The next awesome thing

This is going to be a little bit of stream of consciousness, so please bear with me.

I am getting to the age where I can look back on life, my life, and take lessons from them. One of the lessons is something that was always told to me, but now I feel like I see it take fruit, and that is that there are always good things coming.

Actually, I don’t know if that was a lesson, but I think that would be a lesson that I would impart, in my golden years. Not that I’m in my Golden Years, yet. 🙂

When Wee One was born, a friend of mine from high school was talking about parenting, and she said “There is always something to look forward to, about every age.“ And I’ve always thought about that as Wee One has grown up.

I loved her being two. I loved her being three. I loved her being five, I loved seven, and now I am loving it. We are almost done with summer vacation, and tonight before bed, we were giggling about gross almost 3rd grade jokes:

Guess what?

Mark chicken butt.

Guess who?

Chicken poo.

Silly things, and we were casually snuggling the whole time.

Remember those stupid memes that would dramatically say, you only get 18 summers with your children, so do everything. Well, it’s the end of my eighth summer with my child. And it’s been full and fun and I kind of wish I had planned a little bit more, so then maybe it would have felt more rich. But it was still really busy and really awesome.

I have since seen other memes that answer back to that first point about 18 summers: that you have 18 summers to build a wonderful relationship with a little person. That something else awesome will happen, which reminded me of what my friend told me when Wee One was a baby. Because she was right. I have loved every age. There has always been something awesome that’s going on.

So I thought back to other times in my life, like marching band or couchsurfing or backpacking in Oxford. At the time, I can remember feeling almost panicked, like nothing good is going to happen again, and this is the last moment of good stuff that I’m going to have. But I finally have enough time behind me to realize that’s not true. So even if she grows and all this changes, there’s gonna be something else awesome to look forward to or rather, there’s going to be something else. Awesome to enjoy.

Those are my thoughts this humid mid August night.

Edit to add: I’m still sad she’s going into 3rd grade. Her elementary school years tip over this year.

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“Do You Think This Makes Any Difference?”

This was the question presented to me by my girl friend as we left a political march after the Dobbs decision (which overturned Roe v. Wade, a day that sunk my soul). She heard one was happening downtown but had never been to any kind of protest or political anything before. She thought, “I know whose gonna be going” and called me. *internal fist pump*

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What quality do you value most in a friend?

Integrity. If I can’t trust you, I’m not getting close to you.

I also love some snark (which requires intelligence, IMO), and, at the very least, a willingness to roll with some dark fucking humor.

“It Really Is The Little Things”

Wee One (WO) and I stole outside one morning a few weeks ago, right before the rain. It was muggy but there was a bit of a breeze on the flat land of the playground. She was swinging and I was pushing her baby doll in the swing next to her – at her request – reflecting on pushing that same swing with her as a toddler.

There’s a stream that pops up near the playground and winds through the neighborhood. Pushing the baby doll was meditative, and I reflected on the relationship we had formed with the area.

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Fist Shaking yet Raised

I’m a little bit venting here.

I am learning, on the Twittersphere, and one of the fucking consequences of overturning Roe v. Wade is that uterus-having patients with lupus and other kinds of rheumatoid issues are being denied medication – needed medication – because these meds MIGHT cause a miscarriage. Not that these people are trying or want to become pregnant, not they they are pregnant, but just the fucking uterus inside them is enough.

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Time Freezes During Play

There are, obviously, a lot of games Wee One and I play, and stories we play with. One of them, on a night I don’t want to forget, I’m sharing here. Wee One asked me to tell her an “Evie and Violet story” (two imaginary little girls who have adventures I make up) and her eyes were so wide as she stared off into the distance, imagining what I was saying.

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