Hey You Guys!

Apparently it’s spring (scoff) in Michigan, and I’m feeling the need for some rebirth.  This is the time of year that I walk into Fiesta or SuperCuts or some other under-$15 salon, give them a picture of some adorable starlet 10 years my junior, and tell them I want my hair “just like hers.”  This year I’ve vowed to wait until my birthday to chop the locks, so I’m transferring my need for transformation to my blog.  Welcome to the new (but old) home of crushedcorn!  Thank you for coming with me to this fresh space.  Let’s see what comes of it…

Speaking of rebirth, I feel like my life has been a series of deja vu moments, or that I have been reborn multiple times just to encounter the same scenarios over and over and discovering that I haven’t learned a thing.  That’s the saddest part – so many times I feel that I haven’t learned a thing (today my microwave burrito exploded on me in the car and I had to go to class in a coat spotted with burrito droppings.  That felt like the ultimate of freshman moments, but I’m freaking 30+ years old!).  Damn my scattered brain and those feelings of uncertainty!  My attention is often focused on what I did wrong and that fact that I did that wrong thing instead of paying attention to why I did it and how to do it right.  The world is a hall of mirrors; there’s so much deflection and reflection that it’s hard to tell what you’re really looking at and if what you’re looking at is real.  I want to get to the real, to the truth.  It’s not an original mission, but it’s one the lost have to embark on and it’s f*cking hard.  It’s easy for some of you, you lucky bastards, but not for everyone.

Here’s a bit of truth: Connor was a snotty, whiny, writhing ball of a cry baby this afternoon when he got home from Grandma’s.  According to Z, ‘Rad is often whiny and “a baby” with me in a way that he isn’t with anyone else.  Don’t I feel special.  He was thisclose to being dropped on the stairs heading to dinner tonight, and he proceeded to cry and throw a fit on Grandpa’s living room floor while we tried to say our hellos to everyone.  I kept telling myself to let him be and let both of us tough it out apart.  But the kid started cutting into my eating time and, well, I just can’t let that happen.

So, up on my lap he went and he magically calmed down.  He ate all of his raspberries, the flaky layers of a biscuit or two, and drank his milk with some smiles and laughs sprinkled in between.  I broke my rule of letting him sit on my lap during mealtime, but as far as I’m concerned he just needed some Mama warmth to calm him down.  By the time we left he was practically delightful, throwing out hearty, happy “Bye Byes!” to everyone in the room.  Am I being soft?  Inconsistent?  Whatever, I put a happy baby to sleep and I got to enjoy my dinner.  Mission accomplished.


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