Biological Casio

Saturday morning I woke up too early because two very small hands were squeezing my cheeks together and the face attached to those hands was uncomfortably close to mine.

“HIIIII AH-RAH. HIIII! AWWWWWIGHT! YAY BEACH!” was shouted at full volume into my slack face, which translated from 20-month old speak is the best sort of good morning expression. Ena, my quasi-goddaughter (and for the sake of this blog will be called as much) was sitting on my chest, her big green eyes staring at my bleary, sleep filled ones, and she was absolutely thrilled that I was still around in the morning. She kept touching me to make sure I was real. Usually I'm at the house to say goodnight to her but I'm gone when she gets up, but since I'd traveled to the beach with her and her parents, unlike at home we were going to be in the same house for a few days. Ena seemed to think this was the best idea. EVER. I say hello; she climbs down and goes screaming into the next room, on to bigger and better projects that don’t involve waking up a notorious non-morning person. Her morning speed is one I rarely get around to nearing in a day.

Ena's parents are my amazing friends Katherine and Andy (written about here and here and here).

I'm not a kid person; I don't usually like them, don't have a biological clock causing me to desire them...ok maybe I have a biological pocket watch; ever so slight and inconsistently functional. A biological digital calculator watch. A cheap biological Casio or Swatch. Nothing large or accurate to be sure. Ena breaks my baby rules. I pick her up; I hold her hand, wipe her face, run with her and feed her (cardinal sins in my baby book. Usually I'll just poke them and pat their heads). She has opened rooms in my heart full of draped furniture, covered with the dust of neglect and time. I am blessed to see her often.

This weekend at the beach with Ena, coupled with the Mother's Day holiday, caused me to think about loving children. It makes no sense.

Why do we love these little selfish parasites that require attention, fawning, food, care, cleaning and coaxing into the most basic exercises of sleeping and eating? They are extremely irrational, poor communicators with a mean streak and a penchant for destruction. But we love them. We would die for them. One laugh from that girl and I'm up for whatever she has next. I melt like an idiot.

Brennan Manning, he of 'Ragamuffin Gospel' fame, writes,
“Children are our model because they can have no claim on heaven. If they are close to God, it is because they are incompetent, not because they are innocent. If they receive anything it can only be as a gift.”

I do not love Ena because she is innocent; I love her because she is Ena.

I think that might just be what we, in any belief system, should strive for. We are not worth anything because of our abilities or our inabilities, our gifts or our struggles; we are worth much because we are first loved much. I am loved because I am a key component in something much bigger than me. I am loved because I fulfill a promise. I am loved because I am furthering my species. In this culture and society I am trained to do, to measure my success in tangibles.

My list of tangibles I made at 22 is woefully unfulfilled.

Today I am struggling mightily with this.

I want my reasons to be loved to read like a resume. I want love to be bullet points, I want clearly defined boundaries and rules.

It doesn't. It isn't.

And yet.

Shout Outs

Monday Afternoon Shout Outs Go To:

Kelly and the SF girls for showing up in my town, drinking some good Belgian beers and one that was just atrocious that Kelly was tough enough to finish (first time I've ever sent a beer back....I feel like less of a woman) and all in all having a grand ol' time. Next time I'll go to SF.

Clinton Portis for posting ridiculous numbers against NFC East foes while on the road. I haven't been this excited about the Redskins since 1992.

Hatcher, Alana and Liz for helping me get this whole London/Paris trip together. Two days, suckas. Whoa. Can I just tell you, blogging public, how excited I am to fumble around Paris with Hatcher for two days!? I mean really. Best idea ever.

Bjork, for writing the genius that is "Venus As a Boy" because it was in my head when I woke up today and man, that makes for a good morning.

Robin, for enduring a 43 hour labor in pursuit of expunging Ruby from her innards. She succeeded with an assist from that trusty ol' C-Section and now I wish rest for the new mom and dad and a long blessed life for Ruby!

Rita, for being brave enough to embark on a journey with the ghosts of Past Lives, Present Hopes and Expectant Futures...and, most importantly, the sidekick that is Texas. Miss ya friend!

The One Who Knows

I haven't made it to Quizzo much lately (that sucking sound you just heard was the world catching its breath in hopes it doesn't explode all over your face out of sheer terror and shock); between trips and Labor Day, etc the weeks have piled up and Mondays have gone with them.
This week I missed most of Quizzo because something so much better came up: I got to meet my new favorite person on the planet...Miss Ena Genevie Farkas.

Ena was born on Thursday at 5:49pm to my dear friends and fellow LoCoers, Katherine and Andy and I can't believe how much I love her! Like get mildly emotional, tingly and all girly crap! I haven't truly felt that way about a newborn baby since my little sister was born nearly 15 years ago (to be fair I haven't been around when any of my nieces or nephews were born, so maybe I would have felt that way with them too, dunno. Still maintain I have the maternal instinct of a spider plant...maybe a can of soup). It helps that I've been friends with Katherine for over 10 years and so meeting this little one is a culmination of a journey through high school, college, jobs, marriage and beyond.
Anyway, I'm so proud and excited and happy for two of my very favorite people.

Cinderblock Love

So, for the past three weeks, I've have a wiener. A wiener dog that is. The one and only Slappy, Leslie's pride and joy (and by pride and joy I mean pain in the ass), a seven year old tan dachshund dog. She is very, very sweet and snuggly and dances and somehow manages to poop her body weight daily. I'm serious, drops it like it's hot like 4-6 times a day. It's a freak of nature that dog's digestive system, like her food is rigged with some colon blow. (I'd post a photo of Slappy but my camera is broken) She really is a sweet creature and she's come to actually like the cat; they touch noses now and then the cat tries to molest her. That's what Slappy gets for befriending a cat, let this be a lesson to you potential cat people: stay away. Now Slappy is probably the most low maintenance dog that has ever lived, I mean a walk around the circle and those little two inch legs are tuckered out. But she does do two things I can't handle: the aforementioned fecal barrage and the occasional vomit. Can't handle at all. Like I actually threw up a little bit this morning because of it.
I've said it before and I stand by my claim that I have the maternal instinct of a cinder block. Like if someone hands me a baby, I just sort of stare at it then try to engage it in conversation, like, "So...what do you think of the Democratic Primary process?" or "What's your favorite podcast?" questions I wouldn't even ask an adult but I freeze up around babies and suddenly I sound like a wannabe correspondent for "Morning Edition". It's the same with babies, kittens, dogs, probably lizards and/or bear cubs I just don't have the frame of reference. That cuddling, maternal thing just isn't there. Slappy and I have an understanding in our cuddling: it's the take it or leave it variety, not the suffocating needy sort. That I can handle. A little bit. In small increments of time. I mean normally I don't even have a houseplant I take care of. Being responsible for someone else isn't a forte of mine.

Once a child is somewhere between the ages of 3 and 12 and 16 and death I'm totally fine, but birth to three and 12 to 16 I'm right out. See? Cinder block. Like put a cinder block in nerdy glasses and a smartass t-shirt and it would look like me as a babysitter, which is why I haven't baby sat since I was 13.
Yeah you keep that mental image.

Silliness/babies

My oldest sister, Bobo, called me on Friday night to say that our other sister, Bubby (this is actually what I call the both of them...aren't you glad you aren't my sibling so I don't nick-name you something stupid then only call you that) was in labor with her 4^th. My mom was driving the two hours out to be with her and help watch her other kids. Whew, way to go, baby maker Bubby. Turned out to be a false alarm but it was still rather exciting. I'm waiting for the call at any moment—she's currently a week overdue to have her third son. When I talked to Bubby she was exactly the same, relaxed and talking about desserts and baking.

After my grandfather's memorial service a few weeks ago the whole extended family had a catered dinner together. The venue was playing background music that was basically the “Choose Cheesy” mix on 'roids; it was ridiculous and mildly inappropriate. “I Say a Little Prayer”, “I've Had the Time of My Life”, “We've Only Just Begun”, etc. You get the idea. My niece Lilia Grace (greatest child ever) and I decided we should dance to the songs, especially “My Girl”. So we were slow dancing out on the floor, having a blast and being silly. My brother and my little sister joined us, even my mom danced with Lilia Grace for a bit. My little sister and I had a dance to “Wishin' and Hopin'” that we made up. My aunts and uncles had these funny plastic black/green glittery bowler hats and fake mustaches (my grandfather used to dress up as Charlie Chaplin) they were wearing around. What I loved about it all was that even in the midst of loss, in the midst of remembering someone we all dearly loved and respected, our silliness and joy had to come out of us. It's a natural expression; silliness is just us. I don't think I've appreciated that to the extent I do now. I do hope there is dancing and silly hats at my memorial service.

Speaking of babies, congrats to Andy and Katherine and Grafton and Beth on the impending babies!

Fluffy Nubblins

* There are two kinds of kisses: those that count and those that don't; those that matter and those that are obligatory or merely physical. I've had too many kisses that didn't count, and I don't want that anymore. I've changed my tune.

* You know who is great? Chris and Rachel. And what is great? This:
So excited for those two crazy kids--that baby is already way cooler than I could ever be.

* You know what is also great? Beef Jerky. I don't care what you say, that shit RULES.

*My winter wardrobe is way more extensive than my summer wardrobe. Yet another reason I love fall/winter.

* My blog is almost 5 years old. My first blog post was about wondering what I was going to do with my life. I could have written it yesterday. If in 5 years I can still relate to that post, someone beat me about the head and neck.

* I wish unemployment could be my profession. I feel I'm quite good at it. Maybe I should be a writer; it's practically the same thing.

* I've drank so much coffee lately I feel I may explode. I don't internet at home so I go to local coffee houses to use it and while there I need to buy something, hence the coffee. Holy crap I'm twitchy.

(Fluffy nubblins are the fictional mini marshmallows from Strong Bad emails at homestarrunner.com. If you got the reference, go you.)