My Sweet Baby A,

I wish I could teach you, right now, before you need it, not to base your self-esteem on what anyone else thinks, says, or does.

I wish I could protect your laughing, lyrical spirit from ever being broken by the painful things that girls do to each other as they get older.

I wish I could teach you by example that drama destroys, but true happiness holds tremendous power.

And most of all, I wish I could somehow inject you with the absolute certainty that the only opinion of you that ever really matters, is your own.

You are my sunlight and sparkle, baby girl.

Love, Mama

[Written on my phone yesterday, while walking from my office to my car after work, in response to very public petty and backstabby bickering among my son’s female friends, all over Facebook.  It’s disheartening, not only because there’s absolutely no reason for it, but also because someday it’s going to happen to MY girl.  And if she gets her heart broken, it’s going to be a wound that bleeds in me, too.  I so wish I could wrap her in the emotional armor it took me 38 years to grow, so that she could know at the age of 6 what I know now.  I so wish I knew how to protect her.  I know I can’t stop it from happening, but I wish I knew how to emotionally prepare her for it, so that it will continue to roll off of her like things do now, and continue to leave her unscathed forever.  I wish.]

I don’t want to know the truth.

I guess I can blame it on age, experience, wisdom.  Whatever.  In the past I’ve chased after the truth doggedly, whenever the tiniest morsel of it came to light.  I wanted every detail, the blow-by-blow, what happened and when and where and, most importantly, how everyone felt about it.

And when I’ve chased that truth, I inevitably wished I’d never found it.

The college boyfriend, for instance.  Over time I’d lovingly polished the memory of him, and of our relationship, to a golden passionate sheen that glowed benevolently from up on the pedestal where I’d placed him.  And all it took was one sentence from him, in one email conversation that went on over several days – “I still love you, I always have.”  BOOM.  Truth.  Away I went.  Tell me more, more, more….

I can’t describe how much I wish I’d never found that truth.  I wish I didn’t know that he’s a sociopath, an abuser, a liar who’s blindly motivated by his hatred of me and his unquenchable thirst for revenge.  I wish I could un-hear the threats and the lies, un-feel the bruises and the anguish, and un-see the cold disdain in his eyes.  I wish that illusion had never been shattered, because losing that illusion was like a death.  I grieve the loss of it.

And so it happens that today I am re-visited by another illusion that died a violent death.  He who was my best friend for more than a decade.  He who was unquestionably the love of my life.  He who gave me every bit of my self-esteem and who made me feel needed.  He who made me laugh every single day, while I silently nursed an unspoken passion for him that I believed was unrequited.  That illusion began a slow death on the day that he decided we needed to talk about our feelings for each other.  Of course no good could come of that, and no good did come of that.  But I pursued it.  Oh how I pursued it.  I dug and dug and dug into that truth, and my heart soared with every ounce of truth that he poured all over me.

And yet the fact remained, due to circumstances on both sides of the equation, that I COULD NOT HAVE HIM.  And so the truth soured the friendship.  The truth scraped bloody tracks into us and left tender, puffy scars.  And the illusion was forever shattered, and it tore me to pieces.

But today, years later, another tiny, innocuous droplet of truth landed in my lap.  Given the opportunity, this droplet could open floodgates of questions that I want answered, that I NEED answered.  But in finding the answers to those questions, I’ll have to say goodbye to that illusion – that “I couldn’t have him” illusion.  I’ve gotten very comfortable with that illusion, and I’ve built a whole new life around that illusion.  I love the life I’ve built.

And so I won’t ask the questions.  I don’t want to know the truth.  I don’t want to shed any more tears over the corpse of another illusion.

1.  My song o’ the day to add to the playlist:  “Why” by Secondhand Serenade.

2.  If you haven’t seen “Zombieland,” well, you probably still shouldn’t.  If you are at all capable of being offended, even if it really takes a lot to offend you, this movie will offend the hell out of you.  But Drummer watched it the other night and then he recorded it because he said it was my kind of humor and I’d love it.  We watched it together over the weekend, and I’m just embarrassed that he knows me well enough to know that I would find that hilarious.  I laughed so hard I cried all the way through it.

3.  Well I’ve only lived there for nine months, but I finally spent the weekend unpacking all the boxes in the dining room.  It was like Christmas.  I forgot what cool stuff I had.  I also forgot how unbearably pink my kitchen was at my old house.  None of my pink stuff really goes with the brown-leather-western kitchen that Drummer has going on.  I’ve been able to kind of merge our design tastes up to now without completely rejecting one or the other, but I must admit the kitchen is going to be a massive challenge.  Well, also, the kitchen is teensy and ancient and outdated and ugly, so there’s not a lot to start with anyway.  Oh, and Glow, it’s funny how the most random objects will bring back a great memory.  I unpacked my corkscrew, and sat there laughing and thinking about when you and I realized I didn’t have one and we really wanted to drink the wine, so we went and bought that one.  And then we spent the evening in my living room drinking and talking back and forth on Facebook via our phones, even though we were sitting on couches across from each other in the same room.

All righty, back to work.  I just emailed Drummer and suggested we hang my sparkly jeweled Ikea chandelier in the dining room.  THAT should cause apoplexy.  But hey, I figure it’s a bargaining tool for the rest of the house – “Okay, I’ll give in on the chandelier if you give in on THIS….”

Anyone wanna place bets on how many exclamation points he types after the word “NO”?

My favorite researcher just said, “At least I believe in something, you monster.”

Well I might as well pack up and go home.  My day can’t possibly get any better than having one of my minions call me a monster.

Had lunch with Drummer.  He was very touchy-feely.  I believe I’ll partake of one or two of those 5-Hour Energy things before I go home tonight; the kids are with BabyDaddy tonight, and if Drummer is in a touchy-feely mood … well let’s just say I don’t wanna be falling asleep right after I watch the new episode of iCarly.  (That’s right, I said it.  I’m planning my entire evening — without children — around the new “iGot a Hot Room” episode on iCarly.  Don’t pretend you don’t get it.)

RAWR I’M A MONSTER …watching Nickelodeon…

“If you can’t be a good example, then you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.”  —Catherine Aird

(LOVE that!  It was on my “Women’s Quote of the Day” calendar thing.)

My song to add to today’s playlist:

“Here (In Your Arms)” by Hellogoodbye.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-KQ1tp_qOQ

There’s no super-hot skater-guy singing, Wen, but I just love the song and the video makes me weep laughing. 

And one thing about when he kisses her in the video – I do love a face-toucher.  Face-touching kissers make my day.  I think it’s one of those things you either love or hate, and I love it.  I was thinking about this last night, actually, because Drummer had to go check on a tractor or something and the kids were with their dad and I was watching “Pretty In Pink” (“BLAINE?  His name is Blaine?  That’s not a name, that’s a major appliance!”).  Andrew McCarthy is a total face-toucher in that movie.  And I DIG IT.  Anyone else have an opinion on face-touchers?

Side note to my sister:  “The Blower’s Daughter” just came up on my iPod shuffle.  Bwahahahahahahahahaha…..

atsween:

say “nevermore” again. i dare you.

“I could so dry hump your mind.”  — Agent K

“Enjoy this while it lasts.  Next week, you’ll have no one to abuse and you’ll just sit in the office, crying, drunkenly yelling at cows.”

True remorse leads to change.  If you simply say, “I did this to myself” and whine about what a bad person it makes you, and then you KEEP DOING IT, it’s not remorse.  It’s self-absorption.  It is true selfishness to hurt people and then twist it around and make it all about you and how horrible you are for hurting them.  If you’re really sorry, shut up and change.

Song of the day:  “Over Me Now?” by Gloriana. 

Word of the day:  Karma.

Quote of the day:  “My give-a-damn’s broken.”

Movie of the day:  “Closer.”  Specifically at the very end, when you realize that Natalie Portman’s character, who was the one most hurt by everyone’s actions, is the only one who came out better off in the end.

Lesson of the day:  A heroin addict really CAN be cured of the addiction.  If the heroin turns into a sniveling pathetic shell of its former self, you no longer want it.  You just kinda want to shake it off your leg like a humpy little dog.

The best thing about all of this:  I’m not remotely mad.  You have to care to be mad.