Weirdo

I just changed the title of the blog to "Confessions of a Late Bloomer." That's me. I am such a weirdo. Really. I have never fit in where I should have. Most of my contemporaries just don't get me. Not that I'm not friendly with people. I think I make them a little uncomfortable.

I was single when most gals my age were married.

I was childless (and desperately did not want to be) when most in my association and my age group were mothers of multiple children.

I am married to a grad student when most married women my age have a husband a decade or so out of grad school.

The women with kids my kids' age are 10 years (or more) my junior.

I have really been blessed, though. I have great friends in varying phases. I find that the people I can truly call friends I would have been able to call friends whatever we might have in common.

I have struggled being a weirdo... a misfit. I italicize it more than I should, perhaps because I don't want it pointed out to me.

It's time to own being a weirdo.

No longer an option

I have this picture hanging in my kitchen. It is a greeting card that I framed. I love it. I love that the little girl (or 36-year old woman) is "running away" to her life.

This is my life.

For most of my life, I dreamed of being famous. I wanted to sing songs I had written to thousands of people who adored me. I'm serious. I lived in what would be my glorious future. I don't regret that I embraced such a grandiose dream, even until I was in my 20s. I earned a degree (with honors) to that end. Recording Industry: Music Business. I was given a scholarship by the "Grammy People." I was nudged by the Heavens to keep pursuing it.



What God knew that I didn't was that I would be single for a lot longer than I wanted to be. Twenty-nine is old to be a single Mormon woman. God also knew that I would have a tougher time than most becoming a Mother (yes, I meant to capitalize that). He knew that a little dreaming, even about something that might not come to fruition was not a bad thing.

I find that the dreams and hopes that are hardest on our hearts are the ones that are absolutely out of our hands. You can do all you can and just hope and wait, but its coming to you still largely rests outside of yourself. Marriage and Motherhood were both hard to hope and wait for. Stardom, too, I guess... but it might have been something to distract me in the meantime.

So. Here I am in "My Life." As I type this, I have my hair back in a ponytail. No make-up. Yesterday's dishes are still in the sink. My house is a bit cluttered. My 3-month old baby is sleeping and my 2-year old son is reading through the mountain of books he pulled off the shelf. My Sophie (our infertility puppy) is asleep next to me.

I have had the hardest time embracing this as my life. I nursed the music dream for a long time. I worked as a professional. I took business trips. I got promotions. I got validation from grown-ups other than my husband. I secretly find myself thinking about what I want to study in school for a graduate degree. That will likely come to be, though at a much later date. Education is great. I love school. I'm good at school. I keep thinking of a career outside of our Home. Why?

Enough.

This is my Life. It is a beautiful and sweet, albeit chaotic, little life.

I am admitting now that I love being at home with my babies when Cory is at school. I love having the place "to myself" in a way.

I love working on sewing projects. I have made two darling little dresses for my baby girl. I am making some cute baby towels, burp cloths, etc. for my sister and her baby girl (arriving in the spring).

I love to crochet.

I love a clean kitchen and having the laundry done (for 5 minutes!).

I love looking into my son's eyes and seeing so much more intelligence and understanding than he has trained his tongue to convey.

I love his hugs (sometimes choking) and humming kisses.

I love my daughter's discovery of her voice.

I love her wide-open-mouthed drooly smile.

I love being their Mommy. They make me so happy.

So. This is my life. The rest, for now, is no longer an option.

Crazy

One of the fastest ways to appear crazy is to put on BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK--I'm talking 1960's red--in the middle of the day, with no other make-up on, while wearing sweatpants and a sloppy tee.

One of my best friends knows I've had a rough couple of weeks (years?) and gave me a sparkly little black and silver clutch filled with Lindor truffles, nail polish, BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK, and some lip gloss. She included a card with a drawing of a woman in a dress vaccuuming with a joke about us... that if we had to clean, at least we would have red lips doing it. I love the sentiment.

Actually doing it made me look a little nuts. My little Jacoby kept looking at me amused. To a 2-year old, when Mommy's lips look that red... well, somthing's up for sure.