i wish i was nightcrawler
january 26th, 2001

I'm sorry. I can't wait until December. December is *way* too long to wait for 
this movie. Look here, and here, and here. It isn't fair, that there are still 
eleven more months left before I can see this movie! Yargh! It's alright. 
Alestar and I decided that all we need to do is sneak onto the set. She could 
get a job as the best boy grip, and I could be a hobbit extra. I'm short 
enough, and my feet are just about hairy enough to pass for one, I think. I 
mean, just look at those pictures. Who *wouldn't* want to be living there?

Hey, everyone's got to be a fanatic about something.

But, y'know, sometimes I get angry. It doesn't happen very often, and it 
usually takes a lot to set me off, but there are certain buttons you can push 
and I'm all ready to start cracking skulls. Especially if you're walking out 
of a grocery store in front of me, and your seven-year-old son is asking 
"please, please?" and instead of handling the situation like a mature adult, 
you start screaming at the boy, "Why don't you ask your father? He gets every 
bit of my friggin' paycheck anyway - let him buy you stuff!" And if this isn't 
enough to bristle my feathers, you could climb into a pick-up truck parked in 
the emergency lane, continuing to scream at this poor child, so loud that even 
though I've reached my car in the parking lot and am putting my groceries in 
my trunk, and your windows are rolled completely up, I can still hear the 
words you are screaming to this kid. And, you know, I fully accept that 
everyone can have a short fuse every once in a while, and sometimes we make 
mistakes, but not only are you shouting at the top of your lungs at this kid 
for a full ten minutes at least, but you're also making him feel guilty as 
hell that his father is getting your money for whatever reason, that somehow 
he is the cause of all of your problems since you are taking all of it out on 
him, that you are totally destroying his sense of self-worth and 
self-assurance in one single afternoon.

At times like these, I just wish I was Nightcrawler.

I've just seen too many wonderful children totally ruined by their parents. 
Parents who were simply too cruel or too mean or too selfish to ever take into 
account their children's needs, wants, or desires. Parents who drown their 
children in abuse on every single possible level. Children who were fiery, 
feisty, full of spirit and curiosity beaten down to a monotone, automatic 
machine. Children who were never really wanted, who were barely even loved, 
who were resented and loathed from the moment they were brought into the 
world. I've seen too many separated parents pulling their children in two 
between them, badmouthing the other and making the children feel horrible and 
little and worthless, and totally confused because someone they love is saying 
mean, horrible things about someone else they love just as much. And I just 
don't understand it.

Nobody's perfect. Everybody's going to make mistakes. You're going to say 
things to your kids you wish you hadn't said. You're going to make decisions 
that don't turn out for the best. That's life - you live it the best you can. 
But as long as you are consciously trying *not* to make those mistakes, as 
long as you give your children attention and affection and love, as long as 
you watch what you say to them and around them - then you meet the basic needs 
of your child.

When you choose to have a child, ready or not, planned or not, you surrender 
your life. You don't surrender it completely - you still have to set aside a 
little time for yourself, and you can't put yourself in a miserable situation, 
because that isn't any better for the children. But your needs, your wants, 
and your desires are pinned to the bottom of your priority list, and those 
children are stapled quite firmly to the top. You bring yourself into focus. 
You get your life in order. You don't make the slightest decision about your 
life without meticulously examining what effect it will have on your child. 
They become your number one purpose. Not your only purpose, mind you - 
otherwise, you'll be suffering from some serious empty nest syndromes when 
they move on with their lives - but your main purpose, nonetheless.

I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy for thinking this way. If "normal" is defined by 
how many people are doing a certain thing, then I'm way outside of the norm. 
Maybe it's not good for me to love Ash as much as I do. Maybe I shouldn't sing 
to her in public and show her everything and tell her what everything is. 
Maybe I shouldn't tell her how beautiful and wonderful she is, encourage her 
to try new things, give her horsey-rides around the house, dance with her, or 
make her laugh. Maybe I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I do. Maybe the 
amount of attention and affection I lavish on her is unhealthy. Maybe I should 
be like so many other of the parents in the world and, at the best, take a 
mild interest in my child whenever the mood strikes me.

But I just *can't do that*. And anyway, I'm having too much fun. :)

And here's where I show off more recent pictures of my daughter:

Aisling builds with blocks.
The little drummer girl.
Ash at the piano.
What's in the box, Momma?
The TV...I've been hypnotized by the TV!

Enough of my gloating. Enough of my soapbox. I'm having tea tomorrow with two 
of the most fabulous people on the face of the planet. And I need to get to 
sleep.