If I Were a Boy

I was watching Beyonce perform on The Today Show this morning. I know who she is because I see her picture in People Magazine all the time. But, I admit to an unfamiliarity with her music. One of the songs she sang was "If I Were a Boy." It was as if someone knocked me over. Here are a few snippets of the lyrics:

If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I'd be a better man.

And ...

You don't listen to her
You don't care how it hurts
Until you lose the one you wanted
Cause you've taken her for granted.

At this point you're probably thinking that I'm reflecting on my own personal relationships. Of course that's a factor but it goes much beyond that.

I know some amazing and honorable men. Men who don't cheat, don't verbally or physically abuse anyone. Men who treat their wives, mothers, daughters, friends and employees with kindness and respect -- even if the women are stupid enough to provoke them.

I also know some cads. Some of them are lovable cads and frankly, since I'm not married to them, I don't really care what they do as long as they treat me with respect.

A few times I have been accused of wanting to be a man. I've never quite grasped that. Does that mean I want to be paid the same as a male colleague doing the same job? Guilty. Does that mean I feel my opinion should carry as much weight as the men in the room? Guilty.

I don't want to be a man. I'm pretty strong but I'm still a girly-girl at heart. To paraphrase Beyonce:

You're just a boy.
I would be a better man.

Adjustments

Before I get all gushy and goofy about the kindness of my oldies, I will share this with you. I'm convinced they lie in bed at night and say to each other, "And exactly why did we decide to have this child?"

In a few short days, I have managed to:

Disrupt their household and routines.

Rearrange furniture and wag my finger at things. The motion means, "That's gotta go."

Completely traumatize their little dogs with my little pony.

Lock myself out because it took me a while to understand the Ft. Knox system. That includes setting off the alarm.

Maybe I'm adjusting too well. The other night they had plans with friends. Although I was invited, I chose to stay and continue digging through paperwork and have them bring me a sandwich. I have adjusted to eating dinner at 5:00 so around 5:30, I started thinking, "Where is my sandwich?"

Puddles

Yesterday was one of those gray, rainy days. I was irritated because rain or any kind of moisture does weird things to my hair. Hey, your life can be in shambles but in certain moments it all comes down to your hair.

Then, the sun came out and we had a few puddles around. As a child, I was not the splash-through-the-muddy-water kind of girl. Too bad for me. It might have taught me that life if full of muddy waters. Instead of pretending the puddle isn't there, maybe I would've learned to jump right in and deal with the dirt and muck.

Forgive this horrible analogy: I am now the puddle. For my entire life I have been able to be reduced to a puddle of laughter or a puddle of tears. (Isn't the earth 90% water? I am also.)

Puddles force you to choose. You can walk around. You can splash through. You can step over. Call me "Puddles" because no one is pushing through or stepping over.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

Do you ever watch "Cops?" I must admit that this particular show has never made it to my must-see TV schedule. But last night my oldies were preparing to eat a little ice cream (I'm in!) and watch a little TV. I stretched out across the end of their bed hoarding my ice cream from the little dogs. "Cops" is apparently a Saturday night ritual. I pretended to work on the crossword puzzle but I got sucked in too.

Then I got the giggles. The alleged criminals are so stupid! Between my laughter and my mother's running commentary, my father started saying, "Shut up, please!" Of course, this only made me laugh harder. At one point he said, "Third warning! Shut up, please!" (He says this with a great deal of charm but the annoyance on his face is apparent.)

My father is my hero and he tolerates oh so much from me. He would never admit it but I think he's a little freaked out for reasons that are obvious to me. It's not my presence and it's not my dog. It's not the emotional cesspool I am swimming in.

It's very simple: My mother and I never shut up. And when the laughter starts to roll, any attempt to contain it makes it worse. We just screech louder.

It feels good to laugh loud and often. The bad boy of this house is going to have to get over it.

Doggie Dynamics

Houseboy brought the maniac dog to me yesterday. Sorry to be ridiculous but I wept. Perhaps the reason I am so crazy about the maniac is she has been my bright spot. I didn't realize how much until the last few days.

My current oldies (although they are not very old) have been kind enough to let me live with them, mooch off them, etc. I run around rearranging their furniture, interrupting their well-oiled routine, making coffee at 5:00am, etc. The dog has always been an issue with female oldie. She's slightly afeared of big dogs (bad episode in her childhood) but she's also aware that the Gabster can be a tornado, i.e. "Hope you didn't like all that glass stuff on the table because I just wiped it out with my tail."

Here's a couple of other reasons I wept:

I was reminded, repeatedly, that there are still people who value something other than material possessions.
I stood in awe as my oldies said, "We would never ask you to go without your dog. We'll figure it out."

They have two little dogs -- a sweetie and a biter (although she's growing on me.) The biter thinks she is the alpha dog; Gabby has no desire to be the alpha dog but she freaks them out. We're all getting acclimated. Gabby slept with me last night and she keeps looking at me like, "You never told me this was an option."

I don't think the little dogs are having a barking good time but who knows? Sometimes it's good to have your world shaken a bit. Trust me. I know.

A Belated Apology to the Captain and the Belle

When my world was rocked several years ago by the realization that we were going to move the husband's parents into our home, I was nervous but I hope I was also welcoming. As one of my favorite songs goes, "Life was changed, rearranged."

Once again, life is imitating that song's lyrics.

And I realized that I used them as a scapegoat for many things. So, this is my letter to them:

Dear Mom & Pop,

If anyone had told me three years ago that I would miss you as much as I do, I might have rolled my eyes. No, I don't miss the falling and the illnesses. I don't miss the frying. I miss the Belle at the piano and modeling new clothes. I miss the woman who was tough as steel and gentle as a dove. I miss the Captain's stories.

You both showed me love and concern. should've listened more often. I should've said thank you more often. I should've recognized the gift of you.

Stress comes in many forms and from many places. I apologize for often placing the blame on you.

Self Esteem

Life everyting else that requires nurturing, if neglected or allowed to happen. your self esteem will erode. It's bit by bit, a process so slight (and slightly devious) that you don't realize it until the bottom falls out from under you.

Welcome to bottomville!

In the last couple of days I found a piece of my self-esteem and I'm holding on to it for dear life. I've looked in the mirror and seen the woman that can laugh, cherish and love. I've also experienced kindness that is above and beyond the call of duty.

I will spare you the gory details out of respect for others but needless to say, I have a rocky road ahead. I forgot that you should get out of bed and look forward to the day ahead instead of dreading what may lie before you.

I vow to never forget again. The blog is not ending, just taking a turn in a new direction. At least the title makes sense again -- I am living with my oldies -- just not the same ones.