Monday, January 31, 2011

10 Reasons Why I Feel the Need to Write

So Friday at lunch I made the comment that I was going to blog every day in February. BLERG! Well, it is the shortest month, so it isn't that big a deal right? Right? RIGHT! So here we go:

  1. I love to write. I do. I always have. I remember in the 8th grade I wrote a poem and my teacher asked me if it was original. Really? She thought I cheated, so that must have meant it was good. Suh-weet! I don't fancy myself a writer by any old stretch. I just like to write.
  2. I think it is important to get things off of your chest or you may explode. I have a lot on my mind right now. People puzzle me and I don't have the gift of letting things just roll of my back. This is a gift I long for.
  3. The blog gives me a voice. I really don't feel like I have a voice in any other way. After all, most of my ramblings are just that, ramblings. The thing about a blog is, people enjoy reading it. There are several that I have been following for years. These people don't know I exist, but I love reading about their lives and not in that "I can't take my eyes off of that train wreck" kind of way.
  4. I need to get back in the habit of doing something for myself. Some days I look in the mirror (and I do NOT look in the mirror everyday), and I don't recognize the person staring back at me. She is so much older and more tired than I remember looking.
  5. Writing makes you think more. Lord knows I need to exercise my pea brain. I find myself thinking about things differently when I consider them as "topics".
  6. I suddenly hate talking on the phone. I don't know how this happened, but I have a theory: I can't focus, and it is too much like work. I swear you cannot have a conversation with a toddler running around like a mad man. The stress of it all isn't worth it. Besides you can't focus on what you are saying or what is being said. If I don't update my Facebook status no one would ever know what was going on in my life.
  7. The more you do something, the better you get at it. Repetition makes the heart grow fonder. Wait, that is absence. Crap! Well, I'm sticking with it!
  8. 8 is my lucky number. You may not know that about me if I didn't write it. I used to hate the number 13. It scared me to death. Petrified. It is my friend Dawn's lucky number. I went in to labor on Friday the 13th, but I managed to keep Avery safe and sound until the next day. 13 doesn't scare me like it used to. I still don't love it, but it doesn't freak me out. I also will not close out a bill that is $6.65 plus .01. Terrifies me. I will buy something else. Anything. Be careful if you frequent Kernel Kustard. For whatever reason that total comes up a lot there.
  9. I want to remember and writing helps me remember. Do you remember why you made your last resolution and hot it worked out for you?
  10. I said I would. Why did I say this? I think it had something to do with Ginger. Ginger is trouble. On Friday Ginger coerced me in to watching a video called "the world's biggest zit". DO NOT WATCH IT. Rednecks, beer, scalpel and infection = nasty, unforgettable, heinous, stomach churning images.
Lordie Bee, bear with me. A whole month of me. Peace be with you all. If you have any blog requests, feel free to let me know. I have a whole month to get to them!

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Color Blind

When I look at Avery I am overwhelmed with want for him. It makes my heart actually physically ache. As I look at this picture and the bruise on his precious cheek I am at a loss for words. I spend at least 15 minutes every day of my life feeling guilty about what I do to Avery.

For starters I wake him up way too early, rush him around, feed him crap, and shove him in the car so that I can drop him off for a minimum of 9 hours with other kids whose parents I don't know, and even if I did know them I probably wouldn't like them. Then I go to daycare, rush him again, cram him back in the car seat, commute the 45 minutes back home, walk the dogs, feed him more crap, rush him through his bath, and put him in the bed. Wow, such quality of life for a little guy.

Nothing makes me madder than when someone offers this advice, "well, you've gotta work!" Thanks, that helps. Really. I had never considered that logic. Now I feel great about it. Crisis averted. Gesh!

BTW, the bruise on his cheek happened on the playground. It was no one's fault and it could have just as easily happened at home, but it didn't. I missed it. I didn't get to soothe him and kiss it better. The bruise is a reminder that 5 days a week I put the bottom line ahead of Avery. 5 days a week, 9 hours a day, at a minimum.

Things I want for Avery:
  1. I want him to know he was wanted, wished for, hoped for, planned. He wasn't a TO DO, a "surprise", a second thought, a "blessing" (though he was), or whatever else people call it. Avery was very deliberate.
  2. I want him to know people design traffic cones, guitar strings, logos, curriculums, climb rocks, study rocks, create ice cream flavors, wait tables, weigh patients, design software, design soft beds, or any number of other things he might not think of, for a living. He can be a photographer, a magician, a neurologist, a fortune teller, or a large animal vet. He can also deliver papers and volunteer at Meals on Wheels. I want him to understand how many choices are out there, and how vast the differences are. I don't want Avery to be a slave to "stuff". I want stuff to be secondary.
  3. I want Avery to be color blind. I want him to love people. All people. I want him to understand that phrases like "all "x" people "fill in the blank"" is crazy talk. I want Avery to know that crazy, lazy, sorry, wonderful, exceptional, and extraordinary have nothing to do with the color of a person's skin and everything to do with what is in their heart.
  4. I want Avery to have more fun than me and feel less guilt than I do. I want Avery to be happy.
How on Earth will I ever be worthy of this little boy?