Mothers

For years I couldn't take my wife seriously. I am an admitted jerk, a selfish lout, a slow learner. I didn't take Mo seriously (and by this I mean I could not see past my own problems and what have you) until shortly after she began labour with little e. That's when I saw Mo anew. That's also when my perspective on female genitalia was permanently and irrevocably altered.

When this typing started I was at the office, contemplating the various depressing turns this one file of mine may take (all of which involve the application of fangs to my posterior) and then, moments later, on the phone with Mo. I've been trying to score an updated and custom blog template (?) for her for mom's day but the only person I've tried so far doesn't "do" blogspot. As such, I worked the weekend chore list, while e and Mo enjoyed a sunny Saturday in town, in lieu of said interblog makeover occurring anytime soon (consider this my RFP). She's heard back from a contractor who says he will make a proposal to us while we are wondering if we should send a lowball offer on a pleasant and fairly updated farmhouse nearby and I was on the realty website looking for open houses to attend this weekend and am imagining the temporal complexity involved in the construction of the house boasting the following features: Immaculate & renovated Art Deco style 1590's home. (with dungeon?) and I am thinking - how did I get so lucky?

(It's two days later and I am trying to pop out this post lauding my wife who is a mother before mother's day is over. Relating to me today appears to have been rather trying. I feel like I may be testing the limits of my good fortune.)

I have tried to piss this life away, people (or person, as the stats indicate), and worked at it harder than many. I have difficulty dealing with my nuclear (Chernobyl) family (that is a grotesque overstatement... it should read "Love Canal") and people in general. People are weird. They have needs. Their needs aren't mine, they even may impinge on mine, and that is undesireable. I feel lost at times, or insincere, confused if what I want is what I want or just what I think someone else wants from me. My mind, as the song goes (sort of) is often looking for stones to throw. Thankfully, amidst the timeless "what about me" populating my brain, I have the gift of the present with my lovely daughter, and the lady who brought her to me.

Notwithstanding my wife's deplorable taste in men (or, man), she is a stellar person, a brave lady, caring and kind, sensible and fun. This year marks 16 years together- when did we get so old? Mo hung out with me during the last gasp of my promising youth, she raised no small hell with me when I was an Arthur Lee wannabe, and, most heavily of all, she has stuck by me as I descend into bourgeois pigdom. She has held me together, been unafraid to call me on my bullshit (which as you may appreciate is a full-time occupation), and has loved me when I would not. She has given me our daughter (insert suitable comment re: high quality and lengthy duration of this gift). I love her. I can't say it enough (and I probably don't).