"...and though she be but little she is fierce."
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Little man and I stole $10 from the emergency cash fund and went to Ted’s for hot dogs. To be fair, it was a genuine emergency. There were no french fries in the house.
I love that the older he gets the more fun he is to hang out with. I love that we can go out for lunch and I love that he wants to sit on his own side of the table. I love that he will accidentally turn the music on on my phone and demand that I stop dancing, but giggle when I don’t stop because he’s still too young to be embarrassed by me. I love his love of french fries and the way he dips them in his ketchup. I love my tiny human, becoming less like a potato and more like a person every day.
Eighteen degrees, Ken’s phone told us last night. Feels like zero.
So he asked me if I wanted to see. If I wanted to know what zero felt like.
Then we were running down the hall, racing each other like children. Trying to be the first to get there. The first to jump. The first to see.
Zero, it turns out, feels like a wall. It’s dense and present. Zero doesn’t feel like zero. Zero feels like walking into a fist. Zero cuts right through your cotton nightie and makes itself at home.
Now I know what zero feels like. It took me all night to recover.
I had an epiphany the other day. The epiphany was: it’s not going to kill me if someone gets to know me and then decides they don’t like me. No, really. I’LL BE OKAY!
So I took that and I texted one of the moms I’ve met recently and I set up a play date for Brandon.
Because fear is for chumps.
"You should put snow tires on the car," I said. "That car wasn’t meant for snow."
"You’re over-worrying as usual," he told me. "I know what I’m doing."
Guess whose hands were shaking because he was slipping and sliding all the way home today?
Being right all the time just hurts. It hurts!
Someone close to me is going through a Very Bad Thing. I can’t post about it here. I can’t write about it anywhere except to say that it’s happening, it’s far away, and at the same time, it’s much too close.
I harbor resentments. I have found it in my heart to forgive, but I realize as I watch this Very Bad Thing unfold, that I have not found it in my heart to absolve. I don’t feel what I should feel. Or, rather, I don’t feel it to the extent that I should be feeling it.
I know all of this is cryptic and nonsensical, and I wish I could share more. I wish things were different. I wish things were unilaterally good.
I’ve come to realize that none of us is safe. We search for reasons when bad things happen. We find the most inane difference between ourselves and the victim and we hold it up as a shield.
"There,” we say, “this is why this could never happen to us.”
it’s a lie. We tell ourselves lies. We can pay our taxes, eat our vegetables, kiss our children goodnight. But we are never safe. Safety is an illusion we create to protect ourselves. We tell ourselves we are immortal, invincible, untouchable.
We are none of these things. Not a one.
I was driving home from the coffee shop and I was rocking out in my car and the more I danced the more into it I got and then my car drifted over the median and I almost crashed into oncoming traffic, you guys.
I almost danced myself to death.