9 May 10

What I Mean When I Say I Love You

It means different things to different people. How many times has a good friend told you with tears in their eyes, “he said he loved me.” We assume that he/she is a lying bastard. Because if you really love someone you wouldn’t make them feel the way your friend does.

But I love you doesn’t always mean the same thing to everyone. To me, it means that I adore you with my entire soul. This is how it was defined when I first found out I was pregnant. This is what it means to me when I tell my daughter forty times a day. I love you, with everything that is me for no reason at all. I have never told someone forty times a day that I love them, nor have I ever loved someone as I love her.

To a 6 year old, it means I like you. You smell good. You’re nice to me. We play cops and robbers together, and even though I always have to be the robber…I love you. (See the post about her telling everyone at school that she loves them.) I have discussed with her that it should mean more and she has eased up on her loviness but at this point, we still see this phrase through completely different eyes.

Maybe to you it means you like that person and enjoy hanging out,

maybe it means you sure hope nothing bad ever happens to that person,

maybe it even means you feel as though you could not live without them,

and if one day you figure out you don’t really want to hang out anymore

or you do hope something bad happens to them

or you figure out you could very easily live without them and would actually like to,

then you don’t love them anymore. Maybe.

And if this happens to be the definition in your eyes, than it’s not a lie. You are not a lying bastard, because the feelings you felt when you said you loved them aren’t true anymore, which means your love isn’t either. Not everyone believes love is forever. Ask my daughter.

Some people say it easily because it doesn’t mean the same thing as it may to you. With my entire soul? With everything that is me? That’s pretty serious and to most it isn’t.

We should be on the same page. We should make sure we know what it means to the other person. It isn’t always a lie. Sometimes, it’s a misunderstanding.

A difference in definition.

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1 May 10

Single Mother by Choice

There’s nothing wrong with me.

There are still people out there that think any single woman over 30 has something very wrong with her. Clinical. Certifiable. Epically wrong. They’re not all old folks either, by the way. There are also people that believe any single woman over 30 that has a child should pretty much take whatever they’re given. Or whomever happens to show even the slightest interest, because after all:

You are not getting any younger.

I was eating dinner with my parents and my grandmother when someone happened to mention to grandma that I don’t cook. There are no real words to describe her look of disgust. “What? You don’t cook?!!” accompanied with vigorous head shaking translated into a bright and flashing message.

FAILURE AS A WOMAN.

And those dumb arrows pointed at me like a cheap hotel sign.

YOU. MISS NON COOKING SINGLE MOTHER. EPIC FAIL. DESTINED FOR LOSERNESS FOR ALL ETERNITY. BAHAHAHA…**

Seriously, it’s safe to assume that grandma was thinking “Ha! Good luck finding a man now, Ms. Failure as a Woman.” After all, my goal should be to find a man, right? One must cook and do all of those things to make men happy in order to get one.

No. Wonder. I’m. Single. Men are simple. Cook, sleep with them, keep the home tidy, do whatever makes him happy, and regardless of the shit sandwich he actually brings to the table, you may be lucky enough to be trapped with him dedicate your life to him and keep him for the rest of the time you spend on this earth. And just maybe, depending upon what you believe, if you’re extremely lucky and successful as a woman, you could even be blessed enough to be haunted by have him after your tour on earth as well! Wahoo!

Let’s look at my checklist:

Cook: No

Sleep With Him: No comment

Keep the Home Tidy: No

Do Whatever Keeps Him Happy: Not Likely

Eat Shit Sandwiches Provided By Him: Hells No

Summary: Damn. I may be single a while.

Please. Anything BUT Single Motherhood

I read recently in a TIME magazine article that originally the birth control pill was only prescribed for married women. The idea was that giving a single woman the option to control whether she became pregnant or not promoted promiscuity. Single women either did not have sex (morality still matters) or had sex and took their chances on whatever happened. If whatever happened happened to be pregnancy, they either chose abortion, adoption, or found someone really quick to get married to. Preferably whomever the father was, even if you realized after all, that you didn’t really like him that much. No one wanted to be a single mother.

Those were the days, huh? When women auto married after or during high school, had a posse of children and found themselves trapped with men that today would be left in the dust 2 months into dating. The era in which women were completely dependent upon men, and the fear of being on the street with 12 kids single handedly kept them married til death. At that time everyone knew divorce equaled solitary mama equaled death sentence.

Be as Single as You Wanna Be

Now look at us. Single women that are sometimes on the pill. Sometimes have sexual relations before marriage. Sometimes don’t get trapped into marriage. Almost never have to be married to be mommies. (I’m obviously not counting third world countries where divorce is punishable by death.)

Single women that even choose through envitro and other scientific like procedures to become single mothers on purpose. And no, I’m not just talking about lesbian mothers. Oftentimes, simply women who are tired of waiting for Mr. Right. Women who know they will be great mothers even without marriage. Women that are aware that admittedly, we aren’t getting any younger. Women that would rather make their own shit sandwich and eat it themselves rather than share one with a man. And yeah, sometimes even lesbians.

The greatest thing about the invention of the birth control pill? Not settling for Mr. Crappy just because we did what everyone said we had to do.

Even if you’re a mother.***

(By the way, happy 50th, birth control pill.)

**Disclaimer: I have a child and I am single. I do feed her. We eat very well. I do cook that which is required. Fear not.

***Don’t get me wrong, I do still believe that the family consisting of a mother and father is of course the ideal situation for a child. A mother and father that actually want to be together. It is lovely and convenient, but by no means a requirement.

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27 Apr 10

Running

I caught myself screaming at my daughter the other day about running around the house for no reason.

No one is chasing you.
You’re running around in circles, therefore you aren’t actually trying to get anywhere.
This is not gym class and you are not exercising because if you are, jumping jacks are just as effective.
You’re running to drive me crazy.

It must be a phase, because then after sitting down I asked her to turn off the light. Which to her translated into “run quickly and damn near tackle the light switch. Oh and extra points if your head doesn’t bust through the wall.” Then she turned back toward me and ran back, and believe me when I say that the distance from the lightswitch to the sofa is nowhere near sufficient enough for running. I was honestly afraid for a moment that I was going to get hurt.

I look to myself to figure these things out. I don’t run randomly, well not literally. I have never leapt from the sofa and sprinted to the lightswitch. I almost never jog 10 laps around the living room.

I do run from and over things though. Not only am I constantly in a hurry, in a mad rush to get something completed or to get somewhere, in my mind I run away from those things that I don’t want to either accept or face just as quickly and simply as she does to turn off a light. Other times, I run frantically toward things that could very well knock my ass out.

##

I was discussing with a friend why we seem to be wrapped up in the things that we are currently. Why we constantly try to run from the situation and end it daily; why we ended up in this race in the first place. I can only conclude that maybe it is the running that keeps us going. If it were easy and didn’t require the running, we would’ve been done and left it at the side of the road a long time ago. Running away from and being pulled back. Giving up and reconsidering. Running for some imaginary prize that makes us look back and think, “man I’m glad I ran my ass off.” Or maybe just realizing that in the end it’s a fantastic lap in this track meet of life. Exhausting. Emotional. Sometimes, we want to just sit down in the middle of the race and quit. Sometimes, like my daughter, we just need to sit our asses down and be quiet. For just a moment.

No one is chasing me.
I’m running around in circles, therefore I’m not actually trying to get anywhere.
This is not gym class and I am not exercising because if I am, jumping jacks are just as effective.
I’m running to drive you crazy.

And me…quite possibly.

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15 Apr 10

I Can See the Future

I make decisions based upon what I think is going to happen later on. More specifically, the bad things I think are going to happen later that are going to destroy me and pull me so far under that I never breathe again.

(I’m also somewhat of a drama queen at times.)

I’ve cried and cried because of my own conclusions. Self torturous, isn’t it? If I’m wrong I won’t ever know because as far as predictions are concerned I’m batting a thousand. I don’t allow anything to wander into the wrong direction. A little forced fate. Maybe.

I’m so in the wrong line of work. I should be a bazillionaire palm reader or something.

Let me tell you your future.

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13 Apr 10

Gorgeous Words

Words aren’t supposed to mean anything. Actions speak louder than words. A penny for your thoughts. Sticks and stones. (Which by the way is wrong. Words do hurt.)

But words move me. Sometimes, actually most times, it’s my own interpretation of the words and my own imagination and hope. Not necessarily the person sharing them, and definitely not necessarily because there is any true meaning behind them. If you remember the first heartbreak you remember that after all, words are only words.

###

My high school English teacher adored Annabelle Lee, by Edgar Allan Poe. Or maybe I just adored Annabelle Lee and my teacher happens to be in that memory.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;

“Can you imagine loving someone with a love that is more than love?” she asked us.

Yes I can, I thought.

“This,” she said, “is gorgeous.”

Yes, I thought. Words can be gorgeous.

Months, maybe even a year or so later, she was picking out shoes for a niece at the store that I was working at. I don’t know if she even recognized or remembered me. “You have gorgeous skin,” she told me. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Me and Annabelle Lee.

###

I’ve shared this story by Haruki Murikami personally with a handful of people. A group of gorgeous, moving words that to some, aren’t worth anything. This, my friends is the definition of a tragic love story. Romeo and Juliet were just dumb. Girl fakes her death, guy kills himself for real, girl wakes up and sees guy dead and kills herself. Dumb.

But the 100% Perfect Girl and Guy. They’re different.

If I shared this story with you and you told me, “I am afraid to feel too much. The distance, the waiting. But if you are the 100% perfect girl for me. I will go anywhere.”

That’s no penny for your thoughts kind of jig. That may quite possibly be worth all of me and if it just happens to be 14 years later and in April when you tell me this, those words will eternally move with me and for me.

Because in my heart, you have made my favorite words dance the fairy dance, and flitter and flutter like the butterflies we all long for and chase after. True, my favorite story may be ruined and changed, because every time from that point on, I will think of you. And I will remember.

Sorry, Romeo and Juliet can’t do that.

###

You think I’d leave your side baby?
You know me better than that
You think I’d leave down when your down on your knees?
I wouldn’t do that

I’ll do you right when your wrong
I—–ohhh, ohhh

If only you could see into me

oh, when your cold
I’ll be there to hold you tight to me
When your on the outside baby and you can’t get in
I will show you, your so much better than you know
When your lost, when your alone and you can’t get back again
I will find you darling I’ll bring you home

If you want to cry
I am here to dry your eyes
and in no time you’ll be fine

You think I’d leave your side baby
You know me better than that
You think I’d leave you down when your down on your kness
I wouldn’t do that

I’ll do you right when your wrong
I—–I, ohhhh, ohhh

If only you could see into me

Oh when your cold
I’ll be there
To hold you tight to me
Oh when your alone
I’l be there by your side baby


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4 Apr 10

RIP Dead Television and No We Aren’t Poor

Maybe the title is too aggressive. I actually feel kind of bad making fun of a dead television.

Especially when it’s not really dead. That’s kind of like laughing at Big Celebrity Died but Didn’t Really Die on the internet. You know what I mean. Last week it was Dennis Hopper. (I didn’t laugh, by the way.) But he didn’t really die and Dennis Hopper Died was all over the internet and trending like crazy.

Anyway. (This is where I digress.) I finally canceled my Dish Network after wishing for a year that I would cancel it. Every stinkin month I paid that bill I wondered what the hell I was paying for. We watched two out of the I guess 500 channels (which is a fluke if you know what I’m talking about). One was SpongeBob channel (whatever that is) and the other was Cooking channel aka Food Network and I don’t even cook.

Not. Not. Not. Worth almost $70 a month. I have blogged about this at www.missbankrupt.com so if you read that blog, sorry about the repeat. I’m posting about it here because I am afraid we’re going to look like poor people.

What’s Wrong with Being Poor?

Okay, whatever. We can all act like we don’t give a flying fish what people think and normally I really don’t. Seriously, I really don’t. Except when it comes to “poor” I absolutely can’t stand for people to think we might be. Or are.  I’m struggling to keep mid class status my friends. I have crossed the poverty line (don’t believe me, ask the energy assistance people. I’m rich.)

I prefer to call us “budgeting”. That’s what I call it. I also call it sick of paying for satellite television no one stinkin watches. So I canceled it. We’re not poor. I choose to have a dead television sitting in my house and just taking up space. If I didn’t keep the T.V.(s) people might think we’re Amish. Not that there’s anything wrong with being Amish.

Now What? We are Weirdos…Officially

We hadn’t even turned on the television for a couple weeks before I canceled it, and now we’ve been watching Snow Dogs over and over again. I’m getting pretty sick of Snow Dogs, by the way, but that only cost me $10.00. Once. We can watch Snow Dogs until I figure out how Cuba Gooding, Jr.’s real dad in the movie is white. Or until the cows come home. Whichever happens first.

And, I’m saving almost $70 and I’m not wondering why I keep paying for two channels a month. I’ve been getting a strange feeling though when the television is on, like the satellite is spying on us. Or it’s there but isn’t. really. there.

Are We Cut Off From Reality Now?

Not unless the rest of the world consists of SpongeBob, Patrick Starfish and that girl Squirrel, with visits from Guy Fieri and the Iron Chefs. Plus I watched “Confessions of a Superhero” on Hulu on my laptop the other night. If you want a peek at reality, watch that. Nothing says “real life” more than a bunch of people dressed up like superheroes, waiting for their big break on Hollywood Blvd. Next I’m going to watch “Supersize Me” so I can see how one almost kills ones self to make a documentary about stuffing one’s face with Big Macs for a month. That’s enough reality to last me a couple more months.

I May Live to Regret This

I may not. Any suggestions for spending my extra $70 a month? (Anyone have any extra DVDs?)

***Disclaimer:  No televisions were actually harmed in the writing of this post. Nor were any satellite dishes or cable companies, although at times in the way, way past it may have been considered but if something happened I didn’t do it.

***My television isn’t really dead. Just useless and taking up space and my proof that we aren’t poor. Or Amish.


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1 Apr 10

National Child Abuse Prevention Month and Actual Prevention

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month. Not quite sure how to prevent child abuse, because if it is prevented how do we know it was going to happen in the first place?

***

There are houses around my daughter’s elementary school, with yards full of little sheds and beat up campers and vehicles and such. And do you know what I think each day that I pick her up? That in any one of those yards, some psychopath could be holding captive another Jaycee Dugard. Weird, I know, and not likely. I often wonder since she was found if I would’ve been like the neighbors that knew someone was living in the tents in the backyard, but didn’t say anything. In fact, there’s a good chance I would be.

In my world, I let people be. Your business is your business. As long as I don’t think you’re hurting anyone, do whatcha like. Privacy is king and I am the queen. In order for me to feel an urge to actually poke my uninvited (and even invited) nose into someone else’s home, I would have to be pretty damn sure something’s going on.

Which means that there could possible come a day when I may even see children playing in one of those rickety, should-be-condemned-campers and although for a second I’ll remember the Jaycee Dugard story, I’ll quickly push that away and instead assume the kids are just playing. Because that’s rational, right? Thinking kidnapped kids are being held hostage, not so much. That’s just plain old nuts.

I contemplate these things because it applies to child abuse as well. Kids are abused and neglected daily and it’s very seldom, unless it’s especially violent and noticeable, that anyone actually does anything. Because of where I work, I hear stories like this all the time. I dwell on them. I imagine and feel the pain and rage as if it happened to my daughter. I sometimes would rather not even know and consciously choose not to read about, discuss or listen to it. I know and I see the people that didn’t speak or take action or prevent child abuse. Frequently.

***

Child abuse is only prevented if we accept our instincts. If we go with the “hunch” and take the chance that yeah, we may sound like a lunatic if we’re wrong, but what about if we’re right? And if we’re right and we didn’t do anything…?

I read this blog post by Kelly Diels, a stunning writer that I have just recently stumbled upon. Intelligent she is. Passionate. In this post, she (like most of us) stood at that line like it was a cliff over an ocean. Her hunch, her instincts, her intuition…were all dead on and there’s no doubt in my mind that she deals with that internally. Often. We all would.

I’d rather be called crazy.

To prevent child abuse, you have to cross the line. Maybe even jump off the cliff. Hopefully, we’re wrong.

Hopefully, if we’re right, we can help someone.

Be nosy. Be crazy. I think, this is how we might prevent.

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29 Mar 10

How to Pick a BFF

Me:  Who is your best friend at school?

DD:  Mr. S, Miss B. and Mr. I. But most of all, Mr. S.

Me:  Really? Why Mr. S most of all?

DD:  Because he smells good. I can smell him when he walks by.

Because this is how we all should choose our best friends, right? By something  which really means nothing but at the same time could make a world of difference (after all, it isn’t often we run into someone that is just god awful stinky).

Forget all of the rest of the craziness and neediness we search for.

Friendship should be simple.

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23 Mar 10

Promises and Determination by Masking Tape

My daughter had a smashed up plastic Easter egg in her jacket pocket when I picked her up. It belonged to one of her friends in Kindergarten and had inadvertently been broken by one of the boys. She carried her jacket carefully so as not to lose any of the tiny pieces.

“I promised I’d fix it with our tape,” she told me.

“Did you break it?”

“No, but I promised her I’d fix it. And we have lots of tape.” True that. We don’t have a lot of anything, but we always have tape.

When we got home, I realized that the little plastic Easter egg was in worse shape than I had thought. One half was okay, but the other half was broken, actually smashed into various tiny shards.

“Honey, I don’t think you’ll be able to fix that with tape. There are a lot of pieces,” I told her.

“Yes, I can. I promised and when you make a promise you have to keep it.”

True that. Again. I thought. But what if you don’t have any idea what you’re promising when you make the promise?

If there were any time that it would be completely fair and square to renig on a promise, this would be it. (In my opinion, anyway.)

She grabbed the roll of masking tape and disappeared into her room. Apparently well aware of the need for silence and concentration in repairing the smashed up egg.

When she emerged a couple hours later, she was holding a completely wrinkled and tape covered Easter egg, which by all accounts was fixed. If you didn’t know it, you’d never guess there were a billion tiny pieces underneath.

“See,” she said with her hand out. “I fixed it.” And she gently laid the egg into a small pocket of her backpack.

Yes, you did, I thought to myself. You certainly didn’t promise it would be pretty.

Takeaway:

1.  “If you make a promise you have to keep it.” Obviously if you don’t believe you can, you shouldn’t promise in the first place.

2.  Believing breeds determination.

3.  Determination and tape can fix most anything.

What her friend will think of the taped up chunk that was once a broken plastic egg, I’m not sure.

I hope she likes it though.

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16 Mar 10

Psychic or Reading My Blog Behind My Back

It was kind of weird. I woke up late this morning, but I’m late a couple times a month and it usually just results in me dragging my behind in to the office with no makeup on, half ironed clothes and my hair pulled back. My boss doesn’t like me being late I’m sure, but I think he almost expects it sometimes. God, I love my job. None of this is the weird part though.

Anyway, I shot out of bed like I usually do when I realize I’ve gotten more than 5 hours of sleep and screamed (again, no surprise here) to my daughter to move like her ass was on fire or she’d be late for school. And you know what? She did. I mean I pretty much blinked and her clothes were on, her teeth brushed, and her face was washed. She was practically holding the door open for me.

High fives. Two of them to be exact because that girl rocks. “I’m going to get ready that fast every day from now on, Mommy.”

It’s either a trick or a 6 year old has been doing some research I don’t know about. It’s a trick. I know it. This never happens. Usually she’s still laying in bed singing when I’m trying to back the car out of the garage, especially if we’re late. I’ve almost broken down into tears begging her to please move….just a little…faster.

OMG! Why are you practicing your hula hoop now?!

Are you serious? It is not safe to do cartwheels while naked!

What the hell! Why are you still staring at yourself in the mirror? Yes, I do know you’re supposed to floss.

WE ARE LATE? Do you know what late means?

(I don’t think she does, by the way.)

It’s true that tomorrow I may find out I’ve been tricked by a 6 year old. But today was different and I appreciate today. I realize that just as I am, my daughter’s figuring this game of life out.  In spite of or because of, I’m not sure, but she’s doing a pretty good job. Don’t you think?

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