Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Lopsided and lamenting...

Timmy: "It's history."
Tommy: "It's history."
Timmy: "Kiss it good bye."
Tommy: "Kiss it--"
Timmy: "Shut up, Tommy."
"It's gone, man. Gone."

Ever heard of "phasing out"? My friend Haley, back when she was single and dating a different guy every three weeks, used the term "phasing out" to describe the process of giving someone the boot. She would start picking up their calls a little less the first day, maybe not respond to their texts the next, and from thereafter the broken-up-with would slowly clue in to the status of the fizzled relationship without the drama of "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Josie's phasing me out, man. At first it was just mild distraction during feedings; we were still cool, right? I didn't suspect any real danger. Eventually distraction just turned into diversion--I knew she wasn't serious when she started giving me fatties instead of sucking. Diversion quickly turned into disinterest, and from there, disgust. It's gotten to the point where I pop it out, and she immediately gives me an emphatic "No!" with a condescending shake of the head. She's like "are you kidding me, Mom? Seriously. I'm so done with that whole scene." I feel like an old shoe tossed aside and forgotten.
This morning I timidly and nonchalantly got ready for her, playing like I didn't remember that she had moved on without me. If I acted like it was still protocol, maybe so would she, right? To my surprise, she humored me. I played it cool, trying not to turn her off with my over-eagerness. It took her about three minutes to realize that not only was this whole nursing business just overrated, but too much work now to make it worth her time. She pushed away, without another look back. I calmly encouraged her to take the other side. Nope. I whined. Nope. I pleaded. Not a chance. She only gave a look that said, "This isn't my problem anymore, Mom." Way to leave me hanging, Jos--well, at least the one side.
Isn't this supposed to happen the other way around?! Don't Moms typically do all the phasing out?? Sure, I know it's time. True, at least we had a good thirteen months. But contrary to everyone I talk to, I'm not ready! I miss her needing me, and I miss our special time together. I know I should be eager to ween her....but I'm just not, okay?
So this morning, I'm feeling a little heartsick. And also unbalanced.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

My passion

A couple years ago I realized that what I'm really passionate about isn't necessarily music, or dance, or sewing, or art or whatever, it's the act of expressing. I love to express. Myself. To create something unique, and call it me. I love to identify myself with something beautiful. So music is a medium I'm passionate about, because music moves you. Everyone can connect to a song. We've all heard a song at one point in our life that either changed us, or marked a moment, or even carried us. Or maybe even just pumped us up---made a good time, a great time. A song can help us identify our emotions, which so often are so hard to make sense of...when we hear a's like, that's it. Yeah. That's how I feel. Right there. Like when you're in love---or more often in my single life---lonely. Who hasn't heard that U2 ballad and been so depressed that we relished wallowing in our pathetic loneliness. Mmmm. Can't beat that.
Now dancing is all that, but...more. Dancing is music and movement together. And that's why it calls to me---beckons me, if you will.... because it is full body expressing, at it's height. It's everything you've got exploding in that leap and that song and that story. And it moves me.

I watched So You Think You Can Dance tonight. I realize by giving you the background of my musings, I run the risk of making it sound very trite. Alright, fine. Yeah, it's a tv show. But watching all that talent and art (choreography and dancing is such a beautiful form of art) it makes me pretty nostalgic. Nostalgic? Is that it? I don't know...romantic? Dreamy? Musing? Makes we want to write poetry? Or something like that. I know that may not make sense, but it probably does.

Sometimes when I'm driving or cleaning I imagine the songs I would sing on American Idol, and think of how Simon would really dig my creative arrangement and soul. Or I hear a song and choreograph a piece in my head that would win the respect of Mia Michaels. And I think I could do it, too. Yeah, you know...I could do it.