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We’ve all had this moment: OMG, I’m the adult!

20 things that happen every minute

Ducks have crazy penises. Probably NSFW.

The Honest Spam:

I am an empath. If you do not know what that is, don’t feel bad. I didn’t know for many years what was “wrong” with me. I only knew that I was more sensitive to the emotional and physical pains of others than most people. So sensitive, in fact, that I could actually feel what they were going through, and by gosh, it hurt. It hurt a lot.Especially when a family member was the one hurting. Sometimes, they try to remain emotionless and aloof while I hurt to my very core for them. It really isn’t fun  knowing, experiencing what another feels. I would prefer to be apathetic, if I were afforded that choice. But, as it stands, I go through my life echoing the silent sobs of others.

Tonight, I sit with my heart aching because someone I love has been hurt. This is a big one. Bigger than all the previous hurts of the past year. Being played, being used, being considered the second (to a dead guy) choice have hurt him before in this relationship. But this time, this hurt is going to take a long time to heal. But, he will heal and he’ll go on with his life. She, on the other hand will miss sharing life’s joys with him and will still be pining for a dead guy.

So, tonight, I feel for him. And tomorrow, we’ll both be better and the next day will be even better and less painful and soon he will be happy again with someone else who appreciates him for the fine man he is and not simply for the material things he can provide.

Lessons learned.

I had every intention to send out Christmas cards this year. One of my graphic designer friends helped me create a card I thought was fun & captured exactly what I had in mind perfectly. The printer I work with offered all of his customers free printing for cards, and there was no way I was going to turn that down! And, well, 25 just feels like the right age to start sending Christmas cards.

I designed & ordered my cards early, texted/facebooked/whitepage.comed my entire list to collect all of the addresses I needed, wrote personal notes inside, bought the stamps, addressed the envelopes, and failed to actually put them in the mailbox.

So now, when I actually do send them out on Christmas Eve and you get them sometime in 2010, just keep in mind that by “Merry Christmas” I actually meant “Happy New Year” and by “Happy Holidays” I meant “Happy Holidays (including Male Watcher’s Day, Ditch New Year’s Resolution Day, and National Popcorn Day” (All of which fall in January).

In the fabulousness that is Bones there is a psychologist, Sweets, who in one episode is referred to as a baby duck.  He spends a lot of his time not so subtly pointing out the attraction between Booth and Bones.  Ok there title explained, if you still don’t get it then well you need to watch more tv.

At times my RL Bestie has been my own personal baby duck when it comes to my friendship/relationship situation with IT-Guy.  Although I do believe I was told to not refer to her as a baby duck and so will not do so ever again.  MOVING ON.

My feelings toward IT-Guy are clear.  I love him and will never ever jeopordize our friendship by ever persuing anything beyond friendship with him. Ever.

As it turns out Mohawk has an IT-Guy. Altho she’s a girl and not in the IT field. So basically what I’m saying is Mohawk has a female friend whom he has tried to take to a more than friend place and it has backfired. Currently he and this friend are not on speaking terms, but it took IT-Guy and I a year to get to a re-building the friendship place so I told Mohawk to be patient, the friendship could still return.  But I’m wondering if its just the friendship he wants. 

I’m wondering if he’s just biding his time with me until she comes around and then its buh-byies Katja and hello female-i’ve-yet-to-nickname-because-really-is-she-important-enough-to-get-a-nickname-on-my-blog?

And then I feel like a hypocrite because maybe I’m doing the same thing.  Only I’m not because I know I can’t ever date IT-Guy again.  But that doesn’t mean that the feeling isn’t there.  Which when it comes down to it is the same thing whether or not I’d actually do it.

And then I’m back to the ‘well do I even like him enough to be worried about this to this degree’ question.  And I talked to IT-Guy about it at our last monday margarita session and he advised I not over think it. (HA! A- has he met me and B- hypocrite) He suggests that I don’t HAVE to know exactly how I feel at this exact moment. That I can just be in the moment and see what happens (HA! see A & B from previous HA!). 

Basically its just going around and around in my head. 

Ahh dating is fun…if by fun you mean torture.

http://scrambledmegsntoast.xanga.com/718740658/adulthood-youve-lied-to-me-for-the-last-time/

A few of you who read this are not yet 18, and in order to avoid the feelings of betrayal and confusion that will arise soon after your 18th birthday, I wish to share a revelation.

18 is not a magical birthday.

I really thought that something important would happen. September 9, 2009 was supposed to be a milestone, except it has been followed by 104 days of realization that at least when I was 17 the bus only cost 50 cents. In my residence hall at school, people keep an eye on me. The RAs, ARs, and Rector all exist for no other reason than to watch me. ME! Megan! I could live at home and be forbidden from having boys and alcohol in my room. Kaitlyn, you’re like three years older than me, how did you develop the subtle interrogation methods employed only by my step-mother in such a short time?

Now I come home from school and as I left on Saturday evening, what to my wondering ears did I hear?

“Where are you headed, hon?”

My dad is under the mistaken impression that merely calling me “hon” will turn his prying into loving parental involvement. An attorney, a man who is supposed to be familiar with the state code–including age of majority laws–should know better.

“I am going to meet up with some shady characters and commit wanton acts of thievery and vice, daddy, as I have decided to test the adult criminal justice system.”

A cool dad would play along. You know, like all those dads on sitcoms. “OK, sweetheart, do you need any money?” But this man is not cool. As I walked out the door, he only called out “Megan Kendall, where are you going?” We have gone from “hon” to my Christian name in less than ten seconds. Mind you that he is not as concerned with where I am going as he is with establishing a conversation that will allow him to tell me when to return. Twenty minutes later, when we reached that point of the negotiations, he declared that midnight was acceptable.

Now I had no real reason to be out any later than midnight on Saturday. We were just going to Bellevue Square and it closes at nine, so at best we would run out of things to do by 11:00. However, I am a girl of principle and I WILL NOT BE DICTATED TO BY PETTY TYRANTS NOR HELD HOSTAGE TO THE WHIMS OF TERRORISTS. I just spent most of the day at Mary’s baptism and other baptism-related affairs and that girl slept through it all. The United States Constitution guarantees me the right to have a gun and I don’t even use that one so I dang sure am not forfeiting the one that guarantees me the right to walk the streets with my head held high at 12:05 in the AM.

“So, midnight it is. Have fun. Do you need any money?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Turning 18 means nothing.

Sunset in Lincoln City

It’s hard to be true to yourself, especially when you seem to dance to the beat of your own drum. 

But isn’t that what makes life worth while, knowing that we are all different in our likes, dislikes, quirks and life experiences? 

We’ve all heard the terms POD People, Followers, and Stepford Wives.  They sound obnoxious and we swear that we will never be like those mindless clones, yet it seems that even those most opposed to “following” find a point in their life where they stop to asses what is around them and find that they gave up on all the things that used to make them unique and they have in fact become One of Them.

This traumatic realization could be chalked up to finally breaching the gap into adulthood.  But who ever said that being an adult meant that you had to give up on your dreams?  Or worse, give up on yourself?  The answer is: No one.

Life in every stage is about growth and development wrapped up in a pretty little bow known as balance.  It seems logical that for the vast majority of us, when we reach “adulthood” we will put aside the trendy and fashionably bright clothes with blaring insignias and trade them in for the patented black suite.  This is a normal transition, but it doesn’t mean that becoming an adult means casting aside who you are.  Accessorize!  Wear earrings that showcase your spunk, or a bright colored shirt that emphasizes your mood.  You may not be able to have pink streaks in your hair but no one ever said you couldn’t wear flaming pink underwear and have it be your dirty little secret for the day!

Another transitional period I am familiar with is becoming a new mother.  Becoming a mother doesn’t mean that life for you will cease to exist.  It means embracing a new side of your personality, one that is nurturing and kind.  Many new Mothers struggle with their identity.  Who am I now that I have this child?  What does life mean now that I am responsible for another life?  You hold those answers.  Being a mother is part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you.  Granted, being a mother is a wonderful thing, but it’s not without challenges.  It’s not without hard days.  And without taking time for you, it is all too easy to forget who you are.  Take the time to offer thanks for you blessings and get that babysitter once a month, once a week, what ever works for you, so that you have time to reconnect with yourself and find a center that will give you strength to be the best mother you can be.

I think of some of life’s most defining moments, losing a job, starting a new job, finishing school, going back to school, getting married, starting a family.  The majority of our life revolves around other people.  If you can’t like yourself, or if you don’t know who you are, then how can others see the potential within you?  How can you become the person you are meant to be?

I can honestly say that life is anything but boring.  Even I fall prey to days where I lose sight of myself.  Be it that I am conditioned by society to hate my body because I am overweight (sad, but true), or that I simply feel uncomfortable when a man looks at me like I am something to look at (old habits die hard, even though I logically know my self worth, some times it’s hard to see), or even that I allowed someone to take my power away from me and there for I have given them permission to make me feel like crap (no one can make me feel any way unless I give them the power to).  The obstacles that life throws at me definitely keep my on my toes.  But like I said before, it’s all about balance.

There will always be tough days.  There will always be someone waiting to cut you down to their size.  When the negativity of life is beating at your door, the best tool you can have to sift through it all is to know who you truly are. 

The New Year is a time where many vow to create a new me!  This year, instead of creating a new you, why not discover you.  Take the time to find out who you are in every stage of life and embrace that person.  If you find that you don’t like the person looking back at you from the mirror, then take the time to change that.  You are the only person who can.  I’m not necessarily talking about physical things.  Plastic surgery, diets and self discipline can change just about anyone into a new physical shell.  I’m talking about the passion, the integrity and the secret wishes that reside deep within you, in your soul.  When you go to bed at night can you honestly say you have a life worth living?  It all starts with you.

Great week, I suppose. Have been residing in Brixton since the weekend, looking after Dean’s cat while he spends the festive season in Thailand. It was a favour I agreed to do for him a long time ago, before I had a job and knew I would be moving to Waterloo this week. Living with a cat in Brixton is OK – the cat’s lovely to come home to and cuddle in the evenings – unfortunately I haven’t had much time to spend settling into my real home in Waterloo. I only moved there a week ago, and the few days that I spent there were probably the nicest of my life. Brixton in comparison is rather like Holloway, even though it’s on the other side of London. Luckily I love cats, and Dean’s flat is actually very nice. He’s one of my closest friends in AA (we came into recovery at around the same time) and I’m happy to do him the favour.

The work situation seems to have improved dramatically since this time last week. At the time, following my big administrative error, I was so convinced that I was going to lose my job that I told myself if I managed to survive the disaster, I could survive anything. Still having a job a week later has led me to the conclusion, finally, that I’m probably not going to be sacked. Therefore it has been slightly easier to go in every day and do my job whilst feeling relatively OK in myself. I thought maybe some wages would be deducted as punishment for what happened last week, but it turns out I’m going to get paid a lot more than I thought I would this month. I didn’t really think things could turn around, but they almost certainly have.

Tonight saw the office Christmas party that I’ve been dreading for weeks take place. It started at 4pm and I went down at 4.30, when I couldn’t put off joining the fun any longer. For the first few hours I stood around awkwardly, nibbling on cold vol au vents and watching my colleagues try to get drunk. Then someone got a Wii and TV screen out and we started to compete at Wii tennis. The atmosphere picked up immediately. Melanie drunkenly encouraged me to “Mingle! Mingle! Mingle!” and I did my best, though I have always detested the idea of mingling – I just don’t know how people do it. Somehow I spoke to a few people in the company that I’d never met before; miraculously it started to feel like a proper party. Later on there was karaoke, and although the standard of singing was generally terrible, I think I actually enjoyed it. Everyone laughed, danced and sang along with the classic Christmas tunes. When I looked at my watch and saw that I’d lasted four hours at the party, I was frankly shocked and amazed. I did it! I stayed at an office party and socialized properly, without running away or drinking!

Now that I’ve been to my first ever office Christmas party I guess I’m a proper grown up. I think the real problem was my fear of ‘normal’ people. For so long I’ve only hung out with gay alcoholics, I suppose I’ve ghettoized myself. Which I never intended to do. For years I’ve scoffed at the idea of office parties, thinking they’re not my kind of thing. Maybe getting drunk and snogging colleagues in the stationery cupboard isn’t my kind of thing, but socializing has to be my thing. I know how socially anorexic I can be, and that has to stop. I need to make friends in this job, and the only way to do it is to hang out with the people there. Many of them I might never have chosen to hang out with in the real world, but these are the people I have to see every day. Speaking to them tonight was really good. I didn’t entirely shake off the fear that I was being judged for not having an alcoholic drink in my hand. At times I felt the old glass bubble surround me, as the belief that I’m different, weird, unlikeable began to take over in the quieter moments. It took a lot of effort to enjoy tonight. In recovery I’ve discovered, time and time again, that effort always pays off. Especially when it’s something I don’t think I want to do!

you haven’t lived
until you’ve been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody
snoring
at once
and some of those
snores
so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable-
dark
snotty
gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell
itself.

your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like
sounds

and the
intermingling
odors:
hard
unwashed socks
pissed and
shitted
underwear

and over it all
slowly circulating
air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage
cans.

and those
bodies
in the dark

fat and
thin
and
bent

some
legless
armless

some
mindless

and worst of
all:
the total
absence of
hope

it shrouds
them
covers them
totally.

it’s not
bearable.

you get
up

go out
walk the
streets
up and
down
sidewalks

past buildings

around the
corner

and back
up
the same
street

thinking

those men
were all
children
once

what has happened
to
them?

and what has
happened
to
me?

it’s dark
and cold
out
here.

Charles Bukowski

First, a big thank you to those who have donated books, or forwarded my plight to others. While my class stands to benefit a *LOT* from these simple donations (developing literacy skills are the basis for virtually all learning in secondary subjects, like science and social studies), extra books can be given to other classrooms. My classroom is pretty needy, but there are hundreds just like it here in New Orleans. I’ll even take High School books…I can use the ol’ TFA network to get those books in a place where they will be most useful.

At any rate, I’ve been doing some reflecting on some of the mistakes I’ve made over my first semester. Perhaps the biggest was letting my students know exactly how old I am.

My kids couldn’t really figure me out that first week, and it drove them crazy. They barraged me with questions…Mr.Brown, are you married? How many kids you got? You ever been to jail? (I responded “Nope…None, and just once, when I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die). Perhaps the most popular after those was “Wait, how old are you?”

The guesses were all over the board. Some assumed that if you were an adult in a position of authority, you HAD to be at least 40 years old. Others (correctly) figured that I couldn’t possibly be older than some of their cousins, so they guessed something in the mid 20s. A few thought I was still a high schooler.

In retrospect, I should have continued the charade that I was way older. I should have told them I was married, had already raised a kid, and if they were unconvinced, I could have channeled my inner Mike Gundy.

I'M A MAN!!! I'M 40!!!

As long as my girlfriend never visited my classroom, (Hi Mrs.Brown! wait…what?!?!) I *might* have gotten away with it.

How on earth did my students think I looked over 30? I can't even buy fireworks without getting ID'ed

But alas, I thought the truth would set us free…so I told them I was 22 (also, I clearly look a lot closer to 17 than I do 27). My students quickly determined that they don’t need to listen to me, and all hell broke loose. I tried using a more booming voice, wearing a tie, making references to events that happened before 1998…but nothing was working. I couldn’t convince my class that I had the…experience…to be a real adult.

That is where my next Christmas gift comes in. I need….a Mustache.

Think about it. Who is most likely to grow a mustache? Cops…people who rely on their ability to project authority. Nobody trusted Rabbit in Super Troopers…he looked like he was 19. Why? He didn’t have a mustache. Why is Burt Reynolds such a Man’s Man? Its gotta be the ’stache. Rollie Finger’s facial hair is perhaps the biggest reason why he is in the hall of fame.

But me? Despite being far from baby-faced (I grow a 5 o’clock shadow at around 11 AM), I cannot grow a mustache to save my life. I look far closer to Adam Morrison than Tom Selleck. That doesn’t inspire trust, it makes me look like I’m 14 again. It would be a catastrophe.

Your girlfriend called Adam. She won't go to the prom with you until you shave that damn thing.

My TFA life and mustaches actually go back a way. True story, when I worked as an Operations coordinator, me and my co-worker somehow (don’t ask me why, we were never able to figure this out) decided it would be a good idea to don outlandish fake mustaches during CM registration day. When hundreds of fresh TFA recruits poured in, I risked my professional life, donned a Ron Burgundy-esqe ’stache, and signed people in.

This is me at the 2008 Phoenix Institute. I bet my students would listen to this guy.

For reasons that I will never understand, the Phoenix Institute Staff thought this was hysterical. They allowed me to keep a highly irreverent spirit to Institute, and wrote me a glowing recommendation to join the corps. With my less-than-stellar GPA, it is quite possible that without donning my ’stache, I would have never been able to join the corps.

But alas, bringing this to my classroom seems an impossible pipe dream without some MEDs (Mustache-Enhancing Drugs), or a little Christmas magic.

I’ve got another mini-job, and every time I manage to locate yet another sad little role in corporate London, I can’t help but remember that my life’s ambition is to ahem ahem ahem teach ungrateful adolescents wild tales of community studies at a university in the middle of nowhere while maintaining my own happy plot of land and bla bla bla bla bla…

Time to break out the suit. Again.

Oh, and, the Oyster Card.

I’m sitting in Wake Up Coffee Co. – run by a guy who Drew mentored way back when…

This place is fantastic.

I know 8 of the 18 people who are in here right now. 3 of them are girls that I mentored wayyyy back when I first lived here. One of those girls is pregnant. Married. Grown up.

Such a difference from life back at seminary. Unless we were on campus, we probably wouldn’t run into anyone we know. But not here. People are everywhere. They know us. And there’s lots of squealing and neck-hugging when we see each other.

& I can’t believe it.

These three and a half years have flown by. In some ways, everything is different. In some ways, everything is the same…

& I’m sitting here wondering if I’m different or the same.

For My Daughter

Slow down just a little

Don’t wish time away in the rush to make life move faster

You have so much ahead of you to learn and discover yet.

Before my eyes, you grew into your own person

With opinions, beliefs, convictions

And the presence to voice them

Strong, solid, sure-footed, you face the world head-on

And your fearlessness makes me so proud.

While I would wish to protect you from the pain of life’s disappointments,

It is not possible, or even right.

You will face your challenges as a woman who knows her worth

But when I look at you, I can still see the precious baby,

the precocious little girl, the gangly teenager.

So while you push ahead hurrying the future,

I wish for time to slow, to savor each still frame

And hold you close just a little longer.

Humor me, give me time to revel in today

Because tomorrow will rush by all too swiftly.

Please, slow down just a little and give me today.

Knowing that tomorrow you will take my love with you as you go.

Cheers to anyone who can enjoy the Christmas season without a little anxiety.

Every Christmas I feel a little anxiety, but not caused from current, real-time dilemmas or holiday stress. I traced my feelings to their beginnings and ended up in my youth, somewhere between age 8 and 12.  I call it kid-worries, youthful uneasiness or anxiety lite because kids do not have much to fret about at Christmas compared to adults, unless they have not been good.  And I got a lump of coal in my stocking for Christmas once (although I did receive some gifts that year), so I know how that feels.

Let me try to explain what I mean by kid-worries.  Growing up, I have great memories of anticipating Christmas.  There were four main kid adventures to Christmas prep:  setting up the tree and hanging ornaments, decorating outside, setting up the train set, and gift wrapping.  Each was its own kid-tradition with various feats that you had to grow into in order to accomplish. The older you got, the more you could take part.

Christmas at our house was the moist, burning lint, slightly potpourri-fragrant smell of the game room in winter with our baseboard electric heaters drying mittens and shoes; the static shocks of touching everything metal; watching holiday cartoon specials; secretively planning gifts; John Denver and Kenny Rogers eight-tracks and festive radio favorites on the stereo as we decorated; the sight of everything changing.  Christmas was a transformation, a real production at our house.

So I have tried to examine why the kid-worries come back this time of year, and I am naming the source as music, more specifically, Christmas carols.  Not just any carols, but what I call adult-themed carols (not that kind of adult theme) which bring up images that concern a kid. 

For me, there are three types of carols:  religious carols (“Silent Night”, “O Come Emmanuel”), kid-friendly carols (“Jingle Bells”, “Frosty the Snowman”) and adult-themed carols (“Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire…”). Kid carols were easy to learn and relate to; they were fun, fantastic and helped reinforce the magic of the season.  Religious carols had a deeper meaning that Christians could relate to; they reminded us that Christmas was about preparation for the miracle of the birth of Jesus.  Adult carols were somewhat familiar, but somewhat inscrutable as far as lyrics went; they had titles that kids understood, but lyrics that could also worry a kid.

Maybe I was an oddball, but I paid attention to carol lyrics. I think it was because I felt like they were a puzzle piece to understanding what Christmas would be like for me when I was grown-up, like I needed to know the carols for later in life to understand the significance of what was going on.

Adult carols are troublesome to kids because they hint that the holidays, which are fun and all about presents and play as a kid, get more complicated when you are grown up. I always knew I would grow up, go to college and be on my own; I trusted that growing up would be fun and not produce anxiety.  But how does a kid resolve these issues brought up in Christmas lyrics?

Let me give you four examples. “Let It Snow” is a romantic carol about being with a significant other at Christmas. Kids do not relate well to this. This brings up insecurities like how to reconcile being with a girlfriend and your family at the same time, and how would you choose between them? “White Christmas” has the line ‘just like the ones I used to know’. As a kid I remember thinking, ‘you mean there might be Christmases (with regularity) that are not white (I grew up in Pennsylvania)?’ If so, what kind of Christmas is that (welcome to Florida) and why would I have to put up with it? In “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas“, we hear “troubles will be far away”, but this only sounds like a temporary escape. Why do I need Christmas as an escape from daily grown-up life? Or “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”…‘you can count on me’. This carol seems to send the message that it takes quite an effort to get home to visit for the holidays. Why would that ever be the case?

It is not hard to see why kids could get the wrong idea about Christmas from the adult perspective. From these songs a kid could catch the Peter Pan syndrome and think:  what kind of world is the grown-up world where everything is turned upside-down, and what can I do to avoid it? Why would I want a life without white Christmases, where I have to fight to get home for the holidays, have to decide whether I spend it with my girlfriend or my family, and use Christmas as a break from my troubles? A kid cannot help but think, with sincerity: what will I have in my future life to equip me to cope with the adult world and compensate me for this wrecked tradition and unfortunate, imminent reality?

Christmas as an adult is complicated because it is not a single, solitary life anymore living the ideal Christmas fantasy. Instead, a kid’s life becomes an adult’s who is also a fiancée, a spouse and or a father or mother, where playing in the snow gives way to slogging off to work. It is too easy to get caught up in providing a memorable Christmas for others that it becomes a time of stress about how to afford Christmas, plan for travel, cook and bake ,and be mindful of Jesus as the genesis of the season.

It is easy, even as a kid, to get overwhelmed with the complexity of Christmas, both on the logistical day-to-day, and emotional levels. We must remember kids pick up on this; they can see when adults fake it. Kids need to understand that not everything is merry, and the complexity can be understood, discussed and accepted, and not buried.

As a fairly new parent I want to challenge myself, when the time comes, with reframing Christmas from the adult perspective for my child in a way that celebrates adulthood at Christmas, not frustrates it. I want to convey the magic that adults get to share in, the things to look forward to, and how my understanding as a Catholic has grown over the years to help me appreciate the mystery behind my religious roots and the meaning of Christmas.

Being a grown-up at Christmas is not a bad thing. There are days when I wonder how I got here, and I definitely am still looking for the manual that lead me to believe I could handle adulthood the way the Christmas carols depicted it. I think the key is to have a part of you that still a little boy, still believes in Santa and never grows up. And there is nothing wrong with going to bed wishing for a snow day either.

Merry Christmas to all of our blogging buddies!  May your holiday be joyous and your new year bright and if they aren’t you can get a laugh from us here: http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/glFHtPNZtVsixGCBFfEp

I do enjoy children’s books.   And at this moment I would like to share some parts from my favorite: Peter Pan

I enjoy this book because it talks to the reader.  It bluntly states ideas or themes that present almost universal events.

Innocence

All children, except one, grow up [...] You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.

At some point in everyone’s life this is true.  Physically, you don’t really have any choice in the matter but to grow up.  In most societies, you can’t stay naive and young forever.  With growth comes responsibility.  In this case, Mrs. Darling was commenting on how darling Wendy looked playing at the age of two and Mrs. Darling commented:

Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever.

I don’t think you can put an age on it though, the exact time you find out.  I was discussing innocence with Michael J Morris outside of a rehearsal when I had to stand on stage for about 20 seconds and portray an air of innocence or insecurity.  I’m not sure if we figured out which one it was supposed to be, but that isn’t the point of the story.  He told me that he never really knew if he ever had or lost innocence.   I can’t remember it quite well enough.  And maybe for him it started at the age of two or sometime before he can consciously remember so it never hit as hard.  I think mine was later because I can remember being naive till much later in life.

Two by Two:

This is the section that produced this idea to blog about Peter Pan.  If you go back to Homo sapiens sapiens homo it connects to that as well.  The part where I should get rid of the idea that a partner is a necessity. About Mrs. Darling:

She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there is was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss. [...]
Mr. Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him.

But I would also like to add from the script in the 2003 movie version:

Mrs. Darling: There are many different kinds of bravery. There`s the bravery of thinking of others before one`s self. Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams.

Michael: Where did he put them?

Mrs. Darling: He put them in a drawer. And sometimes, late at night, we take them out and admire them. But it gets harder and harder to close the drawer… He does. And that is why he is brave

It is about choosing someone and making it work.  Mrs. Darling chose ingenuity because of necessity.  Though he was not the one that was to receive all of her.  And Mr. Darling chose the beauty because he would need her, in all her gifts and talent.

There is something about secrets as you get older.  Not so much secrets, but things you must hide.  Much like societal ways in Anna Karenina.

This is social backing to the negative connotations of being the “always a bridesmaid never a bride.”  Why was I asked at my own graduation dinner was there “going to be a guest” accompanying me as well [like my brother].  Actually it was much worse in the sense that they would ask “is a girl coming over for dinner.”  Or the first thing to come out of my Aunt’s boyfriend, the first time I met him, “So you got a girlfriend?  You’re handsome, how do you keep them off of you?”  Why are there so many people who go from person to person

At work:

He went through the sub-line.  As he passed the cashier, he wrote his name and phone number on the back of a slip and told an employee to pass it along to Cory.  That wouldn’t fly with me.  Cory was my straight man.

Not that I had to stop anything as Cory was straight, but that didn’t stop me from giving him death stares as he proceeded to get a job and work on the same shift that the original incident occurred on.  I think he caught on the Cory liked boys because I asked him to scrape trays and he turned around, looked me in the eyes and said, “I’ll do it if you go out to dinner with me.”

It wasn’t like the time at Giant Eagle where some guy EYE RAPED the shit out of me and instantly made a sharp pain in my stomach causing me to double over in the middle of the aisle.  It was an attempt like that, however I was in power so I gave him a piece of my mind, and I only recall seeing him one or two more times before I found out he quit.

Needless to say as well, I found out he started dating a ginger almost immediately after that.

An Open Ended Question:

The ending chapter is much like the beginning.  Mrs. Darling rushed to the window to try to stop the children from leaving.  She appeared frightened and worried.  But the last chapter has Wendy grown-up with her own child flying out of the window:

“Goodbye,” said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.

Wendy rushed to the window.

“No, no,” she cried.

“It is just for spring-cleaning time,” Jane said, “he wants me always to do his spring-cleaning.”

“If only I could go with you,” Wendy sighed.

“You see you can’t fly,” said Jane.

Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together.

Going back to the beginning.  Mrs. Darling knew about Peter, and her kiss was reserved for him.  She took the proper approach to let Wendy go with him; children need to have their own adventures so they know they need to come home.  The last sentence in the block quotes states “let them.”  It is about a mother knowing and being able to control her children but choosing not to.  Wendy actually wants to go too, but is it to protect or on her own accord?

When you were first born, not an hour old, I told Marmee…  Beth is mine- little women

-EPF

Today I will be leaving this:

For this:

So while my supervisor–who has been making loud declarations about how he misses snow–will be getting his wish, I will be frolicking and basking in the sun and the warmth…HOORAY!!!

Will I have to worry that the stairs in front of my apartment are salted before it ices over? NO! (Well not that I usually do because I have the most angelic neighbors…but the point is that I won’t even have to consider worrying about it)

Will I have to worry about grabbing BOTH of my gloves while rushing out the door? NO!

Will I have to complain about hat hair every day I go into work! NO!

God I love Christmas in the South