I was saying to the Hubs the other day that I often think I am far too selfish to be a mother. I still want all my time to myself, I don't want to have to worry about what and when to feed somebody else, and I really like being able to read without little hands taking my book away.
But in the end, that's what Silly's early bedtime is for. Because I'm his mommy, and I'd better darn well live up to that. Sure, I have my moments when I feel my efforts to do so are completely inadequate, but then something happens that reaffirms that I'm not doing as badly as I frequently think I am. And it's usually something small, but it reminds me that I made the right decision to be a mom and it's worthwhile, enough so that I may one day overcome my self-centered tendencies.
This morning it was the simple act of him reaching out his hand to me to help him walk down the stairs. Taking his little hand in mine, knowing that he puts his trust in me to help him and keep him from falling as he takes on each step, I felt overwhelmed with peace and love for this chaotic child. Even though I make mistakes, he is forgiving (and forgetful) and still trusts me to take care of him and keep him safe. I almost started crying right there as we walked down the stairs and he jabbered on and on to me about who-knows-what.
And it's not as though this is a first-time occurrence! He's automatically reached out for me many times, and heaven knows I'm used to his incomprehensible jabber. This time just touched me and was a much-needed reminder that I'm this boy's mother, he needs me, and I love him. I may not always like him, but I do love him. So if he reaches his hand out to me, I'll take it.
Unless it's covered in peanut butter. Then I'll wipe it off first.
-Me
"Curse false-hand-holding boys!" -Lauren Myracle
Monday, September 22, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
Ode to Boy
Seeing as how I'm just now getting back in the groove of the blog (however temporarily it may be) and I have said barely a word about the kiddo, here's an update on him.
Nineteen months and still large and in charge! And doesn't he know it. This kid likes life . . . unless it's not going his way. (in particular, he doesn't like that we've instituted a lap time-out for when he's naughty.) His favorite toys are balls; he rarely goes out in the yard without either the tennis ball or the football. And boy, does he love to throw. Catching, on the other hand . . .
He has begun saying a couple words (thank heaven), so we're working on that still. He understands what we say, but I think he's just content to communicate on his own terms. He doesn't think he needs to talk, so he doesn't do it. Correction: he talks plenty, just not in a language we recognize on Earth.
He also loves cars and trucks. He much prefers the front yard to the back yard for this very reason. He just loves to watch the trucks drive by and wave at them. (he doesn't wave at individual people, but he will wave at the vehicles.) Our neighbors have all started to catch on to his presence when they drive by, and most everybody waves back at him.
You'd think that this would naturally mean he's always friendly. But he picks and chooses his friendliness, like any silly kid would. He likes to charm teenage girls at church and in our neighborhood. But being introduced into nursery at church last month was not an easy task for him. Whichever parent tried to drop him off was coerced into staying because otherwise he threw a tantrum. Glen enjoyed snack time, though, so there are perks to hanging out in nursery for two hours. Fortunately, after hearing horror stories from parents who had to stay with their kids in nursery for a year, it seems that Isaac's necessity for us lasted only a month. Two weeks so far without us! Let's keep it up, kiddo!
Lots of people have been commenting lately on how he no longer looks like a baby and is becoming a little boy. To me, he just looks like himself most of the time, and then in a brief moment my "objective glasses" come on, I see a glimpse of how much older he actually is, and I am caught completely off-guard. What happened to that chunky baby who came with us to Roosevelt last year? Not that I'd give the toddler back, because he's lots of fun when he's not hitting us (hence the institution of lap time-out). But it's pretty amazing how much he's changed.
-Me
"Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years." -James Thurber
Nineteen months and still large and in charge! And doesn't he know it. This kid likes life . . . unless it's not going his way. (in particular, he doesn't like that we've instituted a lap time-out for when he's naughty.) His favorite toys are balls; he rarely goes out in the yard without either the tennis ball or the football. And boy, does he love to throw. Catching, on the other hand . . .
He has begun saying a couple words (thank heaven), so we're working on that still. He understands what we say, but I think he's just content to communicate on his own terms. He doesn't think he needs to talk, so he doesn't do it. Correction: he talks plenty, just not in a language we recognize on Earth.
He also loves cars and trucks. He much prefers the front yard to the back yard for this very reason. He just loves to watch the trucks drive by and wave at them. (he doesn't wave at individual people, but he will wave at the vehicles.) Our neighbors have all started to catch on to his presence when they drive by, and most everybody waves back at him.
Who couldn't love those baby blues?
You'd think that this would naturally mean he's always friendly. But he picks and chooses his friendliness, like any silly kid would. He likes to charm teenage girls at church and in our neighborhood. But being introduced into nursery at church last month was not an easy task for him. Whichever parent tried to drop him off was coerced into staying because otherwise he threw a tantrum. Glen enjoyed snack time, though, so there are perks to hanging out in nursery for two hours. Fortunately, after hearing horror stories from parents who had to stay with their kids in nursery for a year, it seems that Isaac's necessity for us lasted only a month. Two weeks so far without us! Let's keep it up, kiddo!
Cool guys.
Ready for church
Lots of people have been commenting lately on how he no longer looks like a baby and is becoming a little boy. To me, he just looks like himself most of the time, and then in a brief moment my "objective glasses" come on, I see a glimpse of how much older he actually is, and I am caught completely off-guard. What happened to that chunky baby who came with us to Roosevelt last year? Not that I'd give the toddler back, because he's lots of fun when he's not hitting us (hence the institution of lap time-out). But it's pretty amazing how much he's changed.
-Me
"Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years." -James Thurber
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Sweet Emotion
Last month Glen and I were indulging in one of our rare, slightly-philosophical discussions. This in and of itself is noteworthy because usually we stick to shallow topics, such as the merits of a tv show starring Richard Armitage, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, and Sean Bean. (you had me at richard armitage.) But that's not the point here.
It was inspired by a woman in our ward who we don't know terribly well, but who is without a doubt one of the sweetest people we've ever met. And not in a sugary, sickeningly-syrupy way. The kind of sweet that is soft-spoken, selfless, and ultimately sincere. The kind that you want to emulate. The kind that your default description of this woman is "sweet".
She is also not the tallest of women. She is willowy and petite. I've definitely seen shorter people, but she's small.
Contrast that with me. No, I'm not the tallest of women, but I'm up there in the height department. And I've also got meat on my bones (and not just because i've had a baby and can be too lazy about exercise, although that does help). And I'm pretty sure that "sweet" is not a default adjective used by others to describe me.
I'm the girl who had to be bribed by her (soft-spoken) 4th-grade teacher to be quieter in class with Ghirardelli chocolates. I'm the girl who was so obnoxiously enthusiastic about welcoming younger students into choir that I actually scared them before they got to know me and realized I was capable of behaving like a normal-ish human being (sorry again, cheech!). I'm the girl who was sometimes nicknamed "Megaphone", for crying out loud! I've always been loud and a bit brash, and I've generally been an attention-seeker. (yay, drama! both on-stage and off.)
And I was wondering out loud and this was our discussion . . . is my height and body shape a factor in my personality? Is her height a factor in hers?
The final decision I've come to is that maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. I talked about this to my pal Melissa, who came up with a couple of tall people she knows who she definitely would first describe as sweet. She also reminded me of the concept of the "gentle giant", and I immediately thought of my old pal Mike, who fit that description to a T. He was a big, football-playing, motorcycle-loving guy with one of the most tender hearts I knew, the kind of heart that was soft enough that he cried while singing "How Great Thou Art". (one of my first memories of him.)
So thus we see, there are tall, big people who are sweet, and tall, big people who are not. If I really thought about the shorter people I know, I'm sure I could find similar variability. And maybe our sizes do influence our personalities, but they definitely aren't the deciding factor.
I'm not saying that one personality is better than the other. As Melissa reminded me, if we were all alike, this world would be pretty boring. And I'm not even saying I'm incapable of sweetness. I can be thoughtful, I can be a good listener, and I can even do things for others that can be described as sweet. The point is not to use another person's personality to degrade my own, but acknowledge their strengths and be inspired to improve myself. You never know -- maybe someone's seen the differences between themselves and me and wanted to follow my example in something. That's crazy to think, because of course I know all my flaws and am quick to say that nobody should strive to be at all like me. But maybe, juuuuuust maybe, it's possible.
So as I see these sweet people in my life, I'm going to try a little better to be more like them. To reach out without a thought toward myself. To lend a listening ear. To help someone willingly. To be sincerely interested in their lives. I may still be big and loud, but I can do that much. And I don't need to be bribed with Ghirardelli chocolate to do it, either.
Although chocolate is always welcome.
-Me
"If you don't know how to pronounce a word, say it loud!" -William Strunk, Jr.
Hello, dear.
It was inspired by a woman in our ward who we don't know terribly well, but who is without a doubt one of the sweetest people we've ever met. And not in a sugary, sickeningly-syrupy way. The kind of sweet that is soft-spoken, selfless, and ultimately sincere. The kind that you want to emulate. The kind that your default description of this woman is "sweet".
She is also not the tallest of women. She is willowy and petite. I've definitely seen shorter people, but she's small.
Contrast that with me. No, I'm not the tallest of women, but I'm up there in the height department. And I've also got meat on my bones (and not just because i've had a baby and can be too lazy about exercise, although that does help). And I'm pretty sure that "sweet" is not a default adjective used by others to describe me.
I'm the girl who had to be bribed by her (soft-spoken) 4th-grade teacher to be quieter in class with Ghirardelli chocolates. I'm the girl who was so obnoxiously enthusiastic about welcoming younger students into choir that I actually scared them before they got to know me and realized I was capable of behaving like a normal-ish human being (sorry again, cheech!). I'm the girl who was sometimes nicknamed "Megaphone", for crying out loud! I've always been loud and a bit brash, and I've generally been an attention-seeker. (yay, drama! both on-stage and off.)
And I was wondering out loud and this was our discussion . . . is my height and body shape a factor in my personality? Is her height a factor in hers?
The final decision I've come to is that maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. I talked about this to my pal Melissa, who came up with a couple of tall people she knows who she definitely would first describe as sweet. She also reminded me of the concept of the "gentle giant", and I immediately thought of my old pal Mike, who fit that description to a T. He was a big, football-playing, motorcycle-loving guy with one of the most tender hearts I knew, the kind of heart that was soft enough that he cried while singing "How Great Thou Art". (one of my first memories of him.)
So thus we see, there are tall, big people who are sweet, and tall, big people who are not. If I really thought about the shorter people I know, I'm sure I could find similar variability. And maybe our sizes do influence our personalities, but they definitely aren't the deciding factor.
I'm not saying that one personality is better than the other. As Melissa reminded me, if we were all alike, this world would be pretty boring. And I'm not even saying I'm incapable of sweetness. I can be thoughtful, I can be a good listener, and I can even do things for others that can be described as sweet. The point is not to use another person's personality to degrade my own, but acknowledge their strengths and be inspired to improve myself. You never know -- maybe someone's seen the differences between themselves and me and wanted to follow my example in something. That's crazy to think, because of course I know all my flaws and am quick to say that nobody should strive to be at all like me. But maybe, juuuuuust maybe, it's possible.
So as I see these sweet people in my life, I'm going to try a little better to be more like them. To reach out without a thought toward myself. To lend a listening ear. To help someone willingly. To be sincerely interested in their lives. I may still be big and loud, but I can do that much. And I don't need to be bribed with Ghirardelli chocolate to do it, either.
Although chocolate is always welcome.
Mm-mmm.
-Me
"If you don't know how to pronounce a word, say it loud!" -William Strunk, Jr.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
But You Gotta Have Friends
I am grateful for tender mercies. They happen every day, probably, but I am often too blind to notice them. And then the Lord, in His kindness, occasionally whacks me over the head with one.
Let's back up to 2002. It's fall of my freshman year at BYU, and I'm adjusting to life in a dinky dorm room with Kim, learning that college classes are, in fact, harder than high school classes, enduring meals at the Cannon Center, and experiencing extremely dry skin (courtesy of Utah). I'm also making friends. One such friend is Carol. There's a nice, tight-knit group of friends forming around me, of which she is an integral part. She is, no joke, possibly the kindest person on the planet. I'm so glad she's willing to be friends with a crazy loudmouth like me.
As time goes on and college continues, Carol remains one of my closest friends; in practically all instances, she is my confidant. She is there for me when I have hard times; she is there for me during good times, too. We go to Stan's, a diner a couple blocks away from our apartment complex, for delicious milkshakes, fries, and good chatting. She keeps me cheerful. We sing snippets of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat together. At a time when I feel rejected by some, she never abandons me.
Of course, life gets busy and we don't see each other as often as years pass. Other friends and the occasional romantic interest come and go. Every once in a while, though, we meet at Stan's. Somehow that tradition stays afloat while we're both in Provo.
I guess the point of this backstory is to illustrate that Carol was once of my best friends while I was in school. (believe me, i could have elaborated in more detail, but for your sakes, i refrained.) In her quiet, thoughtful way, she was a rock for me as I handled my life in my usual dramatic fashion. As life goes on, these friends come in and out of our lives, and there will be times we are in touch with them and times when we are not. Some, we may never see again. It's a little sad, but that's the way life goes. You can only hope that if those friends ever reflect on their past, they remember you in a positive light.
I don't think I live in the past, but every once in a while, I think of old friends and wonder how they're doing and have a desire to find them again. A couple weeks ago, I was thinking about Carol. And I was pretty sad that I let us fall out of touch once we graduated. I decided I would try and contact her. You'd think in this world of social media that such a task would be easy. But some people (gasp!) are not facebook! Well, I didn't let that daunt me, and I was pretty sure I found a possible avenue to contact her again, but I wasn't sure how reliable it was.
And then I went to Provo for the weekend.
Sunday came around. Glen and I decided we'd head over to our old ward for church. Knowing the nature of our ward and it being a year since we moved, we knew that the ward would look very different and there wouldn't be that many people we knew. However, there would still be hold-outs that we were looking forward to seeing. We walked into the familiar chapel, sat in a pew, and began looking around for anybody we might recognize. (of course, me being me, we were there earlier than many people.)
And there, a couple pews in front of us, sat my old friend Carol! Of all the double-takes I predicted that morning, I couldn't have predicted the one I would perform when I saw her! I immediately ditched Glen and high-tailed it over to her, where she was, naturally, just as surprised to see me coming up the pew. It ended up that she was visiting her sister, who is currently residing in my old ward. We talked for a couple of minutes, promised to exchange contact info, and then I went and surprised my other friends who I was actually expecting to see.
Sure, this could all be a huge coincidence. But I prefer to think of it as one of Heavenly Father's mercies. He knew I'd been thinking about Carol a few days before and had been looking for a way to find her. Glen and I could have easily decided to go to church a block away from where we were staying, but at the last minute, our old ward popped into our heads. Of course, there were perks to that idea (since i loved the people in that ward) and I was excited at the thought of it, but maybe the idea popped in there because God was saying, "I know who's going to be there!"
So I'm grateful for those times that He lets me know that He really is in charge and listening to us, even our unuttered prayers. I'm grateful for the chance I've had to reconnect with Carol and see where she is in her life. I'm grateful for friends, old and new.
-Me
"I have lost friends, some by death . . . others through sheer inability to cross the street." -Virginia Woolf
Let's back up to 2002. It's fall of my freshman year at BYU, and I'm adjusting to life in a dinky dorm room with Kim, learning that college classes are, in fact, harder than high school classes, enduring meals at the Cannon Center, and experiencing extremely dry skin (courtesy of Utah). I'm also making friends. One such friend is Carol. There's a nice, tight-knit group of friends forming around me, of which she is an integral part. She is, no joke, possibly the kindest person on the planet. I'm so glad she's willing to be friends with a crazy loudmouth like me.
An impromptu hat night on our floor
(i'm on the far left, carol's in the middle of the top row crouching)
As time goes on and college continues, Carol remains one of my closest friends; in practically all instances, she is my confidant. She is there for me when I have hard times; she is there for me during good times, too. We go to Stan's, a diner a couple blocks away from our apartment complex, for delicious milkshakes, fries, and good chatting. She keeps me cheerful. We sing snippets of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat together. At a time when I feel rejected by some, she never abandons me.
Of course, life gets busy and we don't see each other as often as years pass. Other friends and the occasional romantic interest come and go. Every once in a while, though, we meet at Stan's. Somehow that tradition stays afloat while we're both in Provo.
We even documented ourselves at Stan's here
I guess the point of this backstory is to illustrate that Carol was once of my best friends while I was in school. (believe me, i could have elaborated in more detail, but for your sakes, i refrained.) In her quiet, thoughtful way, she was a rock for me as I handled my life in my usual dramatic fashion. As life goes on, these friends come in and out of our lives, and there will be times we are in touch with them and times when we are not. Some, we may never see again. It's a little sad, but that's the way life goes. You can only hope that if those friends ever reflect on their past, they remember you in a positive light.
I don't think I live in the past, but every once in a while, I think of old friends and wonder how they're doing and have a desire to find them again. A couple weeks ago, I was thinking about Carol. And I was pretty sad that I let us fall out of touch once we graduated. I decided I would try and contact her. You'd think in this world of social media that such a task would be easy. But some people (gasp!) are not facebook! Well, I didn't let that daunt me, and I was pretty sure I found a possible avenue to contact her again, but I wasn't sure how reliable it was.
And then I went to Provo for the weekend.
Sunday came around. Glen and I decided we'd head over to our old ward for church. Knowing the nature of our ward and it being a year since we moved, we knew that the ward would look very different and there wouldn't be that many people we knew. However, there would still be hold-outs that we were looking forward to seeing. We walked into the familiar chapel, sat in a pew, and began looking around for anybody we might recognize. (of course, me being me, we were there earlier than many people.)
And there, a couple pews in front of us, sat my old friend Carol! Of all the double-takes I predicted that morning, I couldn't have predicted the one I would perform when I saw her! I immediately ditched Glen and high-tailed it over to her, where she was, naturally, just as surprised to see me coming up the pew. It ended up that she was visiting her sister, who is currently residing in my old ward. We talked for a couple of minutes, promised to exchange contact info, and then I went and surprised my other friends who I was actually expecting to see.
Sure, this could all be a huge coincidence. But I prefer to think of it as one of Heavenly Father's mercies. He knew I'd been thinking about Carol a few days before and had been looking for a way to find her. Glen and I could have easily decided to go to church a block away from where we were staying, but at the last minute, our old ward popped into our heads. Of course, there were perks to that idea (since i loved the people in that ward) and I was excited at the thought of it, but maybe the idea popped in there because God was saying, "I know who's going to be there!"
So I'm grateful for those times that He lets me know that He really is in charge and listening to us, even our unuttered prayers. I'm grateful for the chance I've had to reconnect with Carol and see where she is in her life. I'm grateful for friends, old and new.
-Me
"I have lost friends, some by death . . . others through sheer inability to cross the street." -Virginia Woolf
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Eat It
Let me tell you about something that has changed my life completely in the last month and a half. Something that has turned a specific time of day from a time of loathing and dread to a time of control and peace (well, as peaceful as you get with your toddler running between your legs).
What is this amazing thing that has made my life so much better?
Meal planning.
Oh, my gosh, why didn't I ever do this before?!??!?!!?? I can't believe how much happier I have been during dinner prep time ever since I finally sat myself down and planned dinner through the following week. I did once attempt to meal plan when I was still single, and I even wrote about it and asked for meal ideas and recipes on this very blog. However, the first week I tried, I was interrupted by an unexpected visitor that threw most of that week out the window, meal-wise, and I never tried again.
Oh, how foolish I was.
For quite some time, I had spent the hour or so preceding dinner-prep completely unprepared. I never had any idea what to make, and so I actually would let myself feel incredibly lazy and think, "I don't want to make dinner!" All because I didn't have a plan. Many days in the week Glen would come home from work to the instant query, "What do you want for dinner?" I was sick of asking, and he was sick of hearing it.
But now! Oh, but now. Now I know what's on the menu, and I have the groceries necessary for it. Now I know when to begin cooking, and I know the effort required. Amazingly, meal planning for ten minutes before grocery shopping has made me less lazy throughout the rest of the week! Because I have a plan set out, and I keep it! Now the only stress I have about making dinner is keeping Isaac out of my hair, rather than constantly wondering how I will possibly motivate myself to look through the cupboards and see what's available.
I haven't necessarily branched out or experimented with a lot of new recipes, but our variety is still good, and I have been especially proud of some efforts, like the first homemade lasagna I ever attempted. (and when i say "attempted", i mean "aced".) I don't know if we're eating healthier, but we're sure eating happier. I still stick mostly to simple stuff, but because I have laid out my dinner life, I am more willing to occasionally make something that is more time/labor-intensive (such as the lasagna . . . man, that made me feel awesome).
Ah, meal planning. You make me so happy. I will try to never abandon you again.
-Me
"There is a coherent plan in the universe, though I don't know what it's a plan for." -Fred Hoyle
What is this amazing thing that has made my life so much better?
Meal planning.
Oh, my gosh, why didn't I ever do this before?!??!?!!?? I can't believe how much happier I have been during dinner prep time ever since I finally sat myself down and planned dinner through the following week. I did once attempt to meal plan when I was still single, and I even wrote about it and asked for meal ideas and recipes on this very blog. However, the first week I tried, I was interrupted by an unexpected visitor that threw most of that week out the window, meal-wise, and I never tried again.
Oh, how foolish I was.
For quite some time, I had spent the hour or so preceding dinner-prep completely unprepared. I never had any idea what to make, and so I actually would let myself feel incredibly lazy and think, "I don't want to make dinner!" All because I didn't have a plan. Many days in the week Glen would come home from work to the instant query, "What do you want for dinner?" I was sick of asking, and he was sick of hearing it.
But now! Oh, but now. Now I know what's on the menu, and I have the groceries necessary for it. Now I know when to begin cooking, and I know the effort required. Amazingly, meal planning for ten minutes before grocery shopping has made me less lazy throughout the rest of the week! Because I have a plan set out, and I keep it! Now the only stress I have about making dinner is keeping Isaac out of my hair, rather than constantly wondering how I will possibly motivate myself to look through the cupboards and see what's available.
I haven't necessarily branched out or experimented with a lot of new recipes, but our variety is still good, and I have been especially proud of some efforts, like the first homemade lasagna I ever attempted. (and when i say "attempted", i mean "aced".) I don't know if we're eating healthier, but we're sure eating happier. I still stick mostly to simple stuff, but because I have laid out my dinner life, I am more willing to occasionally make something that is more time/labor-intensive (such as the lasagna . . . man, that made me feel awesome).
No lasagna soup tonight!
Ah, meal planning. You make me so happy. I will try to never abandon you again.
-Me
"There is a coherent plan in the universe, though I don't know what it's a plan for." -Fred Hoyle
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Give Me Hugs, Give Me Smiles
How many times a day does a mother become frustrated by her child/children? Hmm. Well, I’ve only got the one kid so far, and I’ve never been so frustrated in my life!
The frustration and even anger that surfaces in daily life with Isaac is one of the things that I wasn’t at all prepared for as I was expecting him. I wasn’t naive; I knew that I would feel those things. But I didn’t know how abundantly I would feel them. I would go so far as to say that I feel frustrated more than many other mothers do, mainly because I have never been what you might call a calm person and I’ve always let myself boil over too easily, even if the seething has not been outwardly expressed. Who knows? Maybe all mothers are convinced they’re the ones who get mad the most.
And then there are the times that he just makes me laugh, even amidst the frustration. Take yesterday, for example. I was attempting to participate in a Relief Society presidency meeting and not doing very well at it because Isaac spent most of the two and a half hours we were there being in a grouchy mood. I’m the secretary, so I feel it very important to take notes and be organized. That’s hard to do when your sixteen-month-old boy is clamoring for all your attention with that crying, whiny scream that is exactly calculated to annoy you the most it possibly can. The other ladies, being mothers themselves and having experienced this (in addition to the fact that isaac is not theirs), were constantly assuring me that he wasn’t bothering them and that it was all right and they understood. I know they were telling me the truth, and that’s awesome. Doesn’t stop me from feeling mortified and annoyed by my crazy kid. It’s always worse when it’s your own child.
Then came the moment that we were dispersing and I was cleaning up all his toys that had scattered around the house, and suddenly I heard, “Megan, he ate dirt!” And the next thing I knew, Colleen was carrying him over to the kitchen sink and he was just screaming as she was trying to rinse his mouth out. I didn’t laugh out loud, so the other ladies may have thought I was upset, but really . . . I thought it was hilarious. The picture before me was so amusing, I still laugh as I type this right now. Didn’t change the fact that he had been a little bottom-top for the previous few hours, but it was sure funny to watch Colleen try and get that junk out of his mouth.
So I admit it, I get mad at my kid. More than I wish I did. And sometimes I still wish I didn’t have him on my hands, because how much easier would my life be if I didn’t have to run around after him and teach him how to eat with a spoon (but not dirt) and plead with him to say even one word and encourage him to stop hitting us and thinking it’s a game and not freak out when I take my phone away from him and make him play by himself while I’m making dinner . . . Yeah, my life would be a lot easier.
But I wouldn’t give him back. Many women are out there in the world today who desperately want children and can’t have them, for one reason or another. Other women have their children for the barest of moments before those precious souls are called right back out of this world they have just entered. I can’t imagine the heartbreak and ache those women feel, and I hope beyond hope I will never have to endure that kind of pain. So even though I get mad, even though he can annoy and frustrate me to no end, I wouldn’t give Isaac back. I’m too grateful to have him here and healthy in the first place. It is only as I see more and more of the world that I realize what a rare and precious gift that is.
How grateful I am for him. I’m grateful for his smile and laughter. I’m grateful for the milestones he reaches. I’m grateful that he can finally walk and I am not forced to constantly carry his impressive bulk all the time. I’m grateful for his wide eyes and curiosity. I’m grateful for the way he is able to charm complete strangers.
I just hope I can remember that gratitude the next time he’s grating on my last nerve.
And then you see this and wonder how it's at all possible to get mad at him.
-Me
"Once the bear's hug has got you, it's apt to be for keeps." -Harold MacMillan
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Bad Boys, Bad Boys
What is it about fictional "bad boys" that is hard to resist? (i'm not going to get into bad boys in reality . . . finding them irresistible still makes no sense to me.) I feel like these days many people, while not necessarily supporting the bad boys' goals, are still liking villains over heroes.
The argument could be made that heroes are just too boring in comparison to the villains. This was even a problem for poor Anne Shirley when she wrote her story Averil's Atonement during the events of Anne of the Island. After lovingly crafting the tale, she was bewildered by the reactions of Diana Barry and Mr. Harrison when they questioned her decision to kill off the bad guy.
I myself am not immune to this habit of liking villains. I am far more entertained by the evil Angelus than the moody, brooding, redemption-seeking Angel in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Heck, staying in the Buffy universe, my favorite character is Spike, who makes no bones about being an evil vampire, but is droll and humorous to boot. Even high-minded Anne Shirley in her own life is kind of a sucker for bad boys, no matter her principled horror that the villain she created is the character her audience likes the best. When lamenting that Diana's fiance is "hopelessly good", Marilla asks her if she'd want to marry a wicked man. "Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't."
This is probably why we've moved to such dark heroes in entertainment these days, in an effort to make them more appealing and flawed. In some ways, okay, sure, they're being made human and they could use the multi-layering. But if you look at Christopher Reeve as Superman, he was not dark and he represented that All-American hero that we find so boring these days, and you know what? He's still plenty fun to watch. I would say he has that "little spice of human nature", as Mr. Harrison puts it, which means that you can have a completely good hero who doesn't have to be dark to be interesting. And if we can have an entertaining, non-dark hero, why would we still root for the villain?
Ladies? Be honest. It's because we do things like cast Tom Hiddleston as Loki. I personally still find Chris Hemsworth's Thor more attractive, but Tom Hiddleston is not someone you'd kick out of the bed for eating crackers. Similar examples: Michael Fassbender as Magneto, Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan . . .
No wonder there are so many fanfictions out there that have the villain triumphing or getting the girl. Who doesn't want to see those good-looking men come out on top? We're totally willing to overlook any heinous things they've done simply because they are hunky. We like to get these guys reformed because we love the personality and the looks they've given to the villains they portray. Granted, there are instances where a villain's physical appeal is actually relevant to the plot (such as the woeful W's of Austendom, Wickham and Willoughby), but very often the outcome of the story being told doesn't hinge on whether or not the villain is cute.
Thank goodness Anne wises up and realizes that in reality her brooding, could-be-wicked-but-wouldn't, melancholy ideal is actually a total bore. She ends up with Gilbert, who is arguably also "hopelessly" good, but has a personality (and is pretty darn cute, but you rarely see an ugly hero, anyway).
Maybe we could all take a lesson from this, that we need to still regard villains as villains, no matter their outward appearance, and that heroes really can be pretty interesting, despite not being tortured souls.
But really, if you want your audience to actually root for Robin Hood to end up with Maid Marian (a legendary couple you would never think to break up), you shouldn't have his rival played by my man Richard.
-Me
"In Hollywood they usually cast me as villains or priests." -Max von Sydow
The argument could be made that heroes are just too boring in comparison to the villains. This was even a problem for poor Anne Shirley when she wrote her story Averil's Atonement during the events of Anne of the Island. After lovingly crafting the tale, she was bewildered by the reactions of Diana Barry and Mr. Harrison when they questioned her decision to kill off the bad guy.
"Anyhow," resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, "I don't see why Maurice Lennox didn't get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did bad things, but he did them. Perceval hadn't time for anything but mooning." . . .
"Maurice Lennox was the villain," said Anne indignantly. "I don't see why every one likes him better than Perceval."
"Perceval is too good. He's aggravating. Next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him."
"Averil couldn't have married Maurice. He was bad."
"She'd have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can't reform a jellyfish, of course."
I myself am not immune to this habit of liking villains. I am far more entertained by the evil Angelus than the moody, brooding, redemption-seeking Angel in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Heck, staying in the Buffy universe, my favorite character is Spike, who makes no bones about being an evil vampire, but is droll and humorous to boot. Even high-minded Anne Shirley in her own life is kind of a sucker for bad boys, no matter her principled horror that the villain she created is the character her audience likes the best. When lamenting that Diana's fiance is "hopelessly good", Marilla asks her if she'd want to marry a wicked man. "Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't."
This is probably why we've moved to such dark heroes in entertainment these days, in an effort to make them more appealing and flawed. In some ways, okay, sure, they're being made human and they could use the multi-layering. But if you look at Christopher Reeve as Superman, he was not dark and he represented that All-American hero that we find so boring these days, and you know what? He's still plenty fun to watch. I would say he has that "little spice of human nature", as Mr. Harrison puts it, which means that you can have a completely good hero who doesn't have to be dark to be interesting. And if we can have an entertaining, non-dark hero, why would we still root for the villain?
Yes, he's Superman and technically an alien. But he's got some good human qualities. And a killer grin.
Ladies? Be honest. It's because we do things like cast Tom Hiddleston as Loki. I personally still find Chris Hemsworth's Thor more attractive, but Tom Hiddleston is not someone you'd kick out of the bed for eating crackers. Similar examples: Michael Fassbender as Magneto, Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan . . .
Not bad. Not bad. But still the bad guy.
No wonder there are so many fanfictions out there that have the villain triumphing or getting the girl. Who doesn't want to see those good-looking men come out on top? We're totally willing to overlook any heinous things they've done simply because they are hunky. We like to get these guys reformed because we love the personality and the looks they've given to the villains they portray. Granted, there are instances where a villain's physical appeal is actually relevant to the plot (such as the woeful W's of Austendom, Wickham and Willoughby), but very often the outcome of the story being told doesn't hinge on whether or not the villain is cute.
Thank goodness Anne wises up and realizes that in reality her brooding, could-be-wicked-but-wouldn't, melancholy ideal is actually a total bore. She ends up with Gilbert, who is arguably also "hopelessly" good, but has a personality (and is pretty darn cute, but you rarely see an ugly hero, anyway).
What a cutiepie
Maybe we could all take a lesson from this, that we need to still regard villains as villains, no matter their outward appearance, and that heroes really can be pretty interesting, despite not being tortured souls.
But really, if you want your audience to actually root for Robin Hood to end up with Maid Marian (a legendary couple you would never think to break up), you shouldn't have his rival played by my man Richard.
Yummm.
-Me
"In Hollywood they usually cast me as villains or priests." -Max von Sydow
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