Trying

Today my life was filled with people:

• Trying too hard.
• Not trying hard enough.
• Trying to understand.
• Trying my patience.
• Trying to fit in.
• Trying to be right.
• Trying to make a point (sometimes several points at once).
"For us, there is only trying. The rest is not our business." (T.S. Eliot)
• Trying to smile (it's hard when you're only 8 weeks old).
• Trying not to cry.
• Trying to figure a way out.
• Trying not to say what was really on their minds.
• Trying to stay warm (ah....May in Idaho)
• Trying to get it right.
• Trying to get it done
• Trying to convince me to go along.
• Trying to believe.
• Trying to find a way.

I am not a child now.
I can take care of myself.
I mustn't let them down now-
Mustn't let them see me cry.
I'm fine.
I'm fine.
I'm too tired to listen.
I'm too old to believe:
All these childish stories.
There is no such thing as faith,
And trust,
And pixie dust.
I try,
But it's so hard to believe.
I try,
But I can't see what you see.
I try.
I try.
I try.
My whole world is changing,
I don't know where to turn.
I can't leave you baby,
But I can't stay and watch the sitting burn;
Watch it burn.
'Cause I try,
But it's so hard to believe!
I try,
But I can't see where you see.
I try.
I try.
I try and try,
To understand,
The distance in between:
The love I feel,
The things I fear,
I dearly say good dream.
I can finally see it.
Now I have to believe:
All those precious stories.
All the world is made of faith,
And trust,
And pixie dust.
So I'll try,
'Cause I finally believe!
I'll try,
'Cause I see where you see!
I'll try.
I'll try!
I'll try!
I'll try-
To fly

Let's Hear It for the Boys

Yes, I have boys in my house.  Two very nice, very handsome, very witty boys (not counting my husband, for whom I look for "man" category placement opportunities rather than reasons to place him in the "boy" category).


Nevertheless, you would have been able to tell that I have boys even if I had not pointed it out. Why?

Well, just a few things. First, there's a half eaten layer cake (with sprinkles) in front of the television.

There's a bicycle under construction in the Family Room......

......right next to the drum set which is used to create some pretty eardrum-shattering, though impressive,  music.

There are large, smelly shoes in front of the door, snubbing their little shoe noses at the nice "shoe shelf" I bought for them to live in. Why sit on a shelf when you can be in the middle of the floor and trip everyone that comes through the front door?

My bed has been hijacked by a teenager wearing a hoodie and a set of headphones,eating pretzels out of the bag while texting on his cell phone and browsing for new "Fail Blog" videos.

And, of course, the floor has become the closet.

I'm probably in the Bad Mom category because I let this stuff happen without very much fussing or stress. You have boys? You're gonna' have half-eaten cakes, bikes in the family room, and clothes on the floor. It's like having a puppy. You're gonna' get chewed up toilet paper rolls. It just comes with the territory.

But, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because even though I might get some mess and nonchalance about household aesthetics, I also get:

"Mom, I really like your hair. It looks good."

"Mom, do you want me to carry that for you?"

"Here, Mom, let me finish the dishes."

"Mom, you go first."

So, I just smile at the bike, the cake, and the clothes. Just like I smiled at the earthworms and the gifts of wilted dandelions 15 years ago. I don't get upset when I catch them drinking out of the milk container (as long as they're drinking the last of the milk). The noise doesn't bother me. The raucous amusement over bodily functions doesn't offend me.

Because, you know. They're boys. And boys are great.