I was watching Iron Chef America on my DVR and it's a grilling battle with three of the Iron Chefs against these grill master dudes from Australia and one of the judges is the guy who plays Jason Stackhouse, who I knew was hot from the one season of True Blood I watched (LOVE the books but could only get through season one of the show), but what I didn't know is that he is Australian so he's even hotter when he's talking with an Australian accent. And the Australian grilling guys, bless their little Australian hearts, I want some subtitles because much of what they're talking about is going right over my head but their food looks delicious. Anyway, here's a picture of Jason Stackhouse and you can be the judge and yes, I know he's like 12 years old and usually I like them older and manlier but sometimes, whatever, I switch it up:
Thanks to one of my new favorite shows, The People's Couch, I recently watched this clip from Drunk History which is one of my new favorite shows now after finally watching a whole episode. It's genius. And being drunk in and of itself is not always hilarious. It can be sad or infuriating or awful, but on this show it's hilarious and you learn stuff. Believe me, I've been subjected to some super awfulness in my life due to drunks, which is totally different than a person who is not a drunk getting drunk and telling a story about history in a hilarious way. I'm madly in love with this show and the lip syncing and that's all I'll say, go watch it. Seriously, watch the clip. Did you know that about Rosa Parks? Because I did not.
photo credit: youtube.com
Okay, this mom job. I don't have to tell you guys, sometimes it's hard. For some of you it's hard all the time. I do not happen to have that particular gig. Mostly mine is pretty easy. But sometimes I feel like I'm botching it SO HARD. Like that my mom license is going to get revoked.
Swimming lessons. Tomorrow is the last day of our second 2-week session at our local pool. And still my kid is pretty fearful of getting her face in the water. Like the other kids are dunking and she's sorta putting her face in a little bit. Like, she can't let go. And the other kids like to jump in, this thing they do at the end, and she and this other girl are not fans so the teacher today just let them slide while these other kids reveled in the aweosmeness of making a big splash and I sit there having this awful thought:
Why can't my kid just be like these other kids?
Well the immediate answer is that she has my wiring. I have a history of being scared of everything, like, literally. As a grown-up not so much but my childhood and teen years and early adulthood had a shit ton of fear in it. I blogged about my phobic past before, and since this kid is made up with some of my DNA it should be no wonder that fear holds her back. So I feel like a guilty shmuck for thinking COME ON. JUST DO IT.
And we have had several pep talks about it. Or what I hope are pep talks. Like honey, I'm here, your teacher is here, there is even a lifeguard here. Nothing is going to happen to you. Because while one kid who is not wired like mine is like oh, well, I might get some water in my nose, that would kinda suck, my kid is thinking, SURELY THIS THING IS GOING TO MAKE ME DROWN. And what's crazy is that she LOVES being in the water. She's always the last one out of the pool, and next week we are going on vacation and will spend a huge portion of our time at a beach or at the pool. But it's just that she hasn't been able to let go so I feel like she's learned some stuff but that she's sort of treading water, literally.
So we're getting her dried off and changed and I'm like so honey, what's the worst case scenario? And she's like, THAT I'LL DROWN. And I'm like, but we know that is not going to happen, so what is it really? And she doesn't even want to talk about it so I'm like, that you'll get water in your nose? Okay, so, then you'll move on and that's part of learning, right? So she's really not feeling this "pep" talk so we're walking out and this kid is all, "Bye, Kayla!" super cheerful and all and she barely looks up but throws out a "bye" and I sit her down and I'm like, what's up with that? Because it's not the first time she's done that and it makes her look like she is just MISERABLE. Like that she has the most horrible home life and her parents beat her and that life is terrible. And it's not, and she doesn't feel like that, but she has come across like that before. And so we get in the car and I'm doing that thing I hate... where I'm going on TOO MUCH. I'm not being mean or mad but like I'm not listening to the part of me that is saying, Jen, SHUT UP. Enough already.
And my kid being the sensitive kid she is has some tears in her eyes and she's like I'll try not be like that (regarding her aloofness) and I'm just like Jesus. My heart feels all broken.
Because ALL I care about is whether or not she is happy. That's it. There are things that are important to me in this life, but NOTHING is as important to me as her happiness.
photo credit: aleopardwithstripes.blogspot.com
So we were both totally fine and joking around about stuff a few minutes later but I really just felt at that time like why can't it always be easy, all the time? Why can't I always know what to say and how to say it? Because it's on the job training, I guess. There's no way to prepare for everything that will happen, for every situation, for every fear. There's just no way. And I'm human. And I'll have to tell myself that as long as I'm still thinking a) keep her safe and happy and b) don't raise and asshole and c) tell her over and over and over how much I love her then I guess I don't suck as badly as I could. I wanted to share this because I just know someone who reads this will be able to relate.
photo credit: leighchristian.wordpress.com
Lastly, the weirdest thought occurred to me this morning with regard to my mom. I miss her so very much, every single day, several times a day. And it dawned on me that the day before I had had a feeling about her being gone that I couldn't describe. Because it wasn't sadness, it wasn't anger, and it wasn't peace. It was just sort of empty. Which I found a little scary because it's like, is it just that there's this piece of me, maybe a teeny tiny piece of me, that's just dead? That's empty, that's hollow, that can't be filled with anything? And in a way I think that's true. And on the other hand I can't help but wonder if it's some weird feeling on the way to feeling some peace. I don't know the answer. If I figure it out I'll let you know. In the meantime, thanks for letting me tell you. And about all this other stuff, too. I'm going to go hug on my kid now.