better to be lucky than good

i’m a momma’s girl. this is obvious to anyone who knows me, even slightly. i admire my mom for being the best person i know. she is a strong, smart woman, and i love her.

but something that i often fail to acknowledge is that there is something else to my momma. my momma is my best friend, but i am not hers. and i could not be happier about that.

because my daddy is my momma’s best friend.

my momma brings my dad and i together. she is the link that holds us together, because, until about two years ago, the two of us could have slipped away from each other without much effort. while this is extremely unpleasant, embarrassing and unflattering to think about, let alone put in writing… it’s true.

my daddy is a traveler. he was gone a lot when i was growing up, and sometimes it was difficult to adjust to his coming and going. he was home for lots of the important stuff. he was also gone for lots of the unimportant stuff that didn’t show up in pictures, but showed up in things like new freckles or scars.

so we fought because we didn’t know how to talk. about dishes, messy rooms, homework, taking care of the dog. anything there was to fight about, we did. with passion.

and i never understood why he didn’t get me. why i didn’t get him.

my brother said things would change when i moved to college. “something will click,” he said. “and you will get each other.”

i wouldn’t say it was a “click.” there was no “a-ha” moment, but things. little things that have ended up being some of my favorite things about my relationship with my dad.

there was the ruined, un-refundable prom dress that he replaced with one that cost nearly three times as much.

there was the move from michigan state to home to grcc to columbia, and all of the financial tuition changes he has yet to complain about.

“dad, do you want to watch a movie?” “yeah, what do you want to watch?” “batman.” “okay.” (repeat 1-3x per month or visit home (whichever comes first) in the last three years)

all the fleetwood mac roadtrips.

pounds of blue gill for dinner.

it was these, and so many other, little things… these things that made me realize that i may be a momma’s girl, but i am my dad’s daughter.

independent. almost always to a fault.

smart as a whip. it’s the kidneys.

can’t whistle worth shit.

funny (mostly to self, sometimes to others)

kind.

unlikely to acknowledge personal accomplishments.

passionate, sometimes to a fault.

loyal.

strong work ethic.

the older i get, the more i appreciate the things we share. the less i compare our relationship to other father-daughter relationships or the relationship he shares with my mom, the more i appreciate him. all of the oil changes, all of the phone calls, all of the times he’s saved me.

happy as i am that our relationship is stronger than it has ever been, i am even happier that his relationship with my momma is, too.

how lucky we are to love and be loved by each other. 

today is for my momma

i think that mommas are the best human beings on the planet. while i am unfamiliar with exactly what it takes to be one, i know that a baby screaming for no reason makes me want to shoot myself in the face. i can’t imagine having one of those for a very long time (like, your whole life).

my momma is my best friend. my momma is my safe place. my momma is the smartest lady i know. she can make non-box macaroni and cheese from memory, and she’ll leave the onions out. she can weed a whole garden in overalls and make it look cool. my mom reads instead of watching tv; it drives me nuts, but she is the only person i know who can do that.

my momma encourages my expensive nail polish addiction, even when we already have that color (or its sister). my momma holds me when i’m happy, and sad, and all of the in-betweens. my momma decorates the bathroom for christmas because she knows i like it. my momma can crochet anything your momma can crochet, only better and faster. i bet you.

my momma lets me scream at her. she listens to me yell. i’ve said things to my momma that i’m not very proud of. she’s caught me doing things i probably shouldn’t have done. she’s paid my parking tickets, given me an alibi, and told me to “just buy the shoes.”

my momma is a listener, unless she’s playing bejeweled. my momma can read my mind, even from across the lake. she also looks mighty fine in a blazer. my momma shows up in bits and pieces of my day, even when we haven’t spoken in a few days. my momma is funny.

my momma helps me decide what is important, what can wait, and what to forget all together.

my momma helps me decide who is important, who can wait, and who to forget all together.

my momma is my very best friend.

sea of love

it was 80 degrees a little over a week ago. for one quick, sunny day it was 80 degrees.

i woke up around 6 a.m. two friday mornings ago, and i couldn’t get back to sleep. the sun was shining, and i woke up extremely happy. it was one of those mornings you just want to roll around in bed, messing everything up until it becomes a nest you can't get yourself out of.

i spent what seemed like hours on a stuffed, delayed red line. i was sweaty and a little hazy. i could smell red wine from the night before in my sweat. every time the train doors opened, the entire train seemed to exhale in relief.

it’s so funny how people react to weather. when it’s cold, we want it hot. but the second it warms up enough to make us sweat, we’re begging like babies for a 50 degree day.

i came home to a sleeping apartment. i like being the only person awake in my apartment. with open windows, the whole place smelled like spring.

when lara woke up, we decided to spend the day walking around. it was nice enough for short sleeves with pants.

she dragged me into GNC, which is one of my least favorite places. the (only) best part about GNC is the arnold schwarzenegger protein powder. it’s going to pahmp you up.

there was a blind man in the check out line in front of us. he turned and asked us for help signing his receipt because the cashier was on the phone. i walked up to him and helped him put pen to paper.

“you have such a bright spirit,” he said. who doesn’t love to hear that? especially from someone who has no idea what i look like on the outside. he can’t see the hair that i styled or the eyelashes i painted with mascara for five minutes this morning.

the next things he said, i don’t exactly remember. but the thing i do remember is that he said, “in order to love other people, you must first love yourself.”

now, lots of people have said that to me. i get it. well, i don’t exactly get it, but i get where they’re coming from. they have context. they know me. they read the blog. blah, blah, blah.

but who is this random stranger telling me to love myself?

i keep my religious and spiritual feelings to myself because they are mine to have. i wouldn’t say i am religious in a traditional sense, and my yoga practice has a lot of influence on the way i think about spirituality.

but it feels a little like someone meant for me to help that man in that GNC on the best day (weather wise) of the year.

especially considering that i decided to give up dating for lent.

usually every year, i give up sweets (because i love fruity gummies) and then i challenge myself to do something every day to make me better. one year i gave a sincere compliment to at least one person a day, another year i made sure to smile at anyone i made eye contact with, and last year i told myself once nice thing about me every day.

this year, i gave up dating.

which made lots of people laugh, but i wasn’t really sure why.

i think that i have come to a time where i am actually, honestly, truly okay with being myself. …and being by myself.

internet, it only took me nine months to get here.

and so, on easter eve, to celebrate 40 days of self-induced singledom, we drank, and we danced, and we ate pancakes.

at a gay bar. surrounded by dancing bunnies and drag queens. it wasn’t exactly the morning i thought i would spend in church, but i left the club feeling so full of love and happiness.

side note: the club that we went to seemed to be very popular with the hispanic gay community. the dj spoke only in spanish, the drag queens spoke only in spanish, they played only spanish music, and we had no idea what was going on the entire time.

but we danced, and we hugged, and we laughed just the same. just the same.