Something like a Duck

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's not a cat

Accidentally On Purpose.

on June 12, 2012

This whole life has caught me off guard. The wife thing, the mom thing, the diabetes and disease thing… One day, looooooong ago (emphASSis on the long), I was a fair maiden in a far away land. I was young and inspired and oblivious to reality. I had aspirations and motivation.

But marriage and children cleared those symptoms right up.

I want to remember myself as anything but innately maternal. I want to sell this story like any other’s…I was a young chirpy cheerleader with late nights around bonfires and football games and prom.  I graduated high school to claim my “Pass Go – Collect Cancun Summer Cruise and Proceed to College” ticket.  That I was never in want of responsibility; and that I never proved to be…

Alas, I cannot. I was, in fact, the town babysitter. I taught Sunday school classes with my mother. I was in charge of the little ones when I was but a little one. Control has been the birthmark on my lily white butt cheek since birth.  It’s not to imply that I was not young and capricious with many an error made. I have no halo, but I have no horns either.

When I was very young and still living in Miami, my mother ran a daycare out of our home. I was 8 years old and could change a baby, entertain a gaggle of toddlers, and help make ‘psssgetti.’ My high school sweetheart had a niece and nephew that I fancied as the first of my ‘children.’ I was always taking care of someone somehow.

But must I? Really?

Yes. It is the only answer that will suffice. I long for all the luxuries of Sanity, but I need  this Chaos of Caring .

Ugh. Being nice is hard.

It’s mostly only on days that end in ‘y’ that I am so conflicted…normally right after I see my young, single, childless neighbor jogging with far too much enthusiasm and far too little cellulite. I wonder how pretty her face is in the morning without the furrowed brow a scary midnight low brings? Would she run as easily if her head ached with the worry of her over-worked husband and fragile marriage? Could she smile just as nicely when a small human cannon-balled onto her pert chest? How energetic would a day’s worth of specialists and medicines and machinery leave her?

It’s not that I don’t think she exists without challenges. I know that she must have a hiccup in her day that ripples the water. It is impossible to live both a FULL life and an EASY life. But I just wonder how probable it is that they are colored my same shade of crazy.

Does it matter? No. It really should not. I should be humane enough to understand that comparing an apple to an orange is futile work for the ungrateful. I should be happy I’m a fruit (don’t agree too fervently there), that I have such a bundle of it, and that even if mine is a little bruised or beaten or a different shade (Hell, with three boys you know one of them has worms!)

I am still the bearer of a beautiful harvest.

I worry about the days I miss out on finding who I am. What will come of my life if I cannot know to whom it belongs?

But, then I realize that who I am is about who and how I have loved. My life belongs to those I nurture and grow along my branches. A pity for those who I’ve had to shake the sh*t out of and drop, but HIP HIP HOORAY! for those I keep. I nurture their existence because I understand that it is their being that allows for mine.

We often hope for lives that entertain our vanity and wants, needing for both the tree and fruit to bear itself to feed our self.

Hard times often are the most convincing to believe we give without having received. How silly to believe the fruit did not fall a terrible height so that it could become the tree! How silly to think the tree did not fight the force of the wind to stand tall enough to bloom the hopeful seed!

It happens to us so suddenly. A fear. An angst. A doubt. We accidentally fall over ourselves so that we can be reminded of our purpose. Someone somewhere loved you and gave you a want or a dream or a goal. They gave you a gift. Your purpose? Return the favor.

Someday, my neighbor’s boobs will droop and I will gladly suggest which brand of duct tape won’t rip a nipple off post-workout.

And to show that I am such a good listener, I will heed my own words and chase that woman down, but only because I let myself receive her gift of motivation to get off my arse. Yay me!!

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