Things That Go Bump In The Night

I have learned very quickly that the easiest way to find children Archer's age is to count the bruises on their faces. Or the bumps. Or the scratches or the band-aids or the rashes or the bee-stings or the rusty nails sticking out of their foreheads.

Before Archer, I just though every parent was abusive. All of the children running rampant in the streets with bruises and scratch marks down their necks, their parents stressed out and angry. It seemed fishy to me, all the local children, bruised and broken.

So I accept my karma and smile sweetly at every person who gasps in horror when Archer comes running down the street, bruised and bloody with scratch-marks and goose-eggs decorating his face like a Christmas tree.

Today, Archer came face to face with a little-girl exactly his age with the same yellow bruise in the same spot on her forehead. It was a match made in toddler heaven and her Dad and I watched as they went running down the sidewalk, tripping and falling and bleeding all over each other.

"Awwww. Isn't that sweet?"

"Totally."

We've all heard the "you must have dropped her on her head"s or the "that dude was dropped on the head as a baby one too many times" but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't matter how many times a child was dropped on his/her head. Kids are resilient, man. Their threshold for pain is not only impressive but on the verge of immortal. No wonder they're so fearless! No wonder they go running down cracked-streets falling on their faces, banging their heads on brick walls and poking their eyes out with sticks, laughing all the while!

And you know what? No matter how much you childproof your kitchen or yard or bathroom, toddlers will always find a way to fuck their shit up good. In fact, they will not rest until they catch themselves on fire.

Ah, to be young again, with a goose-egg the size of Texas.

GGC

Poo Poo Haiku(s): Origami Diaper

1. The Art of Folding Diapers Is Not Mine

A Poopy Diaper
And very bad folding job
Makes me want to cry


2. Mommy Needs a Manicure

Origami Luvz
Sometimes mom sucks at folding
And gets poopy hands

GGC

Lucky Number 07

When I was a little girl I used to pray that every night when I went to sleep, I would wake up someone else. Not because I wasn't happy or uncomfortable with who I was, but simply because I wanted to experience different things. The kinds of things I wasn't capable of. Like talking to boys without scaring them away with something stupid. Or talking to girls without getting the brutal roll-of-the-eyes and "whatever, Becca. WHA-teva." Like not being the last one picked in P.E. class because I was a notorious klutz.

Some mornings I would even bypass the mirror and get dressed with my eyes closed. That way I could still hold on to the hope that I was someone else. Someone new and improved and able. Someone I wanted desperately to be but couldn't. Couldn't find the guts or the words or the way.

And then finally, after twelve years, it happened. I looked in the mirror and was a different person. I could speak without choking on my words. I could talk to boys. I could look people in the eye. And all it took was time. All it took was me believing that such a thing was possible. That I could wake up one morning and be more. Do more. Stand up after being pushed down instead of crying to the yard duty and being hated the more because of it.



I have always looked at New Years day with the same sort of eyes. I wake up on January 1st believing I might have gained insight or lost weight or simply morphed into a greater person with more to offer my family or the world or myself. This morning I woke up feeling refreshed. Like new. And even though I caught a glimpse of my reflection this morning and looked physically the same, there was something just under the skin that was glowing.

Last year sucked donkey penis. It was a year of low-lows and mean reds and (hopefully) growth and it's over now so I'm not going to talk about it anymore. Snap the rear-view mirror from the station wagon and full speed ahead.

Because starting today, everything's new and promising. Right now, there is nothing to hold back the will to believe that anything's possible, including dreams and not waking up from them.

And I kind of feel like the little girl in Mary Poppins, holding tight to Archer's hand, on the faded line of the chalk drawing. Side by side.


And on the count of three, we'll jump into a whole new year, animated and optimistic and we'll ride the merry-go-round until we puke. And get right back on and ride again.

1.2.3...

GGC