, such as I was under age and he was a child molester. But hey, on a positive note, that would mean this is my third and it could be a charm and I can go on writing this without the subtle cynic that sometimes sits on my shoulder. Except that we're still so new, I'd hate to jinx us. No pressure.

It's just that, we've been hanging out for a bit now. If I was forced to sum it up in three words, I'd say fun, mellow, and steady. A far cry from Mr Psycho, Mr Selfish, and Mr sainara. I keep waiting for that feeling; you know the one you tell to shut up because staying along for the ride seems easier than trusting your instincts which scream "Run! Fast and far and into the opposite direction!" I'd recognize that. I'd know how to handle that.

But this. This is all new for me. I have spent the last year or so getting friendly with myself and I actually enjoy being alone. I don't need some new guy to step up to the plate. But it's nice that he does. I'm pretty sure I can handle it. So I'll accept this change as good and relax into the easiness. He doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

Oh Lord give me strength to see through the Erythrom...

Oh my, my. Pink eye. I try consistantly to see the world through rose colored glasses, but this is ridiculous! Three days I've spent trying not to smile in fear of looking stoned. It's distracting. I have faith it'll clear up so I can go back to making money. Who knew the ole job would kick you out for oddly colored eyeballs...?
As for faith, I've been thinking about mine lately. I'm a christian. At least a mediocre one. Still learning, and always growing...but I believe. In something. In God, I think? In the ten commandments, for sure. In the Golden Rule. I want to believe in heaven and hell. It's depressing not too. What happens to us when we die, if all that is untrue?
My friends are a religious variety pack. I have a Luke-warm humanist, pun intended. A couple of Wicans. A karma-nite. I even work with a Muslim. Sorting out my beliefs among so many can be a bit daunting. I guess ignorance is bliss. Little beknowest to you, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. Im not Einstein or anything, but Im no average joe. I am a bright candle on this earth shaped cake, and this little light of mine...I'm gonna let it shine. So I'll make it my personal mission to become more wordly about religion. So, if anyone has a little knowledge that could come in handy, please feel free to share.

One Little Thing...

My favorite peice of jewelry is one I haven't yet been given. It represents so much more than a promise; it symbolizes a man whose genuinely good heart wins me over by loving me unconditionally, caring for my son as his own, being forever respectful to other people, never lifting so much as his voice ...let alone a fist, and always being able to inspire laughter deep in my soul. I would cherish his ring, his love, and his heart.