Sometimes the above stated means a lot of diet soda, watching some of my favorite people do shots together, smoking a half a pack of camel light, finding They Might Be Giants on a jukepox, misspelling jukebox, and posting on my phone run on sentance style while discussing with one of my all time favorite women about what it would be like if we'd become friends when I still drank.
I love Saturday night, and for all of its absurdities and delights, I love every last Zero-proof and joy drenched drop of my life. And if I haven't blogged it yet, April, I utterly love you... the most delightful long tall girly drink in town.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Sometimes I Really Like My Life.
Grocery shopping day, for most women. For this one? Madcap romantic adventures. Specifically (today), a deli worker of all but 20 years old (he used to be a checkout boy, he couldn't wait until he turns 21 to buy his own beer) gifted me with 4 boxes of conversation hearts... and his number. He would like to have coffee, he knows I have a kid "but that's totally cool, like-- we can go somewhere that she can come too if you feel safer that way".
Aww... that's so sweet, really. But, I will be keeping the conversation hearts. And I may give some of them to my boyfriend.
(I'm sorry, really-- it's just true)
Forward, checkout line. My daughter wanted 3 items that she had at some point in our trip realized that she needed desperately, immediately, and could not risk me not buying-- so had attempted to hide them from me cleverly in my very own backpack. I always check my backpack for just such a reason, however, and was able to avoid criminal conversion charges for unwittingly smuggling the following out on her behalf:
- 2 bags of Old Wisconsin Beef Bites (which she later referred to simply as 'that bag of beef'-- and she was referring to the one bag that yes, I totally bought)
- 1 bag of Pork Rinds (because child cannot live on beef alone)
- 1 bottle of feminine hygiene wash ("Why this?" "Um because there's this butterfly on it-- can't you see?" Obviously not. Oh wait, maybe that's because you had shoved it into the bottom of my backpack before we left a store-- but no worries, I have no doubt the police woman would also be very fond of the butterfly. I mean, look at it. It's purple, for the love of all things shoplifted)
Upon my arrival home, there was one other surprise for me-- 2 bags of Twizzlers from my Aunt Crystal. Aunt Crystal is pretty much who I want to be when I grow up-- she gardens in the right seasons, she doesn't miss birthdays, she uses stationary instead of notebook paper, she can grow things on windowsills in bottles, a skill I did not acquire from her mother and my favorite grandparent, and she knows about my completely irrational mad love of Twizzlers and that it was something I might happen to need right now.
With this extra positive energy coursing through my veins, the practical thing would be to use it to clean my fucking pit of a house.
Or... to eat twizzlers wrapped around beef bites in my pajamas. Yes, yes, that will do. Tonight I really like my life. Why try to improve upon perfection right this second?
Aww... that's so sweet, really. But, I will be keeping the conversation hearts. And I may give some of them to my boyfriend.
(I'm sorry, really-- it's just true)
Forward, checkout line. My daughter wanted 3 items that she had at some point in our trip realized that she needed desperately, immediately, and could not risk me not buying-- so had attempted to hide them from me cleverly in my very own backpack. I always check my backpack for just such a reason, however, and was able to avoid criminal conversion charges for unwittingly smuggling the following out on her behalf:
- 2 bags of Old Wisconsin Beef Bites (which she later referred to simply as 'that bag of beef'-- and she was referring to the one bag that yes, I totally bought)
- 1 bag of Pork Rinds (because child cannot live on beef alone)
- 1 bottle of feminine hygiene wash ("Why this?" "Um because there's this butterfly on it-- can't you see?" Obviously not. Oh wait, maybe that's because you had shoved it into the bottom of my backpack before we left a store-- but no worries, I have no doubt the police woman would also be very fond of the butterfly. I mean, look at it. It's purple, for the love of all things shoplifted)
Upon my arrival home, there was one other surprise for me-- 2 bags of Twizzlers from my Aunt Crystal. Aunt Crystal is pretty much who I want to be when I grow up-- she gardens in the right seasons, she doesn't miss birthdays, she uses stationary instead of notebook paper, she can grow things on windowsills in bottles, a skill I did not acquire from her mother and my favorite grandparent, and she knows about my completely irrational mad love of Twizzlers and that it was something I might happen to need right now.
With this extra positive energy coursing through my veins, the practical thing would be to use it to clean my fucking pit of a house.
Or... to eat twizzlers wrapped around beef bites in my pajamas. Yes, yes, that will do. Tonight I really like my life. Why try to improve upon perfection right this second?
Monday, January 24, 2011
I'm Afraid I'm Going To Become One Of Those Girls....
You know the ones, the ones who blog about their boyfriend and their relationship all the time because it's their most and least favorite subject (because we who blog enjoy our least favorite subject even more than our most favorite sometimes).
And I want to spill over with details: He drives a hummer and it doesn't even freak me out, I panic about having things at his house, when he's falling asleep he's a different person than when he's awake and as such I sometimes feel like I'm in two completely unrelated and sometimes conflicting relationships. I want to gush about how he's of Indian decent which gives him unbelievable eyelashes and a sexy strong jaw, but how ultimately he's just a nice boy from Wisconsin without an exotic bone in his body, he's wholesome and bitter and funny and perfect and by far the smartest or most attractive man I've ever been involved with. I want to blog about funny jokes, I want to blog about how right now I'm in a fight with him that he doesn't even know is a fight because he's too well adjusted to know how to empathize with ways the odd goings on of a spazzy girl like me strictly within the space of my own mind.
And so, there is this post. Because it should all happen at least once (and only this once), so we can move on to more important matters-- like how I'm eating honey straight out of the jar right now, why my babydaddy is a creeper, and that my 6 year old just told me that her boyfriend is a very nice young man and she doesn't know if he should be her boyfriend because she's just too young to have a boyfriend and because she just likes him "a little bit too much in school".
Eh. At least she comes by it honest.
And I want to spill over with details: He drives a hummer and it doesn't even freak me out, I panic about having things at his house, when he's falling asleep he's a different person than when he's awake and as such I sometimes feel like I'm in two completely unrelated and sometimes conflicting relationships. I want to gush about how he's of Indian decent which gives him unbelievable eyelashes and a sexy strong jaw, but how ultimately he's just a nice boy from Wisconsin without an exotic bone in his body, he's wholesome and bitter and funny and perfect and by far the smartest or most attractive man I've ever been involved with. I want to blog about funny jokes, I want to blog about how right now I'm in a fight with him that he doesn't even know is a fight because he's too well adjusted to know how to empathize with ways the odd goings on of a spazzy girl like me strictly within the space of my own mind.
And so, there is this post. Because it should all happen at least once (and only this once), so we can move on to more important matters-- like how I'm eating honey straight out of the jar right now, why my babydaddy is a creeper, and that my 6 year old just told me that her boyfriend is a very nice young man and she doesn't know if he should be her boyfriend because she's just too young to have a boyfriend and because she just likes him "a little bit too much in school".
Eh. At least she comes by it honest.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I'd Rather be Bow Hunting
So yeah, I totally did a 15 minutes late half dance into class deal again this morning, said sorry too loudly because of my headphones, then turned in the wrong homework. The librarian (yes, this class is taught by a librarian) glared exactly as a librarian might be expected to, the headphones flew out of my ear, and about 3 minutes later I saw her standing next to my computer.
"Young Lady (yeah, those words from a librarian: Some days my world is like a Norman Rockwell painting that has little tolerance for me in the middle of it)-- would you mind turning them off, also?" It turns out my ears were not in fact just ringing from the volume of my previous listening, but in fact that my pocket was still humming with music. Specifically the words "Exquisite Dead Guy".
And then I turned in some more of the wrong homework-- not great at the online submissions, this girl.
I want to go back to bed, go ice fishing, go shopping... I would be happy going bow hunting. All I know is that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be in this semester at all for any reason whatsoever.
And yet, off to class number two which I did a crossword puzzle through last session. Oooh... I hope there wasn't any homework.
"Young Lady (yeah, those words from a librarian: Some days my world is like a Norman Rockwell painting that has little tolerance for me in the middle of it)-- would you mind turning them off, also?" It turns out my ears were not in fact just ringing from the volume of my previous listening, but in fact that my pocket was still humming with music. Specifically the words "Exquisite Dead Guy".
And then I turned in some more of the wrong homework-- not great at the online submissions, this girl.
I want to go back to bed, go ice fishing, go shopping... I would be happy going bow hunting. All I know is that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be in this semester at all for any reason whatsoever.
And yet, off to class number two which I did a crossword puzzle through last session. Oooh... I hope there wasn't any homework.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Now, I'm not saying that I think a half pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream and 2 packages of Ramen is a decent dinner for anyone, mind you...
.
...I'm simply saying it's what I just had for dinner.
...I'm simply saying it's what I just had for dinner.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
The Little Things
It's the little things people forget about when dealing with the poor single mother. And it's the little things that leave me with that big feeling, the one of not knowing how to address the little things or taste the words coming out of my mouth.
I'm dating a man who drives a Hummer, lives in a 3 bedroom house all alone, and buys $50 ties without so much as looking at the price tag. And I've been a trooper, I have. I'm gracious when he picks up the bill, I don't fret about how utterly unthinkable most aspects of my life would be to him if he were to live them. But, he is a Packers fan and I wanted to wear his team shirt (more for our own amusement given my clueless nature regarding athletics than to be of some real Green Bay support mind you). And it seemed like a good idea-- at the time.
Did you know packers shirts, or at least any moderately attractive ones, are almost $30 plus shipping? And that in order for them to get here in time to wear for more than 2 days previous to the game, it's going to be about $40?
Well I do. That is to say, I do now.
And it's sad, remarkably so. I was online looking them up kind of halfheartedly (as in not yet looking at the list prices) when I got an email from him this morning, links to three separate shirts. He was happy that his new girlfriend wants to play (and I do, I really do). I could completely see the bearded little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. And then a little smile started playing around the corners of my (un-bearded) mouth . And then I started really looking, and the smile melted away as though Amazon.com were a sudden spring heatwave in early march and said smile was one of those tiny little dirty mountains of compacted snow and ice which used to be a giant mound of plowed white that remain after most of the snow has started to puddle away.
And it's not that I don't have $40 to spare here and there. It's not even as though I didn't spend more than that on my last Sephora bender. It's just that try as I might to think of it as a gesture in the way of love, I don't have $40 to spend on a sports teamed t-shirt I'm going to wear for 3 days, and I can't find a place in my mind where I have as little as I do and that's going to be one of the luxuries I choose and I can be OK with that.
Which is fine, and not a big deal, but it's one of those glaring obvious things I keep thinking about-- me and this man, we're different. And I offered to make a nice, oh fuck-- let's be frank: an absolutely adorable gesture, and then had to say "Oh, you know, it's going to take a while to get here" and know what neither of us are really talking about (and I honestly believe that in his good albeit naive nature he really doesn't think it matters at all): His girlfriend is literally poor, and sometimes limited by that.
And it's gross to blog, even knowing that he doesn't read my blog. And it's gross to know all on my own-- and some day I'm going to have to say outright "Yeah... I can't afford (some thing that isn't a big deal to him but is to me)". And it's going to feel gross to both of us. And that's when things are going to start to change.
I understand that I elected to live the life I did, that it wasn't even that I had to make a hard choice but that "I would rather not have very much money, and I would rather raise my child without too much money". It was always not only my choosing, but my very deliberate and sometimes even enthusiastic choosing. But, other people don't understand it-- not always. Men and the date night suggestions forgetting that this requires money per hour for a sitter. Friend plan evenings out that they know I'll just love, but I have strict rules about what I won't spend money on so I can spend money without concern in other areas. And ultimately, this isn't fair to them-- I've made a lot of decisions for these people and their relationships to me in deciding I was going to be poor. Sometimes too poor for the little things, which is what interpersonal relationships are made up of in general.
And I don't like Green Bay, I don't care. But I do like my boyfriend, and I would have cared to see that look on his face when I as promised showed up on game night in an adorable little green tshirt with those yellow letters across my adorable breasts, saying adorable little things and making such an adorable little gesture.
And when I think about the adorable lost in this little matter, it doesn't feel like such a little thing at all. Which is why in the time it has taken me to type this, I've decided to put one of my little splurges on hold and get this instead, because all too soon we're both going to have to look at the truth of his poor girlfriend-- and as long as that's already coming, I want to be sure there's a lot of delightful going on before the ugliness and discomfort comes along. I had someone in my life once who said that he always liked leaving my home and feeling the weight of poverty lift off of him... and he wasn't a great person to have in my life-- but he was an honest one. And since then, I've never been OK again with letting anyone else see that weight over my head or letting it seep into the fibers of their own lives, arranged entirely different for I'm sure exactly the reasons they should have been to them.
And as long as it's inevitable, I'm going to go ahead and not crush this wonderful man under that weight any sooner than need be, or even leave any clues that it is there if he's not feeling it yet.
I'm dating a man who drives a Hummer, lives in a 3 bedroom house all alone, and buys $50 ties without so much as looking at the price tag. And I've been a trooper, I have. I'm gracious when he picks up the bill, I don't fret about how utterly unthinkable most aspects of my life would be to him if he were to live them. But, he is a Packers fan and I wanted to wear his team shirt (more for our own amusement given my clueless nature regarding athletics than to be of some real Green Bay support mind you). And it seemed like a good idea-- at the time.
Did you know packers shirts, or at least any moderately attractive ones, are almost $30 plus shipping? And that in order for them to get here in time to wear for more than 2 days previous to the game, it's going to be about $40?
Well I do. That is to say, I do now.
And it's sad, remarkably so. I was online looking them up kind of halfheartedly (as in not yet looking at the list prices) when I got an email from him this morning, links to three separate shirts. He was happy that his new girlfriend wants to play (and I do, I really do). I could completely see the bearded little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. And then a little smile started playing around the corners of my (un-bearded) mouth . And then I started really looking, and the smile melted away as though Amazon.com were a sudden spring heatwave in early march and said smile was one of those tiny little dirty mountains of compacted snow and ice which used to be a giant mound of plowed white that remain after most of the snow has started to puddle away.
And it's not that I don't have $40 to spare here and there. It's not even as though I didn't spend more than that on my last Sephora bender. It's just that try as I might to think of it as a gesture in the way of love, I don't have $40 to spend on a sports teamed t-shirt I'm going to wear for 3 days, and I can't find a place in my mind where I have as little as I do and that's going to be one of the luxuries I choose and I can be OK with that.
Which is fine, and not a big deal, but it's one of those glaring obvious things I keep thinking about-- me and this man, we're different. And I offered to make a nice, oh fuck-- let's be frank: an absolutely adorable gesture, and then had to say "Oh, you know, it's going to take a while to get here" and know what neither of us are really talking about (and I honestly believe that in his good albeit naive nature he really doesn't think it matters at all): His girlfriend is literally poor, and sometimes limited by that.
And it's gross to blog, even knowing that he doesn't read my blog. And it's gross to know all on my own-- and some day I'm going to have to say outright "Yeah... I can't afford (some thing that isn't a big deal to him but is to me)". And it's going to feel gross to both of us. And that's when things are going to start to change.
I understand that I elected to live the life I did, that it wasn't even that I had to make a hard choice but that "I would rather not have very much money, and I would rather raise my child without too much money". It was always not only my choosing, but my very deliberate and sometimes even enthusiastic choosing. But, other people don't understand it-- not always. Men and the date night suggestions forgetting that this requires money per hour for a sitter. Friend plan evenings out that they know I'll just love, but I have strict rules about what I won't spend money on so I can spend money without concern in other areas. And ultimately, this isn't fair to them-- I've made a lot of decisions for these people and their relationships to me in deciding I was going to be poor. Sometimes too poor for the little things, which is what interpersonal relationships are made up of in general.
And I don't like Green Bay, I don't care. But I do like my boyfriend, and I would have cared to see that look on his face when I as promised showed up on game night in an adorable little green tshirt with those yellow letters across my adorable breasts, saying adorable little things and making such an adorable little gesture.
And when I think about the adorable lost in this little matter, it doesn't feel like such a little thing at all. Which is why in the time it has taken me to type this, I've decided to put one of my little splurges on hold and get this instead, because all too soon we're both going to have to look at the truth of his poor girlfriend-- and as long as that's already coming, I want to be sure there's a lot of delightful going on before the ugliness and discomfort comes along. I had someone in my life once who said that he always liked leaving my home and feeling the weight of poverty lift off of him... and he wasn't a great person to have in my life-- but he was an honest one. And since then, I've never been OK again with letting anyone else see that weight over my head or letting it seep into the fibers of their own lives, arranged entirely different for I'm sure exactly the reasons they should have been to them.
And as long as it's inevitable, I'm going to go ahead and not crush this wonderful man under that weight any sooner than need be, or even leave any clues that it is there if he's not feeling it yet.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
"Mommy, is 'sustainable' like sharpening a pencil instead of just throwing it away when it breaks like you do?"
Um... probably.
Clearly, in this house 'pencil sharpeners' are for damn hippies.
Clearly, in this house 'pencil sharpeners' are for damn hippies.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Overwhelming Realities
I was sick for a week. In the world of a single mother, this is no small statement. I don't have family, I don't have the kinds of friends who can come and take a child for a few hours... "I was sick for a week" means "Too much TV was watched, the cleaning was not done, and I didn't fight with my 6 year old the way I should have about eating her fruits and vegetables".
And then a friend died. This resulted in 2 days of tears that just won't come but in passing bursts of snot and mascara, and that haunting feeling that of course I'll see her one more time to give her a hug, to talk about things, just because you see someone one last time that stands out. I don't remember the last time I saw her, it may have been a couple of Saturdays ago when I did the Macarena with her, but it may have been last Tuesday when I was flustered and didn't give her a hug. And I'm not entirely sure which is the case, and that isn't the way you see someone for a last time. Except that it is, I'm never going to see her again. And it is what it is.
And I start school tomorrow, I don't have any text books, my apartment is a pit, and I don't know what smells in my kitchen but I know something does. A friend, one of those dear ones that you just 'get' and that just gets you and you don't know how you weren't always friends with, referred recently to "living like a depressed child". I entirely understood the sentiment at the time, or I thought I did, but now that I really entirely do I want to go back in time and retract the "Oh my God, I know exactly what you mean" and wait until now, now that I really do.
There are panties on my kitchen counter, my class schedule is scrawled like a suicide note inside of my notebook (there are 5 buildings on my tiny little campus, how do I not know where 3 of my classes are?), I have not gotten any of my text books, I have 3 pieces to finish for an auction I signed on for months ago and am only half done with, and tomorrow I am turning 31 and want nothing more than to curl up fetal position and be reborn no sooner than spring. It's seldom that there's too much for me to deal with... but there's too much for me to deal with right now. This too shall pass, that's what I keep hearing and keep telling myself, but I'm dead on my feel right now, blogging instead of cleaning, and while willing everything to pass quickly, I'm still not even attempting the very basic fix of just for tonight passing out on the cool side of my pillow.
That's how fucking overwhelmed I am-- I can't even go to sleep because I'm too overwhelmed with the thought of waking up to all the same messes in the morning.
And then a friend died. This resulted in 2 days of tears that just won't come but in passing bursts of snot and mascara, and that haunting feeling that of course I'll see her one more time to give her a hug, to talk about things, just because you see someone one last time that stands out. I don't remember the last time I saw her, it may have been a couple of Saturdays ago when I did the Macarena with her, but it may have been last Tuesday when I was flustered and didn't give her a hug. And I'm not entirely sure which is the case, and that isn't the way you see someone for a last time. Except that it is, I'm never going to see her again. And it is what it is.
And I start school tomorrow, I don't have any text books, my apartment is a pit, and I don't know what smells in my kitchen but I know something does. A friend, one of those dear ones that you just 'get' and that just gets you and you don't know how you weren't always friends with, referred recently to "living like a depressed child". I entirely understood the sentiment at the time, or I thought I did, but now that I really entirely do I want to go back in time and retract the "Oh my God, I know exactly what you mean" and wait until now, now that I really do.
There are panties on my kitchen counter, my class schedule is scrawled like a suicide note inside of my notebook (there are 5 buildings on my tiny little campus, how do I not know where 3 of my classes are?), I have not gotten any of my text books, I have 3 pieces to finish for an auction I signed on for months ago and am only half done with, and tomorrow I am turning 31 and want nothing more than to curl up fetal position and be reborn no sooner than spring. It's seldom that there's too much for me to deal with... but there's too much for me to deal with right now. This too shall pass, that's what I keep hearing and keep telling myself, but I'm dead on my feel right now, blogging instead of cleaning, and while willing everything to pass quickly, I'm still not even attempting the very basic fix of just for tonight passing out on the cool side of my pillow.
That's how fucking overwhelmed I am-- I can't even go to sleep because I'm too overwhelmed with the thought of waking up to all the same messes in the morning.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Must Be Friday Evening
Little Old Woman at store: Oh, that smells beautiful (lavender scented hand lotion). Your husband will like that...
Unwed Mother: Oh, I'm not married. It is nice though.
Little Woman: (patting me on the hand softly) Such a pretty girl. It's OK, you'll find someone.
Aging Spinster who clearly has little to live for according to look on Little Old
Woman's face: (backing away) Um, I'm not really the marrying type. Thanks though.
Disappointed Little Old Woman: It's fine, young lady. You'll meet someone some day. God has a plan for all of us.
Needless to say, I did not buy the hand lotion. My God, when does this ever fucking end? At what age will they finally just say "Poor dear, must be too late for her now" and not address me at all?
Unwed Mother: Oh, I'm not married. It is nice though.
Little Woman: (patting me on the hand softly) Such a pretty girl. It's OK, you'll find someone.
Aging Spinster who clearly has little to live for according to look on Little Old
Woman's face: (backing away) Um, I'm not really the marrying type. Thanks though.
Disappointed Little Old Woman: It's fine, young lady. You'll meet someone some day. God has a plan for all of us.
Needless to say, I did not buy the hand lotion. My God, when does this ever fucking end? At what age will they finally just say "Poor dear, must be too late for her now" and not address me at all?
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Eh. Easy Come, Easy Go.
Did my 6 year old really just call me ugly on our way to school today? Reallly? Ah well, so much for the love-in that was yesterday.
And At The End Of The Day....
It was bound to happen, and of course it was bound to happen less than a month into things: I was going to pour all of my "I've been hurt" issues out on the freakishly handsome absurdly kind uncomfortably smart new boyfriend in a 237 paragraph email in Shakespearean pros with illustrations and footnotes in 3 languages. And he was going to write back in a completely sensible fashion (which includes about 12 sentences... I never got the memo the rest of the world did on appropriate email lengths) that I'm a very nice girl and he hopes I feel better and he's going to be really nice to me because he likes me.
And now I look like this traumatized moron and he looks like (and is) this very reasonable lovely man who I have no business being with, and that's going to sit in the middle of the table glaring at me. But he won't notice, because he's just that wonderful. Which will make it all the worse. I just ruined all the enjoyable parts of a brand new relationship (it doesn't go back from that kind of disgusting self-inflicted humiliation), in record time. Even for me.
I'm simply not old enough, calm enough, or normal enough to date.
In unrelated events, my daughter told me today that she loves me more than anyone (melt) and that includes daddy (gloat). I informed her that she just loves daddy in a different way but every bit as much as me I'm sure... then I gave her some gummy worms and secretly gloated yet more. Through the day I rescued her from a nightmare, nursed a wounded knee, found a lost doll, calmed two nervous fits of fear that I dare say resembled existential crisis (What am I supposed to be?!" and "I don't know what is going to happen after right now!"-- dude, she totally gets that shit after time with her father, don't look at me) and gave 1 fabulous piggy back ride home from school. The house is a mess, my love life is in shambles that only I am aware of, but this is right... this is natural... this is what I do.
This is what I'm supposed to be. At the end of the day, I can't get anything else right very often, but this is who I am, this is what I know. And if I'm a lame girlfriend, an uninspired student, a scattered blogger at best... I am mommy. And I'm damn fucking good at it, and that's more than enough to go to sleep feeling that all is right with the world next to the little girl who loves me more than anything, despite what I may or may not have done to anything else through the day.
And now I look like this traumatized moron and he looks like (and is) this very reasonable lovely man who I have no business being with, and that's going to sit in the middle of the table glaring at me. But he won't notice, because he's just that wonderful. Which will make it all the worse. I just ruined all the enjoyable parts of a brand new relationship (it doesn't go back from that kind of disgusting self-inflicted humiliation), in record time. Even for me.
I'm simply not old enough, calm enough, or normal enough to date.
In unrelated events, my daughter told me today that she loves me more than anyone (melt) and that includes daddy (gloat). I informed her that she just loves daddy in a different way but every bit as much as me I'm sure... then I gave her some gummy worms and secretly gloated yet more. Through the day I rescued her from a nightmare, nursed a wounded knee, found a lost doll, calmed two nervous fits of fear that I dare say resembled existential crisis (What am I supposed to be?!" and "I don't know what is going to happen after right now!"-- dude, she totally gets that shit after time with her father, don't look at me) and gave 1 fabulous piggy back ride home from school. The house is a mess, my love life is in shambles that only I am aware of, but this is right... this is natural... this is what I do.
This is what I'm supposed to be. At the end of the day, I can't get anything else right very often, but this is who I am, this is what I know. And if I'm a lame girlfriend, an uninspired student, a scattered blogger at best... I am mommy. And I'm damn fucking good at it, and that's more than enough to go to sleep feeling that all is right with the world next to the little girl who loves me more than anything, despite what I may or may not have done to anything else through the day.
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