Four score and…

Today is my birthday.  And I realized that I had forgotten to do that thing on my son’s birthday that has become a blogger tradition.  I forgot to write him a love letter.  And since I forgot, I decided to not worry about it.  And since my birthday is coming up, I decided to write one to myself instead.  I think we all need a little more self-love (no not that kind, or that kind too, or, whatever) in our lives.

Many many years ago you arrived on this planet.

Born to a woman who loved you enough to know that you could do better, you were loving passed along to your mother at the age of six weeks.  The name you had scribed across your bottle was changed and so was your destiny.

And you were well loved.  Very well loved.  And well cared for.  And brought up to respect your elders, pay attention in school, be nice to your friends and neighbors and behave.  You were also told that you had a beautiful voice (even though you didn’t), that you were pretty (even though you weren’t very) and that you could do anything you set your mind to.  And you believed every word.  Because those that told you this, meant it.  Believed it.  And they made you believe it too.

God were you lucky.

And as you grew up you began to understand that reality and family perspective were often very different. But that was okay.  And you understand that “put your mind to” meant “work very hard for it”.  And you found that there wasn’t much you felt strongly enough about to “put your mind to it”.  So you skated along.

And you hit some bumps.  A few had names,and some of them wore your name.

And you learned from them.  And you learned to avoid them.

And one bump was so big that it knocked you down.  Flat.

But you stood back up.  And you got up stronger.  You stood up better.

And you stood up knowing that if you lived your whole life with just yourself, you would have wonderful company.  And you realized that you actually were wonderful – funny and  smart and while your voice still wasn’t beautiful, it was strong.

And those who had told you all of this.  Refrained from reminding you that they had in fact, told you so.

And in this place – this moment of person strength – you met the love of your life.

The one person in your whole life who got you.  Who understood who you were and loved you for it.  And while he didn’t understand that it was forever quite as quickly as you did.  He did realize it.

And he made promises.  And he kept them.  And together you made a life – two of them actually.

And through those two little people you became a better person.  The best person you have ever been.

A mom.

And you are a good one.  And if you ask your kids, you are a great one.  And really, there is no other opinion that matters.

So Today I celebrate the life that has been you.  And the future that will be you.

You are strong, smart, funny, loyal – in short – you are wonderful.  And you are loved by wonderful people.

God are you lucky.

Happy Birthday to me.

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Faith No More

Jesse James broke my heart.

Not literally, but yeah, sort of.

The fact that Tiger Woods sleeps around, didn’t surprise me.

Neither did every other athlete who had a “shocking” affair.

(those links are kinda fun. if you’re sick.  which I am.)

The fact that Jenn and Brad didn’t make it, saddened me, but didn’t surprise me.

The fact that Clinton screwed around with Monica Lewinsky?  Not at all surprising.

I am cynical, jaded and pessimistic.

And yet.  I really wanted to believe that Jesse James and Sandra Bullock had something.  Something surprising and good and real.  Maybe it was because of the kids.  And her die hard pursuit of making him a better dad. (or at least, giving his kids a better life.)

Because it was such a seemingly poor match.  But match they did. (or at least she seems to)

And for a moment I fell for the Hollywood Hype.

And the fact that I did isn’t what makes me sad (honestly, I am kind of glad that I am still (just a little) naive).  What makes me sad is that now I am less naive*, a little less likely to believe the fairy tale. A little more likely to believe that the evil witch always wins.

And so I am pissed** at him.  And at her.

For ruining my good feeling.

And maybe, maybe, one day I can forgive and forget.  But for right now, I need a little space.

And let me state for the record that if one more of my fairy tales ends in the near future I am calling for blood.

I am looking at you Jada and Will.   Please don’t let me down.

Oh and if you have not yet seen the woman with whom James was cheating, please do click through to the picture of her tattooed wonderfulness.  She is a sight.  All that and a white supremacist?  What more could a man ask for?

*naive has to be one of the most strangely spelled words, ever

** to be clear about this whole post – I don’t care too much about this situation (or Tiger Woods).  I have heard about it very peripherally and I don’t invest much time or emotion in the lives of people I don’t actually know.