Thank God she didn't get her taste in music from her father.

Girl child came home from her friends house singing this song.  Well the chorus anyway.  After exhaustive minutes of researching I found it, and she has requested it everyday.  I like it.  It's sweet and loving and catchy.  Like a yeast infection set to music.

Drifting

This has always been a favorite quote of mine.

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse; as I have found in traveling in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's position and be bruised in a new place.

-WASHINGTON IRVING, Tales of a Traveler

On a semi-related note - I would really like to be one of those people who transition smoothly from one activity to another with ease and grace.  I think I used to be better, but I could just think that becasue it is easier to go back to a way you used to be than it is to learn an entirely new way to be altogether.  

Girl child is ok at it, the husband is awful at it.  Maybe he is rubbing off on me. Regardless, I do need to transition.  I don't want to stay here forever.  Not that here is bad, it's just that I like learning new things and there is nothing new about this.  I think it is time for a career change.  I think I'll look into CASA training.   Oh, and maybe start working on another baby. 

I never should have let them cut the cord.

I sent the girl child off to her first full day of school today.  We talked about her feelings. . is she excited (yes!). . . is she nervous (nope) . . . what is she looking forward to the most (everything!).  I waited with the other families for our turn to meet the teacher, to shake his hand and send my child into the gaping hole to another world that the doorway had become.  People arrived after us, they went before us.  I stood solidly in place watching the teacher begin to sweat as the effort of convincing parents and children to part in a 5 second conversation became to much for his first day on the job. 

I held girl child close to me, smiling and chatting with the parents who had made it out of the separation alive.  I watched a 3rd grader burst into tears at the thought of leaving her mama.  I knew just how she felt.  There was only her and her best friend left, I could not keep her with me any longer without making her wonder why.  I looked down at my angel child, smiling shyly at her new teacher.  I gently nudged her forward and she approached him shyly.  He greeted her by name and said he had heard great things about her.  I assured him they were all true.  He offered me his hand, a weak sweaty halfhearted handshake.  My angel child skipped inside, without so much as a kiss goodbye.  I tried to think nice things about him, but I failed.  Not today.  He has my child and I have resorted to a toddler level, wanting nothing more than to rip her away from him and yell mine.

Hallmark Moments

I read recently that a dear friend of mine had broken up with her boyfriend.  Although dear may overstating things. . .  yeah, it is.  She used to be a dear friend of mine, before distance and inclination were allowed to create a haziness in our friendship.  Not that I don't still adore her.  I do, but when it comes to maintaining a relationship with her, I sorta failed.   Don't feel sorry for her though, she has lots of friends.  Well you can feel badly that she broke up. . . that part sucks.  As for the me not being able to write anything truly supportive or insightful on her blog, well that was already covered.  So I gave her a little text heart and moved on.  'Cause really, what could I have written?   "Dear friend - I wish that we had not been to lazy to let the small differences in our lifestyles and locations allow us to drift apart, because I would really like to know you well enough now to be able to offer you real and meaningful consolation, because I think you are a very special woman?"

Right.  

Relationships are like that.  They take work.  It's only natural that they wax and wane.  In theory I am ok with that, and even though I let it happen all the time, the reality is still kind of shitty.  When I have ever really cared for a person it bothers me to know they are unhappy, even if I haven't heard their voice in months.  Which makes me want to offer support.  Which is hard, you know, if you have no idea what kind of support is appropriate. . . . ergh.  

So anyway sweet friend.  If you stumble across this post, think of the most wonderful heartwarming thing a person could say, and then pretend it came from me.  I'm sure I would mean it if I knew what it was.

The Merits of Bad Punk Rock

Today we were listening to Pandora. . . . Flogging Molly Station.  Some inane talent-less hack was babbling that he would rather sit on the couch and do nothing with the object of his hearts desire than to accomplish anything else in life.  Except he said so much more monosyllabically. He actually referenced the Simpsons, people.  Wonder what the kick back on that was?

The point, however, is not that the song was stupid.  I listen to punk music, it is full of stupid.  The point is that girl child asked what the singer meant about wanting to do nothing with the person he was singing to.  I said , well he loves her so much that he would rather just hang out with her than do anything else.  To which she replied. . "Mama, you don't know he was singing to a girl."  Inside I burst into a million tiny shards of happy and love and pride.  Not the gay kind, the maternal kind.  Outside I said, "You are right, I don't, he could be singing to a guy."  She said, "'Cause people love all kinds of people."

My sweet girl, who is not old enough to remember a life other than one where mama was with dadda and only dadda, has absorbed enough of our gentle teachings that she can correct my dating stereotypes.  Like many children of my generation, I do not think white boyfriend when I see a white girl.  I do however, usually think boyfriend  Even though I don't always live that life.  My baby, though just sees love. . . in a really bad punk song.