Friday, August 21, 2009

Un-mad yourself.

Un-mad... Your! Self!

Un-sad... Your! Self!

Get happy. Get happy. Get happy. WOO!*

This morning at James' daycare, they were playing PYT and Material Girl and some other 80s hits when we walked in, so, even though I was running late, I took a minute to bounce and dance with him a little to the beats. He loves bouncing. The kid is going to be a dancer, he's going to be a menace on the floor one day, I just know it. If he's like me, he'll have a slightly off rhythm and only find maybe one person in the world who has that same hitch in their step. Hopefully, unlike me, he'll be able to figure out how to make it work with that person. Anyway, for the meantime since we can't step on eachother's toes, we do great at dancing together. :)

Leaving him behind, even though I know he loves hanging out at the daycare, playing with the toys and the other kids there, and that the teachers really enjoy him and he enjoys them... for me, it's still hard. Every day, walking away from my son tears at me. The best parts of my day are waking him up in the morning, coming back for him at the end of the day and seeing his face light up when he recognizes me, playing with him, feeding him his dinner, and putting him to bed.

I was told the other day that I seem like an angry person sometimes. This bothers me. I'm not an angry person. I'm just a person... who is sometimes angry or sad or whatever... but who is also happy sometimes... who loves to dance, to write, to sing, to create, and to play with her son. I love to be touched by the right people in the right contexts (strangers beware... grrr). I love getting a good hug sometimes. I laugh. I love to laugh at things that are funny, especially the things that don't hurt anyone. Of course, I admit that I sometimes laugh at the horrible things that people do to eachother or that happen to them, like on FML, but who doesn't? I've had FML days too... and they're horrible when they're happening, but sometimes, they're funny later.

Like the "Who's Your Daddy" party. No, actually on second thought, still not really like that. That's still not really funny to me but I can see how it would be to someone without children or who didn't know the backstory. (Backstory: my child's father decided to throw himself a pre-Father's Day keg party, theme it "Who's Your Daddy?", cohost with and hold it at the house of a girl he slept with during one of our off-times and who later pretended to be my friend and then backstabbed me, and, in spite of the fact that he gave me a lot of hell about paternity [even after the test came back 100% conclusive], he didn't even mention Mother's Day to me, and he barely saw his child during the weeks leading up to this shindig despite my constant invitations for him to do so, still expected me to show up to this special event with our child.) Anyway, if it had happened to someone else, without the same background, I might've chuckled, but would still have said that it was inappropriate to use that phrase as a Father's Day theme. As it was, at the time, I was incensed. Now, I mostly just feel bad that it got blown up so hugely. James' father's sense of the appropriate is obviously rather different from mine. I shouldn't've gotten so angry, but the shock of the total inappropriateness (which is the same thing other people would find funny about it, like a shirt for a baby that says, "Birthcontrol FAIL" on it) knocked me for a loop. I should probably just have told him we weren't coming because it was scheduled to begin right around James' bedtime (true), and kept my upsetness to myself until I could find a better way to express it.

I need to learn to laugh off, or not care about, more things.

The other day there was a storm in the area. I literally got back to work from biking to and from the daycare to feed James his lunch when the sky opened up. I was so happy that I missed the rain. Anyway, it poured all afternoon and I had my fingers crossed that it would stop before I had to go back out in it to pick him up. Amazingly, it did stop... just long enough for me to get almost halfway there and stopped at the longest light in the area (the ones that cross 38th street here all take a super long time to change). I wear glasses and luckily, my bike helmet has a little bit of a bill to it so that helped keep them somewhat clear, but while waiting for the light to change, I got completely soaked through. It's not like there was cover to take, and it's not like the time wouldn't continue marching on or that they'd not charge me for picking James up late just because of rain. At first, I was upset... but then, I just gave up. The wind was blowing the trees all around, green pecans were falling on the street (and a few pelted me), cars were splashing puddles, the rain was HARD, and my backpack was heavy and wet. And, I just started laughing. Because OF COURSE, it would stop raining just long enough for me to get partially there, Of Course I'd get water all inside of my car when I finally got to it. Of Course. When I finally got to James' daycare, I caught sight of myself in a mirror and realized my biking shirt was now seethrough and I was wearing a black bra. Whee! I couldn't stop laughing at myself. And then, to cap it off, the sun came out as soon as I picked James up (wrapped in a blanket to keep him dry) to take him outside to the car. The universe totally got me, and it was hilarious in its own special way. I'm sure the daycare people all thought I was a nut.

It was a: Laugh or you'll start crying, Laugh because you've stepped outside yourself and you can see the schadenfreude all over the place, Laugh to take the fire out of it all, Laugh in the face of certain death, doom, and destruction, Laugh and the world will laugh with (at) you, moment.

I totally laugh at particularly horrible diapers, too... because, my god... such a little man shouldn't create such a massive, revolting mess... and I know what he eats! It sure doesn't look or smell like that on the way in. Yikes. There's nothing to be done about the big nasty except clean it up and make sure that James is comfortable. I guess if he can poop that much it means he's eating plenty, so that's a good thing. Farts are also generally funny... unless they're directed at you.

My coworker just came by and asked if I could change fifty bucks. I said, "Sure." He handed me the bill and I said, "See, I can change it from your hand into my pocket." My sense of humor is literal. It's sarcastic and verbal. It can be off-putting at times. This, I know about myself, but it's not like you can take lessons in how to be funnier to the masses... or, well, you probably can, but I've got better things to learn right now.

I think things would be better, easier for me to be happy about, if James and I were more secure and I weren't worried about where we're going to live, how I'm going to make ends meet, or about my personal health (for financial reasons, I have to wait till after 9/1 to go in to discuss some issues). When I finally get all of that settled, it'll help. I've got a lot of ideas for how to make things better for James and I, and I'm working on them. The problem is that they're mostly all things that can't happen or be finished TODAY, or have an immediate effect. Like Phil Collins (and The Supremes, and Lady O, and whoever else) say(s), "You can't hurry Love. No, you just have to wait. Love don't come easy, it's a game of give and take." But replace the word "love" with "life".

*I sing that to James while I'm bouncing him when he's upset sometimes. I think that being a mom has turned me into a cheerleader of sorts. Weeeeird.

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