I feel like a little kid. I had a birthday party, people. A SURPRISE birthday party. On my actual birthday. With friends and candles and a cake with a pony on it and pizza and BIRTHDAY cards. And even a couple of presents. I keep getting all teary-eyed whenever I think about it. Then I get over feeling teary-eyed and feel like jumping up and down.
Anyone out there who has a birthday really close to Christmas knows it's not really the most fun time of the year to celebrate a birthday. I mean, there are a lot of things in life that are a whole lot worse, but...it's just kinda not that fun. Most people forget your birthday entirely (or at least, they did before Facebook). It's rare to get a birthday card from a friend because everyone's so wrapped up with Christmas cards. Presents are usually lumped in as "Christmas and birthday" (which is only cool if it's a really neat present), and forget about having a birthday party; everyone's either out of town or busy with the holidays. So yesterday was really, really awesome for me. I do wish more people could have been there (apparently the whole thing was last minute and the word didn't really get out to everyone), but with the Christmas Carol cast factored in, it felt like a LOT of people. And they all said surprise! And sang me happy birthday!
(Suddenly I'm taken back to a video of myself as a four-year-old child, opening a cheap plastic doll from a random old lady who was the mom of one of my mom's friends. I looked at the package and exclaimed gleefully, "Oh, it's just what I always wanted!". Apparently I take a lot of pleasure in the simple things.)
I have a really awesome husband who managed to keep a secret from me. And I have a really awesome best friend who somehow manages to do just the right thing sometimes.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Connecticut
I have been selfishly trying not to think about Connecticut since Friday. I can't let myself be affected by this, not when there are children who come running up to throw their arms around my legs when I walk into a room with shouts of, "Miss Mandy! Miss Mandy, can I play with your hair? Miss Mandy, will you swing me around? Miss Mandy, come look at my airplane that I built!"
I don't have time to be affected by this. I don't want to be affected by this.
But I am. We all are. Especially those of us who are educators. I kept overhearing snippets of conversation at work, hearing the teachers talk to each other about what they would do if someone barged in on us with a gun. I didn't comment. I tried not to listen. But those thoughts are in my head, too; they've been in my head since Friday. I think to myself, "If I were in the three-year-old room, those windows are easy to open; I'd get them all out the window, tell them to head for the side of the building, because surely they'd have a better chance out there than cornered in their classroom." And then, "What if I were in the infant room? I can only carry two babies at a time; do I put them all in the closet and shield them? Do I stick them into the evacuation crib, treat it like a fire drill, get them out onto the playground and hope whatever maniac is after them doesn't follow?"
The reality is, there is no way to plan for such a thing happening. Such a thing shouldn't be happening. And it's easy to pretend for a little while that it hasn't happened; it's easy to go to holiday parties, enjoying egg nog and laughter and gift exchanges, but the fact remains that this has happened. There are children that will never see the Christmas presents bought for them; there are teachers who died trying to protect those children. It happened. And it will happen again if something doesn't change. Something has to change.
In the meantime, we all keep going about our lives as best we can, hoping it isn't our town next time. Hoping it isn't us. And I'll keep looking at the smiling faces and bright eyes of all the children in my life, wishing my arms could somehow be big enough to hold them all at once.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Day of the Dead
Home sick with a stomach bug. There are plenty of things I SHOULD be accomplishing with this extra time, but...well, emphasis on the "sick". I kind of just want to stay in bed for a while until I have to head out for other jobs.
I love Halloween. Yesterday was a whole lot of fun - for the first time in my life, I was in a house in an actual neighborhood for the holiday, so I got to see all KINDS of trick-or-treaters. Totally made my night. I also loved seeing Scott and Jason handing out candy - at one point they were doing so at the same time, and we think they may have been mistaken for a couple, judging by the smiles and waves from the parents of the kids, which is just adorable. After all that, I ended up winning third place in a (small) costume contest, which was just awesome - I've never come anywhere close to having the best costume. Then again, I've never entered that many contests.
So, today is Day of the Dead, and I've been seeing people post about their loved ones. It made me realize that I've lost a lot of people that were very important in my life...which reminds me just how lucky I am to have had SO many important people in my life.
Granny, who I barely remember, but still dream about sometimes and still wish to be just like. I miss you, and I am absurdly pleased whenever anyone points out that I have your legs or that my pie crusts taste just like yours did. I might miss you the most because to this day I wish I had gotten more time with you.
Papaw, who used to pass the time with me just sitting on the front porch watching cars go by on the semi-distant highway, guessing what color car would come next. You used to let me win at checkers when I was tiny, until I got mad when I realized you were throwing the game and refused to play with you for a solid month. Somehow what I have of yours is crooked pinky fingers, oddly shaped feet, and determination.
Grandmother, so petite and spunky in this oddly genteel way. I miss your garden and your cookies, and the witty, almost flirty way you joked with people. My mother likes to say "Mary Garrison will never die as long as Mandy's around" whenever I start to leave - because I start to leave at least ten minutes before I actually get out the door, then dawdle around saying goodbye and gathering up things, just like you.
Aunt Doris, always gentle and quiet, but still able to banter with your sister about who got to be the "boss" on any given day. When everyone else laughed at me for wanting to be an actress, and my Mama jokingly said, "Well, if you end up starvin' in New York, don't come running to me!", you put your arm around me and said, "Don't worry, honey, as long as I have something to eat, you will, too." I will never forget that, or our walks, or the way you talked to the barn cats.
Aunt Phyllis, who called me your "sleepin' buddy" because you always shared my bed when you'd come visit. You always kept me awake with your snoring, but I was so happy you'd come to visit, I didn't mind.
Uncle Bill, you and I shared a love of those little cinnamon twists Grandmother would make out of leftover dough. I remember how you used to get down in the floor and play with me, and how sad I was when you died before you got to see me driving a car, since it would have made you proud to see me in that old blue Ford Fairmont.
Roseanne, Mrs. Sheppard, the oldest friend I had in both senses of the word. I guess it's all right to tell you now that I never actually liked those Kit-Kat bars you always gave me, but I was always so pleased that you thought enough of me to give them to me. I had the florist put one in the flower arrangement for your funeral. I still have the little horse figurine you gave me, and every birthday card you ever sent to me, and I miss your stories so, so much. I tell them to myself sometimes just so I won't forget them, especially the one about the boys playing guitar outside the sleeping porch when you were in boarding school, and how your daddy had to walk to Burnsville in the rain to get a cab so you could be taken to Asheville to have your appendix out, and how your daddy and my great-granddaddy were such good friends, and how your oldest boy died in a car crash. Good and bad and silly and important, I miss hearing you tell them to me.
Aunt Clara, how you were always so mild until something got you angry, but you never spoke an unkind word to me. Uncle Carl, I once mentioned that I liked the applesauce cake you made, and from then on you made one for me every time I came home from college until you weren't able anymore. Aunt Bert, Uncle Tuck, Luther (the first vehicle I ever drove was your old white truck in the cow pasture), Conrad (everyone in our family still calls you "Conard" because that's how Papaw said your name)....
And Krysten. Oh, Krysten, it amazes me that losing you still pains me so much when we hadn't even spoken in years, except on Facebook. I don't even know if we would have been friends as adults. But I see you at preschool all the time, whenever I see two little girls playing pretend together, and I recognize that their play is so similar to ours. I miss your cheeky smile, and the way you used to scream with laughter when my Daddy would tickle your feet, and how you were so spunky. And bossy. Yes, you were bossy, always telling me that you got to choose what we did because you were older by a whole ten months. Mud pies and hay bales and forts, and forts made of hay bales, and hunting for new baby kittens in the barn loft, and watching Disney movies on rainy days, and dancing to Boot Scootin' Boogie in my living room. I remember spending the night at your house over the years, and it seemed so fancy to me, then! You had a waterbed and a Barbie dollhouse, and you lived in a neighborhood, which was so foreign to me. Our white tennis shoes Mama bought us at Roses that we painted with puff paint - mine were ladybugs, yours were bumblebees. And oh, how we could fight! I vividly remember you standing in the back yard, little hands balled up into fists by your sides while we argued with each other...we had been arguing for several minutes, at least, standing there in a face-off near the cherry tree, neither one backing down, until something dawned on me and I asked, "Krysten, what are we fighting about, again?" You just stopped, the frown left your face and was slowly replaced with a grin, and you said, "I have no idea." We both laughed so hard at how silly it all was, we nearly cried. We had a really good childhood together.
I am so lucky to have loved so much.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good
And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the thing I've done you blame me for
But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood
Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better
And because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good.
I love Halloween. Yesterday was a whole lot of fun - for the first time in my life, I was in a house in an actual neighborhood for the holiday, so I got to see all KINDS of trick-or-treaters. Totally made my night. I also loved seeing Scott and Jason handing out candy - at one point they were doing so at the same time, and we think they may have been mistaken for a couple, judging by the smiles and waves from the parents of the kids, which is just adorable. After all that, I ended up winning third place in a (small) costume contest, which was just awesome - I've never come anywhere close to having the best costume. Then again, I've never entered that many contests.
So, today is Day of the Dead, and I've been seeing people post about their loved ones. It made me realize that I've lost a lot of people that were very important in my life...which reminds me just how lucky I am to have had SO many important people in my life.
Granny, who I barely remember, but still dream about sometimes and still wish to be just like. I miss you, and I am absurdly pleased whenever anyone points out that I have your legs or that my pie crusts taste just like yours did. I might miss you the most because to this day I wish I had gotten more time with you.
Papaw, who used to pass the time with me just sitting on the front porch watching cars go by on the semi-distant highway, guessing what color car would come next. You used to let me win at checkers when I was tiny, until I got mad when I realized you were throwing the game and refused to play with you for a solid month. Somehow what I have of yours is crooked pinky fingers, oddly shaped feet, and determination.
Grandmother, so petite and spunky in this oddly genteel way. I miss your garden and your cookies, and the witty, almost flirty way you joked with people. My mother likes to say "Mary Garrison will never die as long as Mandy's around" whenever I start to leave - because I start to leave at least ten minutes before I actually get out the door, then dawdle around saying goodbye and gathering up things, just like you.
Aunt Doris, always gentle and quiet, but still able to banter with your sister about who got to be the "boss" on any given day. When everyone else laughed at me for wanting to be an actress, and my Mama jokingly said, "Well, if you end up starvin' in New York, don't come running to me!", you put your arm around me and said, "Don't worry, honey, as long as I have something to eat, you will, too." I will never forget that, or our walks, or the way you talked to the barn cats.
Aunt Phyllis, who called me your "sleepin' buddy" because you always shared my bed when you'd come visit. You always kept me awake with your snoring, but I was so happy you'd come to visit, I didn't mind.
Uncle Bill, you and I shared a love of those little cinnamon twists Grandmother would make out of leftover dough. I remember how you used to get down in the floor and play with me, and how sad I was when you died before you got to see me driving a car, since it would have made you proud to see me in that old blue Ford Fairmont.
Roseanne, Mrs. Sheppard, the oldest friend I had in both senses of the word. I guess it's all right to tell you now that I never actually liked those Kit-Kat bars you always gave me, but I was always so pleased that you thought enough of me to give them to me. I had the florist put one in the flower arrangement for your funeral. I still have the little horse figurine you gave me, and every birthday card you ever sent to me, and I miss your stories so, so much. I tell them to myself sometimes just so I won't forget them, especially the one about the boys playing guitar outside the sleeping porch when you were in boarding school, and how your daddy had to walk to Burnsville in the rain to get a cab so you could be taken to Asheville to have your appendix out, and how your daddy and my great-granddaddy were such good friends, and how your oldest boy died in a car crash. Good and bad and silly and important, I miss hearing you tell them to me.
Aunt Clara, how you were always so mild until something got you angry, but you never spoke an unkind word to me. Uncle Carl, I once mentioned that I liked the applesauce cake you made, and from then on you made one for me every time I came home from college until you weren't able anymore. Aunt Bert, Uncle Tuck, Luther (the first vehicle I ever drove was your old white truck in the cow pasture), Conrad (everyone in our family still calls you "Conard" because that's how Papaw said your name)....
And Krysten. Oh, Krysten, it amazes me that losing you still pains me so much when we hadn't even spoken in years, except on Facebook. I don't even know if we would have been friends as adults. But I see you at preschool all the time, whenever I see two little girls playing pretend together, and I recognize that their play is so similar to ours. I miss your cheeky smile, and the way you used to scream with laughter when my Daddy would tickle your feet, and how you were so spunky. And bossy. Yes, you were bossy, always telling me that you got to choose what we did because you were older by a whole ten months. Mud pies and hay bales and forts, and forts made of hay bales, and hunting for new baby kittens in the barn loft, and watching Disney movies on rainy days, and dancing to Boot Scootin' Boogie in my living room. I remember spending the night at your house over the years, and it seemed so fancy to me, then! You had a waterbed and a Barbie dollhouse, and you lived in a neighborhood, which was so foreign to me. Our white tennis shoes Mama bought us at Roses that we painted with puff paint - mine were ladybugs, yours were bumblebees. And oh, how we could fight! I vividly remember you standing in the back yard, little hands balled up into fists by your sides while we argued with each other...we had been arguing for several minutes, at least, standing there in a face-off near the cherry tree, neither one backing down, until something dawned on me and I asked, "Krysten, what are we fighting about, again?" You just stopped, the frown left your face and was slowly replaced with a grin, and you said, "I have no idea." We both laughed so hard at how silly it all was, we nearly cried. We had a really good childhood together.
I am so lucky to have loved so much.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good
And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the thing I've done you blame me for
But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood
Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better
And because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Bigotry and Barbies
I think the one thing I probably have the hardest time understanding in the world is bigotry. I even looked it up just now so that I could have an easier time explaining why I don't understand:
big·ot·ry
[big-uh-tree]
noun, plural -ries.
1. stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
2. the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot.
I think the first four words really sum up everything. "Stubborn and complete intolerance". I mean, I believe in sticking to your own beliefs, and I stick to mine. That doesn't mean I can't listen to someone else's, can't appreciate their side of things. Honestly, the hardest thing in a while that I've had to accept is that a dear friend of mine doesn't believe in souls, and for some reason that's really hard for me, because I do believe in souls so vehemently and because I love this friend and somehow the thought of him not believing in souls makes me really, really sad. But I think me being sad about his belief is definitely not the same thing as intolerance of his belief. Anyway, I digress.
What started this whole line of thought is this blog I've been reading tonight called "Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son." I've read most of the blog entries by now, and it really makes me sad that there are people in the world who can't wrap their head around this little boy's desire to be a princess any more than I can wrap my head around bigotry. It just seems like a no-brainer to me. Kids are going to play with what they're attracted to. Most little boys want to play with guns, and no matter HOW hard PeaceLovingHippieMama (I use that term affectionately) may try to teach nonviolence and ban guns from the house, little boys will build weapons out of Legos and chew them out of peanut butter sandwiches. It doesn't mean they're going to grow up and go on a killing spree. It just means that gender typical boys love playing action hero bang-bang shoot-em-up games. And most people accept this.
People also accept little girls being tom boys. No one thinks twice when little Mary Sue dons jeans and sneakers and starts playing super heroes with the boys. In fact, she's usually applauded for being so tough and holding her own with the guys. Nobody automatically assumes she's a lesbian when she's climbing trees at four years old. Why is it different for little boys? And for that matter, why on EARTH do some people think it's FAIR that it's different?
When I was a little girl, I wore cowgirl boots and jeans and spent a lot of time in the cattle pasture with my daddy and big brother. This was, in fact, my favorite place to be. I made mud-pies, I climbed trees and was brave enough to jump down instead of calling for help when I climbed too high. I was plopped onto the backs of horses (and cows) before I could walk. I was fearless of spiders and snakes and bugs (except locust, which still creep me out). My family was exceedingly proud of my cowgirl ways and my willingness to get dirty, and I loved that. But you know what else I remember loving? Doll houses. Big, beautiful, real wooden doll houses we'd see at the craft store. And tea sets. And Barbie dolls. And oh, those ruffled dresses they sold at Dollywood that were insanely expensive, and the parasols to match...I still get a little teary-eyed over the thought of how badly my little five year old self ached for one of those dresses, and how my mama wouldn't get me one because it was too expensive (and, realizing now how talented she is at the sewing machine, I'm almost bitter that she didn't make me a knock-off copy). I have vowed to buy my children a beautiful doll house because I never got one - although don't get me wrong, I was very spoiled and well taken care of, I just wasn't always listened to when it came to my opinions.
The most hurtful thing my dear, sweet, kind Daddy ever said was meant to be a joke, meant to not even be in my earshot. He was talking to someone about me doing theatre, and he laughed and said, "Yeah, well, I'd thought sure I had myself a cowgirl when she was little." I had to slip off to the bathroom and cry so that Daddy wouldn't see he'd hurt my feelings, because I know he never meant to. He does a great job of loving me, and he and Mama both really try to support the fact that I do theatre and that it's something that obviously isn't going to leave my life. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I have a little rainbow princess boy someday. I see myself as embracing this child's preferences and buying him pink nail polish and creating dress-up clothes for him on my sewing machine, but what about my family? Would they fall into the same category of bigots that sneer at mothers who let their boys dress in pink lace? Would they blame me for buying him Barbies the way those mothers get blamed?
Something else that's seldom brought up is the way people force some little girls into wearing frills and doing girl things. It isn't addressed as much, the same way girls being tomboys isn't such a big deal, but I've seen it. I've seen girls who want nothing more than to play in the mud whose mothers force them into pink frilly dresses and fuss at them for getting sand in their shoes.
Will I buy my little girl frilly dresses? Yes, of course I will. I've waited my whole life for that. But will I keep putting her in those frilly dresses if it becomes obvious she doesn't like them? I hope not. Except maybe once a year. I can hear Scott now: "All right, (daughter's name), it's Mama's birthday, so put your dress on for dinner."
And will I deny my little boy frilly dresses if that's what he wants? Of course not. Will I support him in his gender and sexual identity as he grows older? It seems like a no-brainer, and yet there are people who say they'd rather have their son be missing his left arm than be gay. I just don't understand.
big·ot·ry
[big-uh-tree]
noun, plural -ries.
1. stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
2. the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot.
I think the first four words really sum up everything. "Stubborn and complete intolerance". I mean, I believe in sticking to your own beliefs, and I stick to mine. That doesn't mean I can't listen to someone else's, can't appreciate their side of things. Honestly, the hardest thing in a while that I've had to accept is that a dear friend of mine doesn't believe in souls, and for some reason that's really hard for me, because I do believe in souls so vehemently and because I love this friend and somehow the thought of him not believing in souls makes me really, really sad. But I think me being sad about his belief is definitely not the same thing as intolerance of his belief. Anyway, I digress.
What started this whole line of thought is this blog I've been reading tonight called "Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son." I've read most of the blog entries by now, and it really makes me sad that there are people in the world who can't wrap their head around this little boy's desire to be a princess any more than I can wrap my head around bigotry. It just seems like a no-brainer to me. Kids are going to play with what they're attracted to. Most little boys want to play with guns, and no matter HOW hard PeaceLovingHippieMama (I use that term affectionately) may try to teach nonviolence and ban guns from the house, little boys will build weapons out of Legos and chew them out of peanut butter sandwiches. It doesn't mean they're going to grow up and go on a killing spree. It just means that gender typical boys love playing action hero bang-bang shoot-em-up games. And most people accept this.
People also accept little girls being tom boys. No one thinks twice when little Mary Sue dons jeans and sneakers and starts playing super heroes with the boys. In fact, she's usually applauded for being so tough and holding her own with the guys. Nobody automatically assumes she's a lesbian when she's climbing trees at four years old. Why is it different for little boys? And for that matter, why on EARTH do some people think it's FAIR that it's different?
When I was a little girl, I wore cowgirl boots and jeans and spent a lot of time in the cattle pasture with my daddy and big brother. This was, in fact, my favorite place to be. I made mud-pies, I climbed trees and was brave enough to jump down instead of calling for help when I climbed too high. I was plopped onto the backs of horses (and cows) before I could walk. I was fearless of spiders and snakes and bugs (except locust, which still creep me out). My family was exceedingly proud of my cowgirl ways and my willingness to get dirty, and I loved that. But you know what else I remember loving? Doll houses. Big, beautiful, real wooden doll houses we'd see at the craft store. And tea sets. And Barbie dolls. And oh, those ruffled dresses they sold at Dollywood that were insanely expensive, and the parasols to match...I still get a little teary-eyed over the thought of how badly my little five year old self ached for one of those dresses, and how my mama wouldn't get me one because it was too expensive (and, realizing now how talented she is at the sewing machine, I'm almost bitter that she didn't make me a knock-off copy). I have vowed to buy my children a beautiful doll house because I never got one - although don't get me wrong, I was very spoiled and well taken care of, I just wasn't always listened to when it came to my opinions.
The most hurtful thing my dear, sweet, kind Daddy ever said was meant to be a joke, meant to not even be in my earshot. He was talking to someone about me doing theatre, and he laughed and said, "Yeah, well, I'd thought sure I had myself a cowgirl when she was little." I had to slip off to the bathroom and cry so that Daddy wouldn't see he'd hurt my feelings, because I know he never meant to. He does a great job of loving me, and he and Mama both really try to support the fact that I do theatre and that it's something that obviously isn't going to leave my life. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I have a little rainbow princess boy someday. I see myself as embracing this child's preferences and buying him pink nail polish and creating dress-up clothes for him on my sewing machine, but what about my family? Would they fall into the same category of bigots that sneer at mothers who let their boys dress in pink lace? Would they blame me for buying him Barbies the way those mothers get blamed?
Something else that's seldom brought up is the way people force some little girls into wearing frills and doing girl things. It isn't addressed as much, the same way girls being tomboys isn't such a big deal, but I've seen it. I've seen girls who want nothing more than to play in the mud whose mothers force them into pink frilly dresses and fuss at them for getting sand in their shoes.
Will I buy my little girl frilly dresses? Yes, of course I will. I've waited my whole life for that. But will I keep putting her in those frilly dresses if it becomes obvious she doesn't like them? I hope not. Except maybe once a year. I can hear Scott now: "All right, (daughter's name), it's Mama's birthday, so put your dress on for dinner."
And will I deny my little boy frilly dresses if that's what he wants? Of course not. Will I support him in his gender and sexual identity as he grows older? It seems like a no-brainer, and yet there are people who say they'd rather have their son be missing his left arm than be gay. I just don't understand.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Been a while
Randomly felt like blogging tonight for the first time in a year and a half or so!
I wish for more time to do the things that really matter in life. Like watching the rain fall in the streetlights, or listening to crickets in the summertime, or dancing, or skipping down the streets as they glisten in the moonlight, or hanging out with people you love.
Granted, I do a lot of these things as often as I possibly can. It's just that sometimes, Monday is just around the corner, and I realize that I have to go to work and be responsible and all that jazz just so I can have money to live and eat and do the things that matter. I often play the "what if" game: what if we won the lottery? What would we do with that money? We have all sorts of crazy dreams, from owning a house in Montford for all our actor friends to live in to buying a horse ranch (or, Scott's personal dream, to own a helicopter).
Tonight, however, we were watching his favorite movie, which is Groundhog's Day, and I started playing the "what if" game a different way. What if my life were like that movie? What would I do with that day, over and over, if I knew everything would just start out the same way again tomorrow and there would be no consequences? I know after a while it would get boring, and I'm sure I would eventually just go insane. But just assuming that, in the end, February 3rd would finally come....I mean, it'd be unlimited time. I'd have time for everything. I'd go visit people I haven't seen in too long. I'd convince my friends, one by one, to play hooky from work so we could spend one entire day hanging out together. I'd do some of the things Bill Murrey does in the movie, like learn to play piano (oh, lord, would that I had listened to my parents and taken lessons as a child). And I'd do really silly things, too, like get a different haircut every day to see which one I like the best, since I have such a hard time changing my hairstyle (it's really been the same since I was eleven, except for one perm and one experiment with cutting it to my shoulders). I'd spend days just reading books that I've never gotten to. I'd search for my dream house here in Asheville in the hopes that once tomorrow finally came, I could at least know what I wanted, even if I couldn't afford to buy it. I mean, the possibilities are limitless!
It kind of makes me sad that I don't have the ambition to do some of these things even without unlimited time to accomplish them. But honestly, I'm just not that ambitious. I certainly don't just sit at home every day; anyone who knows me knows that I take every chance I get to get out there and do things with people. It just kind of sucks that the majority of my day, of all our days, have to be spent making money just so we can have the means to get by.
In a nutshell: I wish I had more time to dance.
I wish for more time to do the things that really matter in life. Like watching the rain fall in the streetlights, or listening to crickets in the summertime, or dancing, or skipping down the streets as they glisten in the moonlight, or hanging out with people you love.
Granted, I do a lot of these things as often as I possibly can. It's just that sometimes, Monday is just around the corner, and I realize that I have to go to work and be responsible and all that jazz just so I can have money to live and eat and do the things that matter. I often play the "what if" game: what if we won the lottery? What would we do with that money? We have all sorts of crazy dreams, from owning a house in Montford for all our actor friends to live in to buying a horse ranch (or, Scott's personal dream, to own a helicopter).
Tonight, however, we were watching his favorite movie, which is Groundhog's Day, and I started playing the "what if" game a different way. What if my life were like that movie? What would I do with that day, over and over, if I knew everything would just start out the same way again tomorrow and there would be no consequences? I know after a while it would get boring, and I'm sure I would eventually just go insane. But just assuming that, in the end, February 3rd would finally come....I mean, it'd be unlimited time. I'd have time for everything. I'd go visit people I haven't seen in too long. I'd convince my friends, one by one, to play hooky from work so we could spend one entire day hanging out together. I'd do some of the things Bill Murrey does in the movie, like learn to play piano (oh, lord, would that I had listened to my parents and taken lessons as a child). And I'd do really silly things, too, like get a different haircut every day to see which one I like the best, since I have such a hard time changing my hairstyle (it's really been the same since I was eleven, except for one perm and one experiment with cutting it to my shoulders). I'd spend days just reading books that I've never gotten to. I'd search for my dream house here in Asheville in the hopes that once tomorrow finally came, I could at least know what I wanted, even if I couldn't afford to buy it. I mean, the possibilities are limitless!
It kind of makes me sad that I don't have the ambition to do some of these things even without unlimited time to accomplish them. But honestly, I'm just not that ambitious. I certainly don't just sit at home every day; anyone who knows me knows that I take every chance I get to get out there and do things with people. It just kind of sucks that the majority of my day, of all our days, have to be spent making money just so we can have the means to get by.
In a nutshell: I wish I had more time to dance.
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