Monday, November 28, 2011

This one is for Jason

Earlier today, I posted a link on my Facebook account to another blog: Parenting, with Crappy Pictures. The author had updated her status to "I can't do these dishes, I'm too busy drinking wine out of a mug and eating cold spaghetti with a spoon." Now. If you have kids, you are on the floor laughing right now. And if you don't, you should. Not to sound like your grandmother, but kids are great. Plus, an excellent excuse for wine in a mug and eating leftovers at the counter in your jammies.

(Many of my friends are saying to themselves "I have chosen not to have children, which I think is good and right.. but I still drink wine out of a mug in my jammies at the counter with a fistfull of left overs?! Am I a bad person?" No. No you're not. You're probably a better person than me, for not inflicting such behavior on children. But I, I have an excuse.)

In response to my Facebook post, one friend of mine, Mr Jason, said: "But what of YOU? We need a link to YOU so we can post it on our walls and tell others how we love YOU!"

Now, it always freaks me out a bit when people say stuff like this, because I just assume (being a mom) that no one is listening to a word I say. So, to have someone be so complimentary when I was under the impression I was yelling in to the abyss? A little weird. In a good way.

(Jason and his wife have already given their son the middle name Tiberius, which will endear them to me forever.)

This one little comment of Mr Jason's started a landslide of thoughts in my head. How long had it been since I posted to my blog? Who was reading it, anyway? WHY?!

All of this circled around to the following subject: Guys who are awesome influences on my teenage son. (Another benefit of having children: Large leaps of logic and continuity are not 'plot holes' they are 'mom brain.')

Mr Jason is certainly one of those people. Each summer, I yell at my eldest man child "Get your clothes on, we're going to a BBQ." and he replies "Is Jason going to be there?" After I confirm the presence of the all knowing Jason, the boy condescends to wear pants. Jason, you're my hero!

In addition, there's Mr Clow: (No need for sbuterfuge with names here, we call him Mr Clow.) Mr Clow is responsible for the donation of vast amounts of comic books and vampire detective stories. He's also, when in the midst of cooking a BBQ dinner for the entire town of Dover, willing to divide his attention and make my man child feel entirely grown up with a discussion of all things metaphysical, over an open flame. Plus, he makes mix CDs of Soul Coughing's greatest hits. Mr Clow, I salute you!

Mr Graham, also should be mentioned. My son does not 'do' sports. He also does not 'work.' Unless Mr Graham is involved. Then it's wiffle ball tournaments and cleaning the garage for Magic cards all over the place. Thanks, Mr Graham. sincerely.

There's a dozen or more names I could mention here, some female.. some new.. some related to me.. but my mug is empty and we're out of leftovers, so I'm going to go to bed with this note:

It takes a village to raise a child. If you're wise, you'll choose the village. If you're incredibly lucky, the villagers will choose you back.

1 comment:

Jason Santo said...

All levels of extreme flattery here, Hillary. I think, though, it's important to note that Mr. Clow, Mr. Graham and myself are all hugely thankful that you raised such a wonderful young man. Tris is the total bomb, and, in part, it was my relationship with him that made me think, "Hey... maybe I should raise my own little guy." That's still a complete experiment, but just because the science of raising children is as old as time, that doesn't mean we're not still attempting to figure out the best way to stay complete human beings while raising new ones. And yeah, sometimes we drink wine or beer, or both at the same time, and eat leftovers because that's just the way of things. Admitting it is what I credit to people. Saying, "Hey... Life isn't always a bowl of awesome sauce." People that don't admit it or commiserate, well... I don't have time for 'em. Honestly gets me every time, and imperfection is what we are. Beautifully, goofily imperfect. And funny. We can be funny as Hell, because when parenting gets rough, there's nothing to do but laugh.