Sometimes I wonder if it could possibly be wrong to love your kids and family as much as I love mine. I know that sounds like an odd thought, you're supposed to love them, but every once in a while I am blown away by the immensity of the affection that I feel. The world couldn't possibly be large enough to hold it, let alone my heart. This love is palpable, warm, breathing,...and scary as Hell.
It is dangerous to allow your heart to reside in another person. Even a very small portion of your heart is susceptible to great damage when it isn't closely guarded. The more you love, the more room there is for your soul to be seared, and left as a soggy pile of ashes on a cold wet morning.
It is tempting to walk away. Run away, as fast and as far as you can run. But where to go? No one can escape them-self. Wherever you go, there you are. The big red arrow follows me around night and day, even in my sleep it hovers over my head and announces, "Here she is!". Having once committed to love another, which pretty much happens the moment you are born and you set your gaze on Mom, you are forever bound to it. Try as you might to run away by intoxication, location, or isolation, you can not get away from yourself, or your ultimate desire to love and be loved.
At times I think I should get a life of my own. It seems that all I talk about is my family. My heart lights up when I think of them. Surly my friends and acquaintances are tired of hearing about my boys, my brothers, my Mom, the dogs, the cats, and quilting. There is so much more in the world...art, science, literature....but my heart resides in my family, it rejoices in the affection showered on it by my pets, and is stymied by the color and light incorporated into quilts.
I've come to a conclusion. I am who I am. There is no escaping it, although I wish that I could be something more for you. (I secretly aspire to extend my familial affections globally...practically, I'm still reeling from the idea.) I keep expecting to enter into adulthood, my head held high and both feet securely planted in a beautiful pair pumps. That is not going to happen. The world and I will have to make do with my perpetually quirky sense of humor and a pair of purple Crocs.
That said, I have a very serious question....this question has nothing to do with my boys, brothers, pets, or quilts...this is going to be hard....yet I will set my compass to something other than North...
ADULT CONTENT
I know what that means. You do too. And both of us are thinking that we don't want our mothers to catch us reading, watching, or discussing it. I want to know why... not why don't I want to be caught consuming it. I want to know who decided that once you reach a certain age things that are obviously bad for you suddenly become good. ADULT has become code for obscene, intoxicating, and/or boring. I want to know why.
Why is it that if I enjoy light hearted humor, whimsey, or bright colors I am automatically relegated to the children's section? Why doesn't my dentist have clouds and hot air balloons on his ceiling? Why is decorating with bright colors considered tacky if you are over 18? I don't get it.
Do you know?
Look forward to my next non-familiar discussion - Human Aging and The Bingo Connection.
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