Hey, life? Are you kidding me?

Ain't Summer Grand?

Since I'm a teacher, you'd think my automatic response would be "OH HELL YES!". And for the most part that is my answer, but maybe not every minute. You see I've been doing some MAJOR (why am I using caps? I hate it when people do that?) cleaning, organizing, even some outdoor work which just doesn't even seem like me to me. I'd like to say that today I was going through a box of various papers, picturese, souveniers, leisurely reminiscing. But truth be told, I was frantically looking for a financial document my son needed for his future. (which by the way I did find, as well as about 10 copies of it. Apparently, I had the foresight to know I was going to misplace it, but not the intelligence to store the copies in various places). With each new thing I discovered, randoma questions kept popping into my head. Like, why are all the documents we have to keep somewhat negative - divorce papers, medical bills, you get the picture? Yes, I did find a birth certificate, which was a happy event, but then again it did make me realzie how fast time is - three years and the love of my life who is currently driving me insane by doing nothing but sleeping, eating, and talking about random things (gee I wonder where he gets that?)will be graduated and started his own life. I've never been one of these teary moms on the first day of school. But lately, it is killing me. I mean, I'm proud, of course, he is a great kid/person. But I now understand the selfishness my mom had with me as I got in high school. I was the youngest child; he's the only child. lol - i don't know which would be the toughest in this situation. So of course, in this box of madness are 5000 pictures from when he was little, and it kills me that many of the moments that I remember so clearly and treasure probably too much, he doesn't even remember. I mean I know realistically he shouldn't, he was a tiny kid, but the other part of me just can't comprehend how something i deem as monumental isn't in his memories. I mean I get that they are a part of him. Our life moments make us who we are. I guess I'm just kind of sad for him, that can't reexperience those as memories. But then I realize he will - when he has his own kids.

Oh my gosh, I must have PMS or becoming some sort of bipolar menopausal tornado of emotions (actaully i haven't been diagnosed with any of that fyi -- it just sounded good). I just called my 70 year old mom (I'm 43) and apologized for being mean to her when I was in high school. Apparently, my son isn't the only one that loses memories. She couldn't figure out what I was talking about. She said I was the easy kid to raise. lol - and then she called me back wanting examples - she thought maybe I had gotten away with something and the guilt was finally consuming me.

Continuing through my box discoveries (I'm wiping tears - I'm such a baby!), I found an essay I had written in college. By what I had written, I'm guessing the topic was something along the lines of What would you do if there were do overs or if you could have one day back. (yeah, that's right I don't REMEMBER lol - but to my credit - I'm an English teacher, I see lots of dang prompts). I definitely had my love of semicolons even back then. What got me thinking wasn't so much what I wrote about, but the way I wrote it. I don't mean grammatically or organization, but I guess more of the tone. It was like it was coming from an entirely different person, yet I can see myself writing it. The person that wrote that paper was cocky (different from confident) - the idea of another chance (or whatever it was) wasn't that interesting to her you could tell, but by damn she was going to make you think it was with her writing - she was getting an A. She still had in her those feelings of invinicibility that the future holds much more to it than the past does. Now that same person would love a few do overs - not to change anything mind you, but just to live them once more.

Well, enough rambling - no one reads the long blogs anyway, huh?

Reaching for the Midol or xanaax,
Ralls