AJ has always had a tender heart. We have also always included AJ in the Valentine’s celebration. He’s not a fan of giving valentines to everyone, but when it comes to celebrating those he loves? It’s on. This year, we were looking forward to truly spending time together. He’d asked for flowers because, “I’ve never gotten flowers from anyone, Mama.” So, instead of flowers, he got a bamboo plant that he could grow on his own. He looks at it and whispers to it the way I do my daisy plant. I know. It’s odd. But I’m telling you, it’s the only plant I’ve kept alive and that little bit of daily encouragement helps it grow.

He also got a new baseball helmet with his name airbrushed on it. I had no idea this was such a big deal, but my little cousin Lola did it, too! I expected a gift from my husband, but I didn’t expect anything but a hug from my sweet little guy. Or maybe a card. Some years he’s done a card. At 6:07am, on Valentine’s Day (probably lucky he waited that long), I felt a little hand shaking my shoulder and flowers were thrust in my face along with a huge box of chocolates. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mama! I love you!”

I still haven’t stopped smiling. I took pictures of my flowers. We devoured chocolates together as a family. I told everyone I knew that my son thought of me. I found out, later, that he’d spent the money he’d gotten as a gift from his NeeNee to buy my presents. They were ever so much sweeter.

If you want to know how to get to someone’s heart, show pure love and no motivation for anything in return. AJ waits all year long to buy me flowers. Leon said that almost every time they go to the store that AJ asks to get me some. I’m a lucky mom.

I get Valentine’s Day every single minute of every single day that I get to spend with my son.

I’m really glad he has no idea where this blog is, nor does he read it, or he’d likely never speak to me again for telling you what I just told you.

Anyway, the boy loves music. He’ll sing in front of people when we play Rock Band but only because it’s “for the music.” I told you he has personality. When I tell people my kid is cool they don’t really believe me and they don’t really understand until they meet him and realize that he actually does seem to process things differently than other kids his age. There’s a 36-year-old hair band member in that 9-year-old body. At 3, his favorite song was by Bon Jovi.

I digress, I digress. I have no idea why anyone reads this blog because all I do is digress. I’ve turned into my 80-something grandmother.

So, AJ loves music. Yes, that was like 4 paragraphs ago. Get off my lawn. I heard him humming on the couch. Wait, that’s not true. It wasn’t just humming. It was full out song. “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she commmmmmmmmmmes, when she comes. She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes.” I’m sure they learned the whole song. This was the part that was stuck in his head, though. For an hour I heard this until finally I looked at him, made sure he saw me, gave him my most charming grin and sang loudly, “She’ll be coming round the mountain, she’ll be coming round the mountain, she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes!”

He couldn’t stop laughing. The giggles overtook him, then me. We laughed loud and long together. He gasped at me, “Ma-Ma-Mama, I couldn’t help it! It just got stuck in my head and wouldn’t go away!” We sang it a couple more times and laughed louder and longer. We often sing together in the car. Lately it’s been songs from Glee. Yesterday it was songs from elementary school.

Now if I can just get the theme song for Veronica Mars out of my own head, I’ll be set.

And sometimes…we don’t need more than that. Sometimes, as people, we just need enough. So for today, I offer you my enough. Each of you makes me smile, think and realize things about myself that I would not otherwise realize. Thank you for enough.

I wanted one of those little yellow pieces of plastic more than anything.

Luckily, I lived just down the road from my cousins and their parents were much crazier than mine. Or, it’s quite possible they knew that the secret to peace of mind over that particular summer lay in an enlarged water bill and a little piece of yellow plastic. Either way, my cousins got the slip-n-slide and I got to walk the quarter of a mile to their place every day to bust my butt on the plastic and the hard dirt underneath.

Run Run Run Run Sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide YES I’M FLYING NO NO NO I’m rollling! OUCH!

And back in line I’d go. And don’t think it was a short line. I wasn’t the only kid who knew about my cousin’s slip-n-slide. We lived in the country and the neighbor kids heard. So did their parents, and their parents weren’t going to pony up for a slip-n-slide or a water bill either. We’d dutifully get in line about ten kids back until we bled enough that it just stung too much to go again that day.

Nowadays, oh how old I feel saying nowadays, nowadays, the slip-n-slide has become so fancy! You can slide into a pool! The piece of plastic is HUGE and there are safeguards for those wimpy kids who care about bleeding. On the 4th of July, I found out exactly how intricate the whole slip-n-slide industry had become.

In Nashville on the 4th, our downtown area is amazing. Truly an amazing sight to behold is the area by the river that just lights up with booths of any kind of food you’d like, booths where you can buy the coolest hats on earth and a whole street dedicated to the littlest cowboys and cowgirls in the city.

As jets flew over the city celebrating our Independence, we walked around with bottled water and looked to see what was happening in our fair land. My little sister marveled at the cute boys. My mom wanted to go see what was going on down by the river. And me? I kept getting pulled towards these huge inflatable bouncy things, as all moms do.

After getting a stamp on his hand that made all the rides FREE, AJ was off. One of the first few rides to catch his eye was a large slip-n-slide. When I say slip-n-slide, I don’t mean one close to the ground. This inflatable wonder was about 4 feet off the ground and looked like a long island. Kids would run and jump UP onto it where sprinklers would shoot down onto them for about 20 feet. The line was short, but the joy was long.

I stood by the end and watched as child after child, including my own, jumped onto it and laughed themselves silly. It’s not been a great summer by any standards, but I couldn’t stop laughing along with them. The thing about joy is that it is utterly contagious. Some would jump up there, realize “OH NO THERE IS WATER UP HERE” and try to get down until mom or dad would take their hand and then lead them through the slide. After which, they would cry to go back on. There was a devilish little thing, who couldn’t have been more than three, who would go through the whole thing, slam his body down to the concrete after he got done, like the hulk, and give devil hands. I’m not kidding. Just like the orange ones to the right. He was totally “rock and roll” about the slide. And AJ? AJ would run, jump, slide, fall on his bottom, laugh and do it over and over again. He probably did it 30 times. I laughed just as hard as he did every time.

Yes, children are amazing and sometimes the smallest things in life are a recipe for joy. Just add water.

I’ve never been out of the continental U.S. and I’ve been spending the better part of the month in my bedroom. Maybe my way of travel isn’t yours, but for me, it’s necessary and it helps. For the majority of my life, I’ve been a voracious reader and have had a pretty decent imagination. There have never been the time or the funds for me to actually go anywhere worth really digging into, but I can read about places and, in my mind, I have been there.

Lately, that has saved my bacon in so many ways. Southwest.com has a schtick that says “wanna get away?” Yes, I do! Oh, I do! A break, yes please! Right now, though, I’m moving quickly nowhere. But, in this room, I’m going many places.

As adults, we often turn off our imaginations and suppress our pretend-o-meters (yes, I know it’s not a real word, but please stay with me). And, yet, in the back of our minds, there is still the capacity for childlike joy in sheet forts and paper hats and closed eye pretend travel. So, I needed a break.

When I woke up, I was going on Safari. It is supernaturally hot in Nashville this time of year. My bedroom is on the second floor of the house and my ceiling fan runs 24/7 to help keep my room ventilated. My white noise machine was on and the gentle breeze blowing across my face felt good.

Suddenly, I was on Safari and staying in my Safari housing. It was so hot outside that the animals weren’t coming out. The palm fan was blowing a gentle breeze across my face as my hair gently caressed my ears and a small fly landed on my shoulder. I softly brushed it away and hugged my pillow tighter as I thought about what was going on in my home across the ocean…

the ocean…

I turned the lamp next to me on full blast next to my face and turned the white noise machine on to “ocean waves” and suddenly I was at the beach. If you close your eyes you can almost hear sea gulls. The power of imagination is strong when you focus on it. The lamp next to me mimicked the sun so strongly I wanted to pull the covers over my head because it was hurting my eyes.

It relaxed me.

The imagination we gain as children never goes away. We put it on a shelf and pull it out as grandparents so we can play in those sheet forts or play water guns properly or tell stories that make little ones truly believe that there is magic in the air.

Sometimes, as adults, we need to believe in magic, too.

As expected, seeing my family had a calming, cathartic effect on me. It has taken many years for home trips not to stress me out, but my relationships there are finally where I feel like they need to be and I could have stayed much longer this go around. Sometimes you just want your mommy and your sissy. I think the whole trip can be summed up in these three pictures.

Sweet

Comforting

Loving

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

Leon is a huge Boston Red Sox fan. When I met him, he loved the Mets, but I watched him slowly start to root for the underdogs in the league, the Red Sox. When they won the World Series, I don’t doubt for a minute that it was one of the best days of his life. He’d never been able to see them play in person and, on Labor Day weekend, it was going to be a Sox vs. Sox showdown in Chicago. Chicago is only 8 hours from us and only 3 hours from my family. It seemed like a no-brainer to swing by, grab them, and make a family weekend of Labor Day weekend.

As it was only a week before my 30th birthday, there was time for some birthday celebration in there, as well, so my mom and sister were more than down for the trip. We stayed at the Hyatt, in a beautiful room. There were some snafus with the room, which I’ll address later in this blog, but, for the most part, our trip was snag free. Leon decided to go to the game early to see if he could get some autographs and watch batting practice.

What he didn’t know was that, since he had seats in the upper level, security wouldn’t let him down to get close to the players. Papi (Ortiz) was signing autographs and did this for almost 20 minutes solid while Leon had to watch and be sad that he’d gone with the upper level seats. It was pathetic.

You’d think the upper level seats would be poor viewing seats, but they were actually awesome. We were under the shade and the wind was blowing nicely. It was about 71 degrees, give or take, and most of the Red Sox fans were in the upper deck.

Unfortunately, there were also a lot of drunk White Sox fans who made it a point to yell not only at the players, but at the Red Sox fans with a belligerence that was unmatched. One comment we heard from a child was “Take the needle out of your arm, Ortiz!” and from his father, “They didn’t test for ‘roids in 2004!” I was overwhelmed.

When the Red Sox fans would start to chant, the White Sox fans would shout “White” over the “Red” every time. When we’d clap, they’d boo. Frankly, I was a little shocked by the poor behavior. It didn’t take over the game, however. There were some key moments that I won’t forget that were noteworthy here.

At our second game, there was a father that sat in front of us. He didn’t stop smiling for the first five innings and, when he sat down, he proudly announced to the people next to him, that it was his little girl’s first ever White Sox game. She was three and wearing an adorable pink tutu White Sox outfit. She grinned throughout the game and managed to keep her eyes totally off the field. She would look at the people around her and ask their names. Her dad was so proud to have her there that I thought his face would crack. Of course, it was such a Hallmark moment that my baby heart almost teared up and bawled right there. Stupid emotions.

There was also the Russian that sat next to us. We were on the very top row of the stadium during our first game there. This man often spoke to his companions and we had no idea what he was saying, but every now and then, you would hear him yell, “YOOOOOOOOOUUUUKKKK!” (chanting for first baseman Kevin Youkilis) or “Go, Red Sox” in heavily accented voice. When they would do well, he would cheer loudly.

After the game, even when the Red Sox lost, the sense of camaraderie was strong. AJ was wearing his shirt, as was Leon, and a couple that we didn’t know came up to him and gave him the thumbs up. He was confused by this, as 8-year olds know better than to talk to strangers, but he understood that when you root for a team, you are part of a new club.

Overall, yes, the White Sox fans could have behaved better. I’m pretty sure I was spit upon at least twice, but I’m going to give the old woman behind me the benefit of the doubt that she just has trouble controlling her spit. The best part of my experience was being with my family and even if I didn’t enjoy the stadium, I was glad for the chance to be with them.

Thanks to Ellie at Practically Sisters for fixing my photograph!

I’m serious.

30 is coming soon. So, for those of you that have been wondering, that makes me the grand age of 29. In the South, women don’t tell their age. Luckily, I’m a transplanted Northerner who is attempting to be Southern, but who talks to much to make that happen. I’m also not afraid of aging, which I think is anti-cultural for this area.

Recently, in this blog, my friend, QT, made the comment that I was “What? All of 23 years old?” I grinned and laughed it off. I took it as a compliment, and who wouldn’t, but at the same time, I realize that growing older doesn’t have to scare me.

Part of this comes from the realization that my 20′s never felt typical to me. I’ve already discussed that and I still feel the way I felt then.

30 feels like a gift. The opportunity to be the woman I want to be in a manner that is comfortable, rather than struggling. Instead of finding myself, I’ll be defining myself. I found a white hair on my head the other day and celebrated that I will be having white hair (which will be gorgeous with my fair skin) instead of dishwater gray.

30 is the new 20 is the new…who cares?

I am deciding who I am in the next decade.

I am so excited.

And you get to come with me. The party happens soon! Who wants cake?

One thing that Leon’s article was missing was something that I realized he probably didn’t value the way I did. Rather than asking him to write about it, I decided to write about it myself, thus adding value back to it and giving myself more bang for my blogging buck. What? I’m honest.

Here’s the deal, though. Leon didn’t get this the way I didn’t understand why he almost peed his pants over the Chick-fil-a jokes: I didn’t connect to it on the same level he did. Leon has an unnatural love of Chick-fil-a sandwiches, so the jokes were tear producing for him. Ralphie took some time to talk about serious topics as well as comedy, and one of them was self-image.

His main comment on this was that our culture sucks in that we put all of this emphasis on looks. Women essentially wear makeup for other women and that as long as men are getting laid, they rarely care if you wear it. If they do care, there are bigger issues, etc. You can fill in the jokes there. He made fun of everyone, including himself. But, for 5 minutes of that show, he told every woman in that audience how beautiful they were and you know what? I think we needed to hear it. I know I did.

It doesn’t matter who is telling it, we need to hear it. Yes, I know “you should be able to feel beautiful on your own without someone telling you.” Well, I’m telling you that the idea of that is an idealistic one in this society. Shoulda woulda coulda.

The bottom line is that some people feel amazing about themselves and I think that’s awesome. They have managed to have an ideal sense of self that we all strive for and I truly think that they are amazing for getting there. That sense of self was helped to development by many people who made that person feel secure during development. Not everyone had that security and not everyone has been able to or chose to nurture that sense of self in that way. Most of still keep plugging along trying to hit the caboose of the self-esteem train just for a couple of minutes a year.

Where am I going with this? Hang on, I’m getting there.

So, after my Sunday night Ralphie boost, bless his little heart, I was feeling a little better and it was on to Tuesday night Gender Roles. We did an interesting exercise. It’s something that can be used to help people find their archetypes (symbolic images in folklore and those present in our current subconscious such as heroes, warriors, etc.). For me, while we did the exercise, I was able to embrace part of myself and find a warrior subtype that I connect with: I am an Amazon.

Yep. I’m a tall, big-boned, blobby-bodied, goddess who is stronger than she looks both physically and emotionally. I’m able to be rough and tumble and do what I have to do to protect what’s mine and, at the same time, be emotionally in touch with those around me and be sensitive to their needs. During our active imagination, I realized that I am more independent than I realized and that I’m more ok with what I look like and who I am than I thought I was.

Screw you, Jenny Craig. Screw you, Weight Watchers. I’m an Amazon.*

* And of course, due to cultural norms, I feel the need to defend my newfound Amazonian nature with an “I promise I’m not crazy or screwed up” comment. I’m just empowered. It’s a good feeling. And if you don’t like my Amazonian status, good. Find your own archetype and we can be archetypal enemies. It’ll be like Heroes Quest! Man, I used to love that game. Or Dungeons and Dragons (that one, not so much). Anyway, I’m an Amazon! But not the crazy kind.

How is it that the idea of a movie can make a person smell buttery popcorn to the extent that the can almost feel the oil on their hand? I haven’t had a horse as a pet for 20 years, but when we go to the fair, the smell of horses instantly transports me to that place.

We didn’t go watch fireworks on the 4th of July, but we could hear them from our home. The sounds of the booming moved me back to childhood and a time of magic connected to those bits of gunpowder.

Long before I understood how they worked, I believed they were magical pieces of clouds from the sky that lit up based on my thoughts. I’ve always been something of a dreamer. When the fireworks stopped, the thunder and lightning started and a rainstorm came in.

I closed my eyes and the magic continued.

Yes. Our senses are amazing things. They influence our perceptions so much. We can fool ourselves into believing whatever comforts us or makes us happy. It’s hard to remember that at times we are sad or discouraged, but it’s there.

Believe.

I have friends that laugh and remind me of my naivete about once a week. It’s true that I’m a 20-(mrph) year old woman, but I don’t think I’m naive for going with the best in people. I have experiences in my life that I don’t talk about here or in the offline world. I have personal scars and things that have wounded and hurt me. I’m not a Pollyanna and I’m not an eternal optimist. I work at seeing the good in things. And it’s hard. But it’s worth it.

With that being said, I also think Karma rocks. Back in May I wrote an article based on something my friend Rsmcain said: If you want to get visitors, throw other bloggers a bone. He didn’t put it that delicately, but as a Southern woman (I know better than to call myself a lady), I think I’ll just leave it how I wrote it.

Because I’m a new blogger, I spend a lot of time looking at other blogs. Lately, it’s because I’m bored with the design of mine and am looking to poach a designer (not a design) from someone and get myself a handy, dandy new style. It’s also because I might find some new widget or gadget that they have, or a new setup or some new inspiration that I might build on. Ultimately, I’m an introvert and I like making friends through the internet. It’s less messy that way, isn’t it?

While looking around, I noticed an interesting button on someone’s blog. It said: “I’m very nice.” And I thought, “You are? How very presumptuous of you to think you are nice!” However, then I immediately thought “I want one, too! I’m very nice. I must have that button so others know I’m nice, too!”

When I clicked on the button, it took me to an orange and black site that was, for a kindness junkie, the mecca of all that is good. It’s called “Operation Nice: Encouraging Individuals to be Proactively Nice.” The goal is pretty self-explanatory in encouraging others to do just a little bit every day to make the day of another person a more worthwhile, fulfilling experience.

On Operation Nice, you can share personal stories of kindness, nominate people that you know that exhibit kindness as the “Kind Person of the Week,” get a blog button for your site telling everyone how nice you are (YES!!!), as well as download your own gratitude notes for those that have done something nice for you in your life (freebies are awesome!).

The site is very nicely put together and is a new one that I will definitely be adding to my reader. Take a look and join the mission. You’ll be glad you did.