6:15 p.m. | 2004-03-07
The Beauty in Childrearing
Stop dragging me down,
You always seem to get the best of me
Let�s turn this around,
You always find a way to break me down
Stop cryin� for me,
I will not feel so sorry for myself
I�m falling apart
This is one thing I can promise you
Maybe I can fall into your arms
Maybe I can follow through
If what I say to you
Maybe I
Maybe I
Sometimes I want the moment, and nothing more. Sometimes I just want to be able to put that into words so perfectly that�it feels right. I think that�s what it means to be a good writer. You�re observant. You watch without being noticed too much. You make inferences as to past. You can make it so other people understand.
See�imagine this. A father, worn from travel and tired from caring for his two kids (one of his own, one adopted), lays on the floor of an airport at 9 am, his head perched on a purple Beauty and the Beast backpack. To the side of him is his son, no shoes, laying straight with his head in his fathers arm pit. His daughter is above him, curled up over her knees as if she had been praying and simply fell asleep. She stirs from now and then, her blonde hair in its pink pony tail showing her tossing and turning motion as it�s loose and her hair sticks out lightly. All three sleep. He wears headphones and his legs are crossed, one knee up in the air.
Now granted that could have been written better. My sentence structure and the way I put things in (as well as the order) could have been better. But that kind of coherency when not in the moment is what writing is. I must master this.
So in that�I conclude the Colorado trip. I�m headed back to Boston after 2 hours of sleep and a hectic hour of packing and taking a shower. I leave in an odd position.
Gabe has a girlfriend. Eason has a girlfriend. Nat is in love with two people, one of which is very interested in him and it�s only a matter of time. Hank is miles and miles away. And I�m here. Stuck in this strange semi-adult like phase where it appears as if I know what�s going on, or sometimes doesn�t, but I do, or sometimes don�t. It�s such a great transition period where I don�t feel confident in myself, but I know it�s ok all at once.
My mother slipped me $200 as I was leaving. Ugh. I need to break from her, most definitely�but she�s handing me money. It�s almost unfair of her, but I can see why she does it. That�ll put my bank balance back at about $900. So I�ll have money, and I�m only in Boston for another 7 weeks or so. I should have turned down the cash but�she did jip me on my clothes and supplies money. She gave me $500 for the year (which for those of you who can do math) adds up to be about $80 per month. That was not our agreement. I signed a paper that said $120 per month. $80 and $120 are a lot off.
The father woke quietly, brushing his daughter�s back to see if she�d wake or was comfortable, or perhaps just a caring gesture. He slowly stretches his legs, his feet, and moves as much as he can without disturbing his son, whose eyes just opened and quickly realized that it was not time to wake as he rolls over and bumps his sister, she attempts to reset herself but fails she simply puts her head back down, puts her arm around her father�s head and starts to softly pull her fingers through his light brown hair, lightly gray on the sides. She has a very gentle touch and the father which was previously asleep has now gone back to slumber under the comfort of his daughter�s arm.
I want that. I want to smile and hug and love. I know it�s only a matter of time, but I will have a child. Whether it be by adoption or by some other way I will have a child. Find me man-less but you will never find me childless. Ever. While I don�t blame my parents for who I am, they did have an effect on me.
The daughter got up from her fathers side and walked around, her eyes droopy, to the other side of him, hugging his neck and again closing her eyes as she lays on his chest, her hands in his hair his hand on her back. His wedding band is visible. It�s humble and made of white gold. The little girl cuddles closer to her father.
I want nothing more than to offer my children more love and support than they�ll ever need. I mean there will be lines, but hopefully I will be able to make those lines feasible with what these kids are living. I will do my best, I can promise you that and that alone; and that my best will be pretty damned good.
Signed off--Lauren
