(no subject)
I cry at the drop of a hat these days. Not for sadness, but usually with nostaliga or a quiet kind of joy. It's been so extreme I even took a pregnancy test last week, but it was negative, and now I've got Aunt Flo in the house, so that's no explanation. (!!!)
For the most part it's not so bad, a song that really moves me at that moment, or like the other night when I checked in on Aidan before I went to bed. I like to sneak in and give him a kiss on his angelic cheek before turning in for the night. With the stress of the over, and him finally silent and still, (i.e. not whining, stabbing the dog with something, coloring on my moniter with permanent marker or throwing a screaming tantrum) I am able to bask in my love for him, and remember why I do it every day. So the other night I'm dropping that kiss on his skin, inhaling the sweet, slightly sandy scent of his hair, and it occurs to me that maybe we all miss the best days of our life. I know that when I look back on days in my past that were drenched in trauma and drama, I realize that there was so much good in there that I wasn't able to see or appreciate when I was in the thick of it. And I wonder if maybe the best day of your life isn't one that perfect, but is just one day like any other, a representation of all those days that get lost somehow in the big events that overshadow the tender, sweet, calm, peaceful, fleeting moments of our lives. All those days that were surrounded by stress, and it won't be until we're old and longing to get those days back . . . when we were so bruised by the daily battles of every day life in the rat race, struggling to raise a family, struggling to find identity that isn't represented by Candyland and diapers and homework . . . that we'll find we let the real moments just slip through our fingers.
I guess what I'm saying is, if you don't know what the future brings, how do you know your not living the best moment of your life right now? And maybe that's what should be appreciated--that every moment, that every opportunity to grasp something sweet out of all the chaos and say this, this is what makes it worth it. And carry that far on throught the years, as a gift, and a talisman.
And then there's thing like my son flipping the channel, it lands on the third in the Look Who's Talking trilogy, "Look Who's Talking Now". (Yeah, that really horrendous one with the talking dogs.) Undoubtedly about the most assinine movie I've ever had the horror of seeing millions burned on, and yet at the end, when everything is resolved, and they escape the wolves in the woods, and John Travolta isn't cheating on Kirstie after all, and they get to keep both dogs . . . and I get chokes up.
What it really comes down to is this: I'm probably just experiencing the worst case of PMS-type symptoms ever. Suck it.
In blood w/luv,
qj
For the most part it's not so bad, a song that really moves me at that moment, or like the other night when I checked in on Aidan before I went to bed. I like to sneak in and give him a kiss on his angelic cheek before turning in for the night. With the stress of the over, and him finally silent and still, (i.e. not whining, stabbing the dog with something, coloring on my moniter with permanent marker or throwing a screaming tantrum) I am able to bask in my love for him, and remember why I do it every day. So the other night I'm dropping that kiss on his skin, inhaling the sweet, slightly sandy scent of his hair, and it occurs to me that maybe we all miss the best days of our life. I know that when I look back on days in my past that were drenched in trauma and drama, I realize that there was so much good in there that I wasn't able to see or appreciate when I was in the thick of it. And I wonder if maybe the best day of your life isn't one that perfect, but is just one day like any other, a representation of all those days that get lost somehow in the big events that overshadow the tender, sweet, calm, peaceful, fleeting moments of our lives. All those days that were surrounded by stress, and it won't be until we're old and longing to get those days back . . . when we were so bruised by the daily battles of every day life in the rat race, struggling to raise a family, struggling to find identity that isn't represented by Candyland and diapers and homework . . . that we'll find we let the real moments just slip through our fingers.
I guess what I'm saying is, if you don't know what the future brings, how do you know your not living the best moment of your life right now? And maybe that's what should be appreciated--that every moment, that every opportunity to grasp something sweet out of all the chaos and say this, this is what makes it worth it. And carry that far on throught the years, as a gift, and a talisman.
And then there's thing like my son flipping the channel, it lands on the third in the Look Who's Talking trilogy, "Look Who's Talking Now". (Yeah, that really horrendous one with the talking dogs.) Undoubtedly about the most assinine movie I've ever had the horror of seeing millions burned on, and yet at the end, when everything is resolved, and they escape the wolves in the woods, and John Travolta isn't cheating on Kirstie after all, and they get to keep both dogs . . . and I get chokes up.
What it really comes down to is this: I'm probably just experiencing the worst case of PMS-type symptoms ever. Suck it.
In blood w/luv,
qj