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Thursday, May 1, 2008

Post 200

200 posts! I can’t believe it. I have learned that I really enjoy writing. I am surprised that I got 200 posts written in less than six months. Some of them are really bad posts. Some of them are great posts. The rest fall in between. But that is okay with me.

It really is okay with me because this is the first thing I have ever gone into knowing that I wasn’t going to be the best at it. I can usually research something enough to be pretty stellar at it the first time I try it. This doesn’t allow for a lot of failure in my life. I didn’t even do it consciously, but I knew that I wouldn’t always write well, and I did it anyway. I didn’t take any creative writing classes (although I did look them up online). Not being perfect was acceptable to me in this area. I almost wanted to fail. And it felt good to fail. That is why I post everything I write. Even if I know it is garbage; I want EVERYTHING to be out there. Because this really isn’t for those of you reading this (anyone out there?), but it’s for The Boy. And I’m pretty sure he is going to grow up seeing his Mommy trying her hardest to be perfect at everything (although therapy is helping me with that), so I want to have something for him to see that is mine that is not perfect.

This post is to The Boy:

Hunny Bear, although I don’t know what it’s like to be an only child, I do know what it’s like being the oldest child. My guess is that being an only child and being the oldest child probably create the same kind of issues. Your parents want you to be perfect. They expect more from you than other people expect from you. I’m not sure why that is. If I knew why, I may have a better understanding of how not to do that to you. But I am fully prepared to pay for lots of therapy on my end to prevent it and lots of therapy on your end in case I don’t get that far in my therapy.

I hope that we are being the best parents we can be to you. I fear that we focus so much on how not to parent based on how we were raised that we focus too little on the right way to care for you.

I’m sorry to tell you that I am not going to be A Cool Mom. I originally thought I was going to be A Cool Mom. I think I am much more liberal than my own parents. I thought they were SO conservative and not Cool Parents at all. This must mean that I would be A Cool Mom. We had an experience recently where I clearly saw my future as The Uncool Mom. We went to a soccer game at the arena with your school and you wanted to follow other children (whose parents do not love them as much as we love you I might add) down to the front of the seats. Your dad and I saw that those kids were being rowdy and we did not want you to get hurt. So we told you that you could sit in the chairs in front of us or in the chair next to us. You pouted.

At that same game, these SUPER scantily clad girls (you could practically see the STDs crawling all over them) were handing out cheesy beaded necklaces with a brand name beer emblem on it. Everyone in our section darted towards these “ladies” and fought for these necklaces. I’m not sure you were interested, but we did not even try to get a necklace for you. One of your teachers offered to get one for us and we declined. Not to say that we don’t drink beer (Daddy drinks beer), but we did not feel it was an appropriate toy for a five year old. And I know that if you had been a little bit older you probably would have pouted again.

Right now your Dad and I say that we can raise you as well as we can only for so long and then you will be old enough to make your own choices and decisions no matter what we say. Although I do believe that to be true, it may be difficult to let go of you when you reach that age. I will have the strongest desire to try to protect you from the things that I regret doing in my teenage years (no I’m not telling you what they are). That is my job as your Mommy. I swear I won’t be trying to stifle you. What I ask from you is that you communicate with us and be honest with us. That is what will gain the most trust from us and the most freedom for you. Don’t lie and sneak around because you feel like we aren’t being fair. Tell us the truth, even if it is with yelling and anger from being frustrated. That we can handle. And then we can compromise. Maybe.

Five years old is my favorite age so far – that’s how old you are right now. You are so animated and excited by life. You never stop talking, which sometimes drives me insane, but mostly your voice is the most precious sound on the planet. You are so coordinated, and exceptionally smart. You know this, too, and you come with this tiny little ego and puffed out chest. I doubt self-esteem will ever be an issue for you.

Your face is so sweet; no longer a baby, but still not a boy. Your cheeks still have some baby fat and the sun kisses the tops of them just below your eyes to create a permanent facade of blushing. Your eyes are beautiful; blue like the sky on a clear spring morning. Everybody compliments your eyelashes which are so long and make for very ticklish butterfly kisses. You have all of your baby teeth so you haven’t gone through that awkward smiling stage with either gaping holes or teeth too large for your mouth. And your mouth emits this sound that they call “laughter” but I hear something so pleasing to my ears that I cannot describe it.

I hear from so many people, “It only gets better.” At every age you have been I could not believe it. I always think my heart cannot handle any more love or enjoyment of being a parent. And then you do or say something and my heart swells again with pride. That’s MY boy. So I can’t wait to see what this next year brings. And how it’s going to, seemingly impossibly, get even better.

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