Just stopping by...

So ok I'm giving my brain a rest...not that it's tired or ever used much just that nothing is going on really. Many things make me crazy but I'm sick of thinking about them and tons of things turn me on but I'm sick of those as well. I need new hobbies... Anyhoo, it's not that I don't want to blog, I just suck at it and have nothing to say...

11 September 2011

So tomorrow will mark the 10th anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on these United States. Somber I'd say is the mood in my house tonight as I sat and watched a couple specials on what happened that day in 2001 with my son. He was 2 going on 3 and, thankfully, has absolutely no memory of that day, and he does have memories from that far back and further, my then husband and I tried to shelter him as best we could and apparently we did a good job. He's always known what happened on that day, I'm not one to keep the truth from him as long as he's old enough to ask the questions he asks. He's mature for nearly 13 and more politically savvy than 99.99% of the adults I could name.

My brain is sorta scrambled right now, as I try to convey here what is in my head and what is in my heart. Of course 10 years ago that day was horrific, the single most terrifying day of my entire life, but to say those words doesn't do it justice. I was convinced we were at the brink of a world war, that the world would never be the same again. I kept asking myself "Is this why I brought this beautiful child into the world? Is this the world I wanted him born into? Is he about to die a toddler?". I, like everyone else in this country and around the world, knew things would never be the same, they could never be the same. There is no way that, down to a person, anybody who saw even 10 minutes of what happened that day could go back to a normal life or what passed for normal before that day. We're a stronger people now, our eyes have been opened and we know for a certainty that yes, we're strong but we're not anymore invincible than any other country in this world. It was in how we reacted to the attack that I think separated us from the rest. I don't say that with blushes or excess pride, I really think we came together as a people and overcame everything that the terrorists had tried to do. Yes lots of people died but they didn't die in vain. We remember them, we honour them, we teach our kids about their bravery. We cried together, we mourned together and we became a stronger nation together. I'm still convinced going to war with Iraq was the lousiest thing to ever happen, especially as it was done under pretense and lies, but this isn't that sort of blog I want to do tonight. I want to honour those who lost their lives and the families they left behind, especially those children who were born that never knew a parent because he/she died that day for no damned reason other than because the devil himself thought he was going to send us a message. Sure we got the message, how do you like hell? Was it a good homecoming? I'm not an overly religious person but there are things I believe in with all my heart and one of those things is knowing that that bastard, who will not be honoured with me typing the letters of his name, is burning in hell...even if it's a metaphoric sort of burning.

The things that have stuck with me from that day are how otherwise ordinary human beings turned into honest to God heroes right before our eyes. It happened with every firefighter in NYC who charged towards the one area in the world that everyone else was desperate to get away from. It happened when an airplane was taken back and crashed into the ground instead of our country's capital or the White House. It is in the policemen/women who tried, with their last breath, to save just one more person. It was in the firemen/women and police from all over this country who packed a suitcase, hugged their family farewell as they headed towards ground zero to assist those who needed their help in the massive clean up. My pride knew no bounds watching Chicago firemen pack up their lives and go to help their brothers and sisters in NYC when they needed that help more than they needed that next breath. I listened to a guy yesterday on my local news special say how he went out there to help, himself a fireman, and how he had to call it a day on New Years Eve that year, he simply could not take anymore. He took more than I ever would be strong enough to take.

For me I have to say I was maybe most humbled by the ordinary men who, on Flight 93, took back their destiny and said to their murderers "We will not die how you're telling us to die, we will die to make sure nobody else but us dies.". Those men could have sat horrified in their seats and let the terrorists do what they had planned to do but they didn't. They weren't trained to be heroes, they came into it naturally. Like I always say, "Their mama's raised them up right.". I feel it deep in my soul the loss their families must still feel, the pain and anger, but they can go to bed at night knowing this world is a better place for their son's. Can you imagine if that plane would have crashed in to our biggest symbol of freedom, the White House? That day was horrific enough, we did not need to have that happen too. I can honestly say I do not think I'd have it in me to do anything other than cry in that sort of situation. Those men will forever be the biggest heroes of that day.



I know the tears will flow tomorrow, they've been flowing since yesterday, it's only natural. But let there come a time in the coming day when we dry those tears and those of the people around us and remind the rest of the world what it is to be an American. Lets remind the world why so many come to this country to start a fresh, new life. We owe it to those who died that day, not because they deserved it or because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time but because they died American. Lets never forget the sight of people jumping from 70+ floors up in the WTC building's because they retook their destiny back from the evil, twisted terrorists who only knew how to hate. They are jealous of us, of what we have, but instead of striving for what we have they seek out to destroy it. We can't let them win or forget what it is to have Americans as enemies.

I wonder what sort of remembrances will continue every year after tomorrow comes and goes because lets face it, sure we remember D-Day but we don't really think of the horror of that day do we? I wasn't even alive, my mother wasn't even alive when that happened, it's a concept that, until 2001, was unfathomable. Unfortunately we learned really damned quick what they felt watching Pearl Harbour being attacked so lets make sure that every year we honour our country and...well US! We deserve it, we're great, we're American!

My little part of the world

In my little part of the world I'm living in an apartment that is the perfect size for me and my son. 2 bedrooms, mine is huge and his is perfect for him, as big as his bedroom was when we lived in our house. Townhouse, whatever. The livingroom here is massive, so much room, a decent sized kitchen but not enough counter space (watching HGTV as I do I could totally redo the kitchen to incorporate enough counter space without making the space smaller, there's so much dead space), and a small bathroom that does bum me out. I do love my place though, after all, it's mine. It's the first place that was ever JUST MINE. I can decorate how I want (or I could if I wasn't broke) and it's all up to me to make it a home for my son and me. I think I'm doing a good job, I mean sure it could be cleaner but is that really the end all, be all of existance? My son loves our place, he's comfortable and he's happy. That's all that matters to me, good roof over his head, nice clothes in his closet and a lot of them, food in the refrigerator (though that's getting harder to maintain as he eats EVERYTHING all the time). He's got the basics I suppose, but I think there's so much more to parenting than just providing the basics. The basics will get you through but do you really want your kids to grow up and say "Sure, my mother provided the basics but that's all."? I sure don't. I want a home that's less than perfect, a bit messy and the place my son will think of longingly when it's cold outside and he's walking home from somewhere. I still get that feeling when it's cold outside, that I want to be home where it's warm, young again with my mother waiting with hot chocolate. She didn't do that all the time but when me and my brother were outside playing in the snow? Hot chocolate. And it's something that has stuck with me through my entire life, that feeling of love in that mug. Or if it was cold out and we were coming in for lunch she'd make us the mug 'o' soup and have hot tea for us, so when we finished we'd be fortified and warm enough to return to the snow! I always worry that my son won't have those sorts of memories, that I'm not providing him with memories he'll revisit when he's a father, when he's grown and not living with me anymore. When he's rich and famous (and he will be, I have absolutely no doubt about that) and winning that Oscar for his latest film (either as an actor or a director) I want him to say he wouldn't be where he is if it wasn't for his mother. I'm serious, I want the kudos. Especially that first one, then after that he can still mention me but then he can add like my mother and step dad, his uncle and maybe even his dad. ;o) But I want that first one all to myself. We've already had this talk and he's agreed to it. lol

My son. My pride. My joy. My love. I knew going into this whole mother thing 13 years ago that I'd love my son (we knew he was a boy right away) but I have to admit that I was still very unprepared for the intensity of that love, for the depth and all encompassing love that I have for him. There is literally nothing I wouldn't do for him, I'd die for him if I had to. I am the proverbial mama bear when it comes to him and while I know he's not perfect, just don't let me hear anybody else say he's not perfect. The most amazing thing has been to watch him grow, to go from one stage to the next, to see him learn all the things I was afraid he wouldn't or make that worried that he wouldn't. We all worry about our kids, us mum's, it's just what we do. My mum still worries about me, she even worries about me crossing a street as if I was 7 years old again. @@ lol It's a mother's prerogative to worry like that, I get that now. I watch my son with awe as he goes now from being a boy to being a young man, he's taller than me now, his voice has mostly changed (he shocked all his friends when he went back to school and his voice was so deep and different) and he's just man-shaped and hairy! lol We've got the zit's on the run thanks to his dad and he's figuring out what sort of style statement he wants to make. He's not a baby anymore. I have a hard time with that sometimes, not always but just once in a while I want my baby back. That bouncy, giggly, happy 4 month old who told me stories in his baby babble and laughed and laughed when I'd ask him to tell me more. But then that's offset by him being able to wipe his own butt and him being able to make most of his own food when he's gotta have a snack and especially in the mornings on my day off when he can and does get himself up, showered, dressed and fed for school! I'm so very proud of him, he's always been mature but it was this summer that he showed me that I can honestly count on him. When, back in June, I hurt my back real bad at work, I was dependent on him for a lot of things, like walking. That boy never fussed about having to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to help me, he never rolled his eyes at what I needed from him, he was there 24/7 and for that he'll never, ever know how incredibly proud of him I am. It's good to know I can count on my kid to do what's right, what needs to be done. He loves me. I'm his momma. He's never really called me mommy, he's always called me momma. Not so much now, unless he's being sweet which he does a lot, mostly now I'm mom which is fine, because that's what I am...PJ's mom. That's not all I am but it's what I am best.

I am not one to blow my own whistle, in fact it's always pissed off my mother how she sees me as unfair to myself I always am, how hard on myself I am, but I tell her I'm not, I'm just a realist. I'm honest about me. I don't do many things right, or well, or at all, but my kid? THAT I do well. I do that perfectly. I couldn't ask more of my son than what he is, he's a good kid, he's got a good head on his newly broad shoulders, a big heart and he mixes them both very well. He's intelligent, he's quick, he's funny as hell, he's talented and he dreams big dreams for himself that he vows to make come true. That's why I know someday he will be thanking me when he receives that Oscar, I know he will because he know's he will. He has absolutely no doubt in his entire body that he will be the next George Lucas, that he will accomplish exactly what he's set out to do since he was 6 years old. He works hard at it now, the planning for his shows and films, he's been writing them since he was 6 and he makes them better as he gets older and more talent. He's dreamed himself a damned huge dream but honest, if anyone can make a huge dream come true? My PJ can, and he will! Just you wait and see!