Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Because Grandpa Always Wins...

My Puddin’ girl is away from home this week, visiting her grandparents in Phoenix. I took her to the airport last weekend, not managing to maintain composure at all, and balling when she turned to get on the plane. The mere thought of her being so far away makes my heart hurt and my soul ache. This little person is more than my daughter, she is a part of me, and having her out of the house right now is like being forced to give up my soul for lent. I suppose that I should be enjoying the break I’m having, and logic tells me that she is just fine with Grandma and Grandpa, but my heart is slowly withering up without her piping little voice and need for several snacks throughout the day. As God as my witness, I will never find her ten thousand demands for treats in a day annoying again!!

When I called last night, Grandpa, Grandma and Puddin’ were all playing Monopoly together, and my phone call essentially ended the game, which Grandpa was winning by a landslide. Yes, Puddin’ darling, I could have told you that. Never play board games with my father; he has sort of a halo hanging over his head, rendering him the luckiest board game player on the face of this fair earth. No matter what the game, Dad will always win it. I can only assume this is sparse reward for residing in a house full of women for several years of his middle aged life. (As I was growing up, my father was often heard to mutter “Even the darn dog and cat are female!!”) Whatever it is, entering into a game of Monopoly with Dad is as good as entering a figure skating competition with Kurt Browning. You aren’t going to win, don’t bother trying.

Unfortunately, Puddin’, being an only child, is not well versed in the art of losing to anyone, anywhere, any time. As a result, her second place finish at Monopoly caused her to curl up into a ball of frustration and rage. When she was forced to get onto the phone with Mama, she grunted in my ear for several seconds until my father finally took the phone from her in an effort to stop the insanity. I was torn in my emotions at this point. My daughter was clearly misbehaving, and not being able to talk to her properly caused me to feel slightly faint, and short of breath. On the other hand, the mere fact that she was misbehaving at her Grandparents house filled me with an indescribable sort of glee.

Since the day Puddin’ came into this world, my parents have regarded her as an angel sent from heaven to save me from myself. (This isn’t far off the truth, either, and yes, I think of her as my angel most of the time too…unless she’s trying to shave the cat.) Puddin’ can do no wrong, and is, of course, a much better child than I was at her age!! Many a time Mother laments the unfairness of the fates, bestowing such a wonderful child on me after she was made to suffer through the heathen child that was I in my youth. As Puddin’ grunted and then, after being made to relinquish the phone, howled, I felt a smile spreading widely across my cheeks. God, in His infinite wisdom has once again performed a miracle, this one showing my parents that even their wonderful granddaughter has moments that would cause Satan to run for cover.

The difference between my daughter and I really doesn’t start with the way we behave. As a child, I was stubborn, cock sure and mouthy. Puddin’ is stubborn, cock sure and mouthy (and I LOVE her for it so much I could combust with the weight of my adoration.) As a child, I was difficult at times, sad at times and angry at times…so is my perfect little Puddin’ girl. As a child, I hated my parents and everything they represented…my daughter is not yet a teenager, so I truly can’t comment on what is going to happen. However, I like to believe that things will be different for her. You see, Puddin’ and I have a completely different relationship than my parents and I had. I’m not saying it’s better or worse, simply different.

When I was born, both of my parents were older, married and established. When Puddin’ was born, I was young, foolish and alone. As I grew up, my parents, having raised my sibling before me, were positive and confident in their parenting skills. As Puddin’ grows before my eyes, I am unsure, nervous and sometimes terrified that I’m not being a good a parent as I can be. The main point of all of this being that when I was born, my parents were grown up adults…whereas each painful step of the way, Puddin’ and I have grown up together in a world where we really only have each other on a day to day basis. That’s not to say my family isn’t there for us, they are and they always will be. It is, however to say that daily living is just us two, struggling through life’s ups and downs together.

Somehow, that sort of lifestyle makes you incredibly close to one and other. Even at your worst, you know in your heart that this human being over here loves you to pieces, and would literally lay down their life for you in a heart beat. It creates an intense adoration that is truly the most unbreakable thing in this fair world. In other words, it makes it so that most of the time even at her hardest moments I can understand where her frustration and anger is coming from, even if I can’t condone it.

I can’t say that her teenage years won’t bring turmoil to our household; I’m sure that as she grows more and more, things will sometimes be very difficult. I can, however say that we have the kind of relationship that demands honesty through tears; the kind of relationship that knows that even if I don’t agree, I’ll always, always adore and I’ll never stop being there for her.

Today, I’m missing that little person more than I can ever imagine missing anyone. She is coming home this weekend, and in my mind, I’m trying to speed the hands of time so to get to the point of her being home in my arms as soon as humanly possible. The house has never been so empty, so lonely and so void of life!! My heart has never wanted to be somewhere more. That’s the definition of true love, isn’t it? Knowing that wherever this person is, that’s where your home has to be. Nothing else matters except that person, warts and all, and you die a little inside when they aren’t with you. Today, I’m wishing that I never let her leave my sight, as much I as know that she needs to start being more independent, and having her own life adventures. Today, I don’t want her to leave me behind, ever…

I’m happy that she is having fun, and I’m equally happy that she is NOT being the perfect angel over at my parent’s house. However, I would be a lot happier if it was next week, and she was being a little devil in the comfort of her own home. Today, I’d give anything in the world to hear that little voice demanding ice cream for breakfast, and torturing the cat. This weekend really can’t come soon enough. By the end of the visit, I have a feeling my parents are likely to feel the same way, albeit for different reasons entirely. That, my friends is the fundamental difference between a parent and a grandparent. Grandparents send the little ones home when they get out of hand, parents long for their babies to be home, getting out of hand where they can see them, and hold them close. Today, I thank God for this week, because within it I am rediscovering what a wonderful, incredible gift He gave me when he decided Puddin’ was to be my daughter. Thank you God, for that little person you have allowed me to share my life with, and continue to allow me to share my life with. She has shown me true love, and through her eyes, I see your face every day of my life. Please take care of her, and bring her home to me safely, God. Today, this is the only thing in the world important enough to ask you for, God; not to mention the only thing in this world that makes me sure, and I mean absolutely positive that you do exist. Like I said, I see you every day in my little one’s eyes and her beautiful smile. What I would give to see that little smile here right now. Safe journey home, baby girl…your poor Mama can’t breathe right until you are back in my arms.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Random thoughts on Being single...

When KD Attacks…

Last night, several hours after my consumption of four Martini’s, I suddenly had an inexplicable urge to eat spiral macaroni and cheese. I attempted to fight the urge, I really did, but sadly at 12:30am, the urge won and forced me to go to the kitchen at gunpoint to satisfy it. Fine. I’m going to weigh eight hundred pounds because my body has inexplicable starch cravings that send me into frenzies in the wee hours of the morning. What the fuck, I’m single, aren’t I?

I managed to eat all of four bites before it dawned upon me that the way I imagined this tasting and the way it actually tasted were really two completely different things. My waistline will thank me for this, I’m sure. Unfortunately, this morning, Heather Armstrong had to put up a post about burritos, ( so now I’m suffering from this inane urge all over again. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was pregnant, however given that the only male I’ve seen naked in the past three years is the cat, (and he’s neutered…) I’m pretty sure that’s not it…

On the subject of being single:

You know, for the longest time, I really didn’t mind. There are definite pluses to singledom, among them not having to share my bed with anyone. (There is just nothing worse in this world than waking up with a sweaty, limp penis clinging to your ass crack as its owner obliviously snores away…) However, lately, the whole single white female thing has started to get extremely O-L-D. I figured I was in trouble the other day, when I entered the supermarket and immediately began trying to seduce the produce…

It’s funny though, the things a person starts to miss after a while. It’s not just the sex, though I really, really, R-E-A-L-L-Y do miss the sex…GAWD how I miss the sex. But oddly enough, there are things I miss more than I miss sex. I miss rolling over in bed, and finding a warm body beside me that smells faintly of cologne and manliness. I miss looking at someone in that special way that says: “Not only do I really love you, but I really, really love seeing you naked.” I miss having a best friend that is more than just a best friend, but also someone that reminds me that I’m a beautiful woman that he really, really loves seeing naked too. I also miss having orgasms that are not self-induced.

I suppose it all sums up to missing having partner in life, someone with whom to share the ups and downs, and the downs and outs. When you are with someone that you love, (and I emphasize, someone you LOVE, because being with someone you don’t love is lonelier than living alone…) the world seems a softer and gentler place to be. You have someone that thinks you are beautiful and worthy of spending their life with. This is one of the biggest compliments I think anyone can get: “I want to spend my life with you. Not anyone else, not anywhere else…but you, here…and you know why I want to spend my life with you?? Because you are YOU, and you are someone that is worth sharing my toothpaste with.”

Now, a funny thing starts to happen after a certain place in a single person’s life. At some point, the world, in its entirety, begins to gang up on you. It’s done with all the subtlety of an elephant standing in your living room. All of the sudden, everywhere you go, there are couples kissing, petting and otherwise generally reminding you of your solitary lifestyle. At first, I honestly didn’t mind. I mean, people are going to be together, right? I have no control or wish to control any one’s private sexual life. Now, however, each and every time I happen to catch a glimpse of a couple looking at each other adoringly, I want to gouge their eyes out with a fork; erecting them on my porch as a warning for all others tempted to exhibit PDA’s. I do, however, find some measured degree of comfort in the fact that I’m not bitter.

All of us want to be loved, though, don’t we?? I mean, it’s natural to long for that one person that thinks you are the best thing to come on to the earth since Christ Himself. There is validation and solace in knowing that even when the rest of the world thinks you are an asshat, that one person will still tell you that you are the reason they continue to breathe. Though my little one certainly goes a long way towards making me feel important, (namely because she is still at the age where I am God) it’s a different type of love entirely. Certainly, the love I have for my little one is larger and more intense than any love I could possibly feel for any other human being on this planet, BUT it does not replace having a partner, nor should it.

I suppose the real issue is with my selection process. Though there have been times in my life where I have been near desperate enough to take any man willing to wink in my direction, my daughter prevents this from coming to fruition. The mantra in my head having changed so much from my youth (when the only really pertinent question was "are they cute enough to fuck?") due to the fact that my choices now affect another little person incapable of defending herself. I’ve been on dates in the past three years, but as I gaze across the table at some asshat that has just polished off his eighth beer of the evening, I now have to ask myself if this individual is good enough to be in my daughter’s life. As they brag about their uncanny ability to burp out the alphabet, the answer always seems to come back as a resounding NO!!
In some ways, I’m not sorry. You see, my daughter is my life…my solace, and my heart. Without her, I would simply cease to exist. That said, hanging on until I find the right man doesn’t seem so hard when she puts her little hands on my face and smiles: “I love you Mama.” Somewhere out there a man exists that is good enough to introduce to this little angel; I simply haven’t found him yet. Ultimately, even if I never do, I can rest with the knowledge that I am a mother to this wonderful little being. Sometimes, even at the hardest times, that comforts me beyond anything any man could ever give me. Sometimes, just knowing that I am not among the women willing to sell their children out for a quick roll in the hay is enough to bring a smile to my lips. It doesn’t change the fact that I wish I could have sex again, but it goes a long way towards making the whole thing seem less painful.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are burritos out there in this big wide world, quietly singing my name.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Falling Apart at the Seams, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt...

I woke up this morning with rather a start, following a dream in which Robert De Nero was my infirm relation, and was insisting on sleeping in my bed with me. Just as I would have been in real life, my dream self was more than a little horrified at this prospect. Sometimes, I just don’t understand where my subconscious comes up with this ridiculousness. I’m thinking that I need to work on lucid dreaming, this way when a bloated De Nero appears in my dream-world, I will have the ability to quickly turn him into someone that I would enjoy having in my bed.

Mind you, I have to admit that given the state of affairs in this house for the past several years I can’t be assured that I would have any idea what to do with a man in my bed. Likely, it would go something like this:

Enter Man, looking at me lovingly as he strips down to his boxers and crawls into my bed. He takes my head in his hands, and smiles slightly. “Darling” says he, in a sexy voice that makes me want to melt into his chest eternally, “I have waited for this moment for so long. You are the only woman I’ve ever felt this way about. I simply can’t wait to make you mine.”

Me: “You’ve just set the woman’s movement back at least 40 years with that comment. What do you mean make me yours?? How is that going to happen then?”

Man: “You know what I mean, darling. I want us to become one…”

Me: “One what?”

Man: (Laughs seductively) “You know very well what! You’re such a funny girl…”

ME: “No, seriously…one what?”

Man: (Now realizing romantic talk is fruitless, pulls his majestic manhood from his boxers, and looks smolderingly at me.) “How about I show you, baby?”

ME: “You want to show me a baby?? What the fuck kind of a sick pervert are you?”

Man: “Silly girl!” (Another seductive laugh) “I want to show you this…” (Bringing his gorgeous hunk of man flesh into my eyesight, and waggling his eyebrows sexily.)

ME: “Oh! That…I know what that is. I have one of those in my bedside table.” (Boldly grasping his penis by the base, and looking about it interestedly.) “Um…hon?”

Man: “You like that eh?”

Me: “ Well, sure…but uh…how do you make it vibrate?? I can’t seem to find the on switch…it’s usually right here…” (Looking confusedly at the base of his penis) “You just rotate the thingy and voila…” (Trying to twist the base and causing man severe pain.)

Man: “Hey!! What the fuck..?”

Me: “It doesn’t work!! Have you changed the batteries lately?”

Needless to say, at this point my once hot to trot lover is pulling on his slacks and heading for the door in great haste. I, on the other hand, thinking he’s gone to change his batteries, am waiting patiently for many hours until it finally dawns on me that he’s gone. At this point, I feel rejected, and go back to my detachable model…