Oh Day of Days

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There are many, many days in any given year that are special to me, for any number of reasons.

Today, though. Today is big.

Seriously – there are all of the feelings.

Eight years ago today, I had a daughter. She was perfect. She was beautiful.

She still is.

In Ava, I see everything I once was – and so much I could never be. Confidence and beauty and every hope and dream in the world. I want so much for her, and at the same time I’m terrified I’m unintentionally projecting some vicarious dreams. That’s not what I want. If she takes nothing away from my mothering, I want it to be the knowledge that above all else, I love her. No matter what. If she quits too soon, if she loves unexpectedly, if she makes the wrong choice. When she can be sure of nothing else in the entire world, she can be sure of me. That she is my heart.

For eight years I have been in this fog of awe that I could have ever produced such a spectacular human being, and it won’t lift any time soon.

Six years ago today, I married my best friend. We went on a whim to a courthouse and said vows in front of a stranger, and then we ate Mexican food.

It hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been harder than anything else I could ever even think of doing. I’ve wanted to quit and I’ve wondered what we were thinking. But I’ve also had the most amazing times of my life.

I’ve never really believed in the concept of soulmates, but I do know that to find someone you can lock onto is a lucky, lucky thing. It’s unlikely and it’s messy and it’s embarrassing and it’s everything you think it shouldn’t be, but in the midst of everything else, it’s having a partner. Someone on your side. Someone who can hurt you like no one else – but chooses not to, not because you can hurt them just as badly, but because they want to keep you from hurt. Teamwork and frustration and heartbreak, joy and accomplishment and laughter and tears.

Maybe it isn’t Cinderella. Maybe it isn’t all unicorns and fairy farts.

But it’s spectacular. It’s the whole world. It’s a work of art.

 

All in all, it’s a pretty great day.

 

Lacking

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This past weekend, as everyone everywhere lauded mothers and grandmothers and stepmothers and den mothers…I was far from forgotten.

I got cards and aloe plants and an app for my phone that lets me pretend to run from zombies.

My husband was just as sweet and accommodating as he always is on days like that. For some reason it always means so much to me when I get mentioned on his facebook or other public forum. It’s very high school and probably a reflection of some deep seated problem, but it makes me all warm and fuzzy. He knows this. He indulged me.

As always happens on days that are so built up, though, I was at a bit of a loss.

I mean, people. I had the bomb-diggety-ass mom. Everything was always so clean and she was always so….pure. I will always feel like a little bit of a letdown as compared to Asskicking Anita.

My kids know I love them. I love them the best way I know how, with everything that is in my being. That love, for me, manifests in bitchy and nagging more often than cuddles or sweetness. I nag because I want them to be warm, to be clean, to look kind of groomed.

My kind of love – the nurturing I have within me – will likely never materialize in the form of sparkling kitchens and folded sheets. I will never Bree Van de Kamp my way up and down any lane, or greet new people with a basket of muffins. It will probably always annoy me a little when someone drops by with no notice – just because I worry they might see the dust bunnies or the stupid kitchen floor. I will never sit up and slip my feet into waiting slippers and drink coffee in a plushy robe. It’s just not what I do.

So when Mother’s Day comes around, I always feel a little lacking. Even though I’m not. I just mother…differently, I suppose.

How to be condescending

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If you are on Facebook (and if you’re not, WHO ARE YOU?), chances are you’ve seen a link circulating recently about how your fascination with your electronic devices can make you miss your children’s lives.

If you haven’t seen the link, here it is. It appeared on my facebook wall more times than I can possibly tell you, always accompanied by “OMG, you must read this,” or “I’m crying. So true.”

Now, the content of this article is very heartfelt and very to the point. She talks about how being lost in one’s digital gadgets can be harmful to your relationship with your children, how the children learn that whatever is happening is more important than them, all sorts of statements that had just enough truth seeded into them to make any modern-day, smartphone toting, social media savvy parent feel like dog shit gone white.

Now, to be fair – she does dedicate a couple of sentences to how this is the modern world and sometimes we have to be accessible. Sometimes it’s necessary to allow laptops and smartphones into our lives.

Generous.

May I offer my point of view? I’m gonna.

I’m a blogger, and a full-time online student. I’m also married to a podcaster who is also a full-time student. Technology and the gadgets involved are completely enmeshed in our lives.

I love my iPhone. My iPad. To a lesser degree, the computers and such which inhabit my house – and there are a lot. I love to text message. I love to steal a few minutes in the day to check facebook, tweet something random, or peruse my blog stats for the day.

Certainly, as a society, we are more interconnected than ever before. I talk to my husband while he’s at work. I always have a camera because I always have my phone. And yes, I check my phone before I talk to anyone in my family because EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY IS USUALLY STILL ASLEEP SINCE I WAKE EVERYONE UP.

Some people escape into books. Some into painting or gardening or building rockets. This has always been the case. I don’t really see any difference.

Of course it’s important to acknowledge your family and the others in your lives. To look them in the eye, listen when they talk, and be fully present when they need you – but I don’t see that as having anything to do with being less connected. I see that as being a decent human being.

So, my response to the article is as follows:

I am a connected mom. I interact constantly and I learn constantly. My children know they are important. They know because I’m their mom. I bandage scrapes and icepack bumps and come running when they have nightmares. They do not have some woeful mourning inferiority because I sometimes play Jetpack Joyride.

Because I show them moderation, they learn that I am, as they are, members of a continuous mechanism. Everyone is connected, everyone is important. I don’t have to throw away my iPhone to be a good mom. I just have to use good sense. And I think that’s a better example than anything else.

 

Oh, North Carolina…or my unrequested opinion

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Well, it happened. In North Carolina.

It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again, but that doesn’t make it any less horrific.

“Marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be valid or recognized in this state.”

Notice the wording – not just “we won’t recognize your marriage,” but your union is not valid.

I married, I divorced, I married again. My marriage now is certainly valid, just as my first one was. I, as a heterosexual person, am permitted to marry and divorce and marry again at will, simply because my husband and I have opposing genitals. What if I had no vagina? What if I dressed as a man but still maintained my female parts?

What if I put a dress on Josh, called him Jessica, and tried to marry him in North Carolina? Would they just deny us outright? Or would they ask for physical verification? Is there a pants-dropping section in every city hall in North Carolina?

I grew up a hardcore Baptist. I live in Mississippi. I certainly understand the Bible driven, morality police mindset. For the most part, I think it comes from a not-terrible place. I think the opposition is fairly good hearted and they believe in their convictions.

But while I understand the mindset, understanding does not mean condoning. It’s just not okay.

There are people I love who are being told they cannot be recognized as a united couple with someone they love. There are people I love who are being told how they feel is invalid.

And whatever beliefs or convictions are behind it, it’s not okay.

I don’t like onions. I hate them, actually, and I wish I never had to encounter them in a salad or a sandwich or my pizza. But other people seem to love them, and so they endure to ruin my life. I’ve accepted this. I do not deny those I love the joy of their stinky, vapory vegetables.

My point is that just because I feel one way doesn’t mean I plan to push those feelings on everyone else.

America is many things – but haven’t we always maintained that above all, we are free? What is more basic than the freedom to commit to someone you love?

In my deepest romantic girly roots, I believe that when you love someone – truly love them – they become the most beautiful thing you can comprehend. And how sad is it if you see that beauty, that breaking off of awe…only to be told that what you feel is invalid?

I want you to believe whatever you want. I want you to support it to the core. But when you try and tell me that I have to abide by your rules, just because…well, I can’t believe that’s the way Jesus would have done it.

 

Running on…

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Off and on over the past few years, I’ve attempted to become a runner. With varying degrees of intensity. My sister has also become a runner, but she’s for real, yo. She runs miles and miles.

I haven’t gone running in a long time. I do yoga pretty much daily and I haul around a 500 pound toddler, so I like to think that I’m not totally out of shape.

This weekend, the Coca Cola 10k happened.

I was inspired. Maybe a little depressed because there were children I could have birthed streaking right past me.

So, Josh and I have decided to embark on a runnerly journey, and it starts this week.

It starts this week because on Saturday, I’m pretty sure we are going to do the Gumtree 10k in Tupelo. I fully realize that I will walk the majority of the race, but I’m good with that. It’s a start.