Your sword's grown old and rusty...

Still stuck and still trying to jump start my creativity. I found this, which is the first poem I ever wrote, ten or eleven years ago. 

As the grave grass quivers,
             the sun is going down,
             the wild flower are growing
almost all around.

As the light is shining,
             when the daylight hour is past,
             when everyone is leaving,
I stand alone at last.

As the wind is blowing,
              and the trees slowly sway,
              and the tears are silently flowing,
because I have lost my way.

As the sea is churning,
              so tears run down my cheeks,
              so as my eyes are burning,
I silently cry myself to sleep.

As the sun begins it's rising,
              when I wake again,
               then I will not remember
for it's not worth the pain.

All these places I remember...

Of all the things I’ve done, there are of course things I regret.  And I know there are things that people assume I regret.  They’re mostly wrong.

I don’t regret getting pregnant at 20, unmarried.  I can’t, because that would mean regretting my son, my sun, my reason to breathe.  I don’t regret dating his father for the same reasons.  Perhaps I should.

I don’t regret moving from Atlanta to Mississippi.  There were some rather lasting effects that I wish weren’t the case, but those weren’t my decisions.

I don’t regret my divorce.  It was the best thing that could have happened to that marriage.

I do regret getting married.  It was awful.  That’s all I want say about that.

I regret dropping out of school.  I regret thinking that in order to be a mother I had to give up my life.  I regret that it’s taken me five years to figure out just how wrong I was. 

I regret not trying harder to stay in theatre.  I like to blame circumstances, but I could have tried harder and I would have found ways if I had.  I chose to eat rather than to breathe.

And I’m doing it again, still.  I’m choosing to eat rather than breathe.  I’m getting bogged in the responsibilities and forgetting to live in the moment… forgetting to take the opportunities that I have every day.  I’m forgetting to enjoy the small things.  Because of all the things I regret, it’s not the big stuff that gets me.  It’s the small things, the small every day simple things that I let pass by without reaching out and trying to grab hold of.
 

Life is in the details. 

Can I break the spell of the typical?

I have come here several times in the past week to try and write a post.   I simply haven't been able to.  So, in a misguided attempt at inspiration, I've been reading some old stuff I have, hidden away.  This is from about 2.5 years ago. 

I am a person, and I am beautiful, and I am real.

I will have good days, and I will have bad days.

Some days I will care too much,

and some days I will be apathetic.

Some days I will love you,

and some days I will want to shove you down a flight of stairs.

Some days I will work,

and some days I will want to do everything else.

Some days I will try and fail and learn and be happy,

and some days I will succeed and still be miserable.

Some days I will sing for no reason,

and some days I will cry for no reason.

Some days I will be flawed and not care,

and some days I will try to fix those flaws.

Because I am real, and that is what is important.

This is my life, and I can't allow

anyone to tell me

how I should live it.

If I can't stand on my own,

then I don't deserve

to stand at all.

...our dreams will break the boundaries of our fears.

Yesterday, I made laundry detergent.  I actually really enjoy making it and it's pretty easy.  I also love using my homemade stuff, because it doesn't smell weird or make my clothes smell like anything other than just clean clothes... oh, and it's uber cheap.  I'm on my second batch of homemade laundry slime and so far I've saved about $70.  I bought enough ingredients to make 6 buckets of detergent for about $10... which will end up saving me about $230 by the time I use all of it.  Plus, it only takes about 5 minutes to make (aside from grating up the bars of soap) and did I mention I really like the stuff? 

Okay, moving on.  Or, not, as I choose. 


There isn't a rule that says I have to move on.  There isn't a rule that says I have to stop being upset or keep being upset or even care at all. And you know, if I want to keep right on being insulted and mad, then I will.  Whether or not you think I have a reason doesn't matter a bit.  You know why?  Because it's up to me.  And, also, because you're the one that insulted me in the first place and thinks that it was a-okay.  It wasn't, and I'm exercising my right to keep right on thinking that. 


Warning: this is random and probably not about what you think.  Except you, in the yellow.  It's exactly what you think.  

A hundred and one pounds of fun...

Any parent gets tired, frustrated, worn out.  Kids aren't easy and you don't get time off.  No sick days, no vacations.  No matter how tired and frustrated you are, you can't just walk away.  Sometimes, you really just can't wait until you get to hand your adorable kiddo off and let them be someone else's problem.  Of course, that someone else is usually their other parent, so if you're a single mom there isn't someone else coming home for you to hand them off to. 

No matter how trying Cole can be, I know for a fact that things (eventually) have to get better.  So despite knowing that I'm stuck with dealing with all the frustration and misbehaviour on my own, I know that at some point in the nearby future, I'll get reminded of why it's all worth it.  I just have to wait. 

Yesterday was that day. 


Not that there haven't been lots of wonderful things all week.  Not that he hasn't been good.  But yesterday was different.  Maybe it had less to do with him and more to do with me actually having a day off and getting some sleep. 

Yesterday Cole helped paint my front door and did a fine job. Yesterday Cole pretended to run a delivery service from underneath my antique sewing machine, only after asking if it was okay for him to use the foot pedal as his "factory".  Yesterday Cole walked through Wal-Mart pretending to be a Cyberman.  Yesterday Cole walked through Wal-Mart singing "A Man's Gotta Do" from Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog.  Yesterday Cole successfully negotiated with me to be paid two dollars to clean my car.  Yesterday in the car Cole sang portions of both "I Was a Teenage Anarchist" and "Honeybun" (from South Pacific), with no accompaniment.  Yesterday Cole reminded me of his love for Inspector Gadget cartoons and Doctor Who.  Between yesterday and Thursday, Cole washed 2 boxes of dishes - he just kept asking for more dishes to wash! 

Some of those things are kinda a big deal for a four year old.  Some of those things probably seem pretty pointless.  Some of those things are rather downright geeky.  But all of those things reminded me of just how stinkin' proud I am of my kiddo. 


Me:  How old do you think Gran is?
Cole: Twelve. 
Me: How old do you think I am?
Cole: Twenty. 
Me:  If Gran is my mother, how can she be younger than me?
Cole gives me a look as though I am completely daft.
Cole:  God made her that way. 

I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees.

"I'm gonna beat you!"  "I'm going to finish my food first!"  "I'm gonna be faster than you!"  "Oh, no, I can't let you beat me!"

I hear some variation on those phrases umpteen times a day.  It's ridiculous.  And it's not just Cole, kids in general are really competitive. 

I want to tell him that it doesn't matter who eats all their ice cream first or that I really don't care if he gets to the front door first (unless he is going to hold it open for me!) and that it does not matter one bit in the grand scheme of things if we get to the church building before or after his friends do. But that would be at the least slightly hypocritical.  Because who of us, masquerading as normal and well-adjusted adults, isn't competitive about at least one thing that really won't matter in 100 years? 

Being female, I am pretty well aware that most of us girls have a bit of competition in our composition.  I don't think I'm exposing any company secrets here: women as a general rule do not dress to be attractive to men.  They dress to be more attractive than the other women.

I'm not male (which should be obvious since I just stated I'm female, if for no other reason), but pretty much anyone who has seen a group of men do, well, anything should be able to attest that men compete with each other.

I am competitive, and not with the whole prettiest-girl thing.  I mean, it would be okay if I was the prettiest. But I'm competitive when I drive.  I've never been in a wreck, other than a couple fender-benders where someone else bumped me, and I've never gotten a ticket.  But this is not what I'm competitive about.

I hate being passed.  Hate it.

Not on a two lane road.  I usually drive fast enough to not be passed, and if someone passes me then they must have some emergency or just be a jerk.  But on the highway... I will speed up, I will weave, I will pull a rolling roadblock.  And I absolutely will not change lanes so someone can go past me.  No, no, no.

Note: These behaviours have lessened as I get older.  Not really out of wisdom, but out of the belief that since I have never gotten a ticket the probability of  me getting one increases each day.  At this point, I'm just pushing my luck.  If I make it to 30 without getting a ticket, I will probably be driving 10 miles below the speed limit all the time.  Pffft, who am I kidding?

Competition is healthy.  Maybe not on the highway, but lots of other places.  It pushes us, it drives and motivates us to be the best versions of us.  And I've got no problems with my kid being the best.

I shared my strange competitive thing.  What's yours?