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Must LOVE Seahorses
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I was musing tonight about how exciting it is to be a female. I truly believe there is no more beautiful creature than we who are fortunate enough to be created as the softer gender. I love the laughter and snickers of little girls having a sleepover and how its resounds through the house making even the walls smile! I love the way little girls skip through the park holding hands...always in the company of another of their kind. We even go to the powder room in twos!
Tonight I was reflecting on my own little girl. She is complicated, cultured, complex, coy, crass, charming, and stupefyingly beautiful! I adore her with all my soul! I have truly never gazed into more breath-taking blue eyes. Nor have I ever seen a pair of blues that can rage like a stormy sea in a moment's notice. She is fire and ice. She is strong and gentle. I love the paradox of Meleah. She is such a contradiction. I guess that is what it means to be female, after all. There are many things I don't know about this complicated gender status, but what I do know is that there is no greater joy than being blessed to be a woman who gets to experience each stage as her daughter blossoms into one!
I read a poem tonight that inspired me to the core. It was my Meleah spilled out in words on a page. I had to change a word or two (sorry Bailey) so that it would not offend. I do love this poem! Hope you will see a bit of you or another stunning and strong-willed lady between the lines!
(aka: Must Love Seahorses)
it's a lot harder than you think.
you have to be from the South, like me
or the North, like I want to be
or somewhere entirely more interesting than Dallas
and you have to have the ginger gene
(because there's no way I'm having
blonde children)
and you have to like aquariums
specifically the seahorses
don't wear too much cologne or
pastels and don't ever smell like
frat parties, barbecue, or beer
and DON'T ever say that ballet is stupid.
you have to ask before we choose
the restaurant because I don't eat Italian
or Thai or Greek or Subway
and you have to hold the door open for me
even if we're in my own room.
listen to my monologues for class
and rattled-off to-do lists
as you lazily push the basket
and I grab it from you because you're going too slow
and mockingly call you a princess
know that I am busy, VERY busy
in fact so busy that I may not see you
because I am an independent woman
and there are stories to be built, dragons to be slayed,
and there are things my hands must finish
before I can start on holding yours
make fun of my Crocs
and the way I hiccup out of nowhere
and the days that I don't have time to eat breakfast
so I bring a Fuzzy's cup to class
full of off-brand Cap'n Crunch
shoving handfuls into my mouth between
snide remarks about Morrison
while you laugh inside your eyes
about what a cynic I pretend to be
hate me when I tell you
that I don't need a hug
and that I'd rather be dating Hemingway
or that I have rehearsal
painting cities, building histories
ignore my comments about you needing to shave
or on how I think I'd rather I'd never get married
and live the rest of my days writing stories
with organic vegetables and rainy days and
walks in the Carolinas
call me a jerk when I'm being one
(because I know I am about 97% of the time)
and tell me you would help me
if I would ever let you
whether it be Christmas lights or
physics lab or the gnawing pain
of lonely lonely lonely
let me read my books, propped up on
my pillows and nestled into a glaze
and let me have my expectations
of Rochesters and Darcys
even though I say I don't
and when I have to sew a blanket for class
and I say the stitching looks awful
tell me no, it doesn't
because I desperately want you
to know that my favorite color is lavender
and I love watermelon and stationery and
online shopping at 2 am
and I desperately want to know
your elementary school, your favorite song,
your middle name
even though I pretend I don't
and sometimes when I say I'm right
and you know that I know I'm wrong
just pick up your spirals and turn to leave,
then stop and say
"my favorite book is Gatsby, too."
and smile and call me crazy.
it's a lot easier than you think.
Link to Poem
This was awesome (both your blog entry and Meleah's poem)!
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