I'm Coming Out

Before anyone gets too excited, let me assure you all that I'm as hetero as ever. I am however choosing at this point in time to acknowledge a long closeted part of myself, and there is something rather "rainbowy" about that.

For the largest part of my life I have believed myself to be a singer. Just a singer. What did I want to be when I grew up? A singer. Oh, there was that flirtation with the idea of becoming a missionary to Australia. I think perhaps that was a subconscious desire to be near a certain opera house in a certain harbor.

In my teens I discovered Broadway, and I became convinced that was my destiny. I would be an actress/singer on stage! The only problem with that was the fact that I knew nothing about music and even less about acting. So, off I went to college to study music.

All the while, from the time I was old enough to hold a pencil and scribble letters with it, I had been writing. Stories and songs and poetry... I told myself that it was just a hobby. I was a singer. My teachers had other thoughts. I remember my 10th grade English teacher taking me aside at the end of the year and telling me, "I hope you keep writing. You're born to be a writer." I laughed her off. Sure, I enjoyed writing. But it was just something I did to blow off steam or work through emotions. I never considered it, in the words of Little Bill, "my thiiiiiing."

That has changed. Singing and music take a back seat to what has always been a passion of mine. I truly love to sing. I thank God that He chose to bless me with some musical ability. However, there is a special kind of satisfaction in writing. When I sing I'm just performing. I'm singing someone else's words. In writing, the voice and the words are my own. There's something so beautiful and fulfilling in that. I love to look at a sheet of paper or a computer screen and see it filled with my words. I appreciate the applause of the stage, but it can't really compare to a favorable review of something I've created.

I am finally choosing now to acknowledge myself as a writer. I think I was afraid before. Maybe a little intimidated. I mean, anyone who knows me knows that I'm hopelessly devoted and obsessed with a long-dead genius poet and the mark he left on the world. How could I ever compete with that? I think initially, instead of inspiring me, he scared me to death! I've come to terms with dear Eddy now, and I'm ready to embrace my own style and my own voice and my own ideas.

I'm letting go of the past and all the garbage I came up with as an angsty teenager. I'm letting go of all the times I was told to stop "wasting paper." I'm letting go of the fear of failure that ironically serves as a security blanket at times. If I fail, and I already have, I will try again. I have and will continue to learn from my mistakes. I will scribble furiously, type until I'm satisfied, delete, delete, delete, delete.

I am a writer.

After the Ball

Paulie starts school today, and most of my friends are aware that I'm having a hard time with that.  I'm sure most moms think I'm completely crazy.

"You'll have the whole house to yourself!"
"You can do whatever you want!"
"You can have some Me time!"

I've tried to tell myself the same things, but for some reason, the thought of my last little bird leaving the nest fills me with dread.  I couldn't really figure out why until today.

For the past 10 years or so, Motherhood has been my life.  It's my job, my identity.  With an empty house and time on my hands, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.  I feel like Eliza Doolittle after her triumph at the Embassy Ball.  She found herself facing an uncertain future.  She knew she couldn't go back to the life she'd had before, yet she couldn't begin to imagine a place for herself anywhere else.

That's where I am right now.  I look into the empty hours ahead of me and think, like Eliza, 'What's to become of me?'  

I tell myself that there are lots of things I can do.  I can volunteer with something or other.  I can work on some projects that I've been longing to get busy on.  And I can actually sit down and write.  That's good, right? 

The truth is, I want to be useful.  I'm useful as a stay-at-home-mom.  Now that both boys will be in school, I still want to do things of value.  I don't want to sit and watch television (even though I'll finally be able to watch something other than "Yo Gabba Gabba!)  I want to be busy. Industrious. 

I know things will come along to fill my days.  There's always plenty of laundry.  Even beyond housework there is plenty to do.  Besides, as long as I have full pens and empty pages, these hands will never be idle.

Conversations from the Back Seat

Timothy: When I grow up I want to be a soldier.  Or a race car driver. Or maybe an Olympic fencer.  What do you want to be when you grow up, Paul?

Paul: Hmmmm... a waterfall.
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Paul:  Knock knock.

Timothy: Who's there?

Paul: Banana.

Timothy: Banana who?

Paul: Banana joke!  Hahahahahah!
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Paul: Hey Timothy...

Timothy: What?

Paul: Everything is mine!

Timothy: Arggggg!
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Me:  Oh my gosh!  What is that horrible smell?

Timothy and Paul: *snicker*

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To Be Continued...

Alejandro (or Sunday Afternoon at the Mexican Restaurant)

*No offense intended toward anyone of Mexican descent, or Lady Gaga for that matter.

I put my name down
With the host now
But he won't call it yet
Won't call it yet

I've got my heart set
On some fajitas
That tomorrow I'll regret
I will regret

You know that I'm hungry, chico
Clear that table, make it quick-o
Seat me anywhere you want
In the restaurant

Just call my name, just call my name
Alejandro
Don't want to wait, don't want to wait,
Fernando
Don't want to stand, I want to sit
Bring me tortilla chips and dip
Just call my name, just call my name
Roberto
Alejandro, Alejandro, Ale-ale-jandro, Ale-ale-jandro

Why is there pizza
On the menu
I don't think pizza is from Mexico

Can I still order
From the lunch list
'Cause it's like three bucks cheaper
I'm saving dough

You know that I'm hungry, boy
Ooh!  Here comes my food. Rejoice!
More Coke Zero, por favor
Comamos ahora!

Just call my name, just call my name
Alejandro
Bring me my plate, bring me my plate
Fernando
I'll have fried ice cream for dessert
I'll tip you; you don't have to flirt
Just call my name, just call my name
Roberto
Alejandro, Alejandro, Ale-ale-jandro, Ale-ale-jandro

Repeat chorus a ga-zillion times

I'm Not Old, I'm Just-- Hey! You Kids Get Off My Lawn!

I suppose it's time to face facts.  I am officially an old fart.  This isn't really a new realization; I've been wrestling with this for some time.  I have embraced my impending "elderly-ness," mainly because I'm just too darn tired to fight it anymore, but also for many other reasons that have lately come to light.

For instance, I have vivid memories of my parents when they were my age, and they seemed really old.  I suppose that's how my children see me now.  I'm that old bore who's always saying things like, "Back in my day..."  I always thought I would be the mom who seemed eternally young and hip.  Then I realized that young, cool moms don't use words like "hip."  Which reminds me, I need to go take my Calcium supplement.

I remember a time when I stayed out all night on crazy road trips and doughnut runs.  I would get back in time to go to class, take a quick nap on a couch at the BCM, and then I was off again on another adventure.  The other night I fell asleep in the chair in front of the television.  Watching Cooking Channel.  At nine o'clock.  So many things about that just scream "OLD!"

The funny thing is that, while I complain a bit, I don't really mind growing older.  It sure beats the alternative.  And aging has it's advantages.  It's the perfect excuse to take naps.

I hope that when I'm really old I can be what folks describe as "spry."  I want to be the slightly crazy old lady who zips around town in a red sports car and has a purse full of butterscotch candy to give to any children I meet.  I'll travel, and take salsa lessons, and create weird art.

Right now, I guess I'm just resting up for retirement.

Mommy Bird Tries Again

I went outside today to check Paulie's little wading pool, and I received a wonderful surprise.  Mommy Bird was back.  I heard her distinct chirp from the top of the pear tree, so I looked up and there she was.  She flitted out of sight for a few moments, but I followed her chirp to the top of the Japanese maple and saw not only her, but a nest!  She's nesting again!  I am thrilled!  After such a heartbreaking first go, I am pleased to see that she's come back for another try.  I can still see the nest from the front porch, but it's high enough this time to be out of the reach of reptilian predators.  There is also a male cardinal that seems to be helping out this time, so I have a feeling this little family will be successful. 

I'm so happy to have my little neighbors back.  It just goes to show that God really does care about His creation.  Great or small, we are all under His watchful care.  When we fall, when the unthinkable happens, when we're not sure we can get up and try again, He's there to lift us up and restore us.  We can all have great hope and joy in knowing that if God cares for the little birds, how much more must He care for His children!  (Matthew 10:29-31)

I am heartbroken. 

After last night's bad weather, I went out this morning to check on our little bird family. *See Our New Neighbors* Mommy Bird's nest was somewhat askew, but she and her little eggs had survived the storms.  Later, however, I heard her chirping loudly and looked out the window to see what was going on.  Mommy Bird was hopping around on the bushes a few feet from her nest.  I went out onto the porch to get a closer look, and to my horror saw a large black snake curled up in her nest.

The snake had already swallowed one little egg while Mommy Bird looked on helplessly.  Don and I tried to intervene.  He grabbed a broom handle, and I grabbed an umbrella, and together we attempted to get the snake out of the nest before he ate the rest of the eggs.  It was no use.  We couldn't uncoil the snake without upsetting the whole nest, so we were forced to just turn away.

We left for church, and when we returned, Mommy Bird and her eggs were all gone.  I think Mommy Bird is still around.  I thought I heard her a few times, but I'm still very sad.  I had adopted them all in a way.  I checked on the eggs when Mommy Bird was away.  I left birdseed around the bushes so she wouldn't have to go very far to find food.  Most of all though, I looked forward to seeing the tiny little baby cardinals when they hatched.  I wanted to see them break out of their little speckled shells.  I wanted to witness Mommy Bird feeding and caring for them. 

Now instead of chirping little open-mouthed hatchlings, there's only an empty nest.  I can see it from the front door, and it breaks my heart over and over again.  Perhaps I'm silly for mourning three little unhatched birds, but I felt as if they were neighbors.  I sympathized with and related to that new little mother.  I don't know if birds have any concept of love or loss, but I hope Mother Bird is all right.  I hope she knows that I cared for her and her babies.  I hope she knows that I tried to save them.  I hope she forgives me for being unsuccessful.  I'm sure she'll lay eggs again.  She'll be more experienced and a bit wiser.  I hope though, that she'll still see fit to make our home her home too.