Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve listened for any meaning in my music. Showtunes will sometimes have that effect on me – their meanings are usually so simply stated in your face that you don’t have to dig at all.
Dan found my lost iPod in his most recent cleaning bout, and I took it running with me last night. I just hit “shuffle songs” and took off, vowing not to mess with the songs it gave me and to take what I got. It gave me…a lot to think about. I’ve put the most meaningful snippets at the end of the post. Some of it made me roll my eyes when it started playing…only to surprise me with stating exactly how I felt. And that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? I mean, if you can’t find the meaning of life in Clay Aiken lyrics then WHERE CAN YOU?
Believe me, as bad as I’ve been,
now you’re in for a pleasant surprise
I’ve wasted time
I’ve wasted me
So say I’m slow for my age
A late bloomer, Okay, I agree
That I’ve been one rotten kid
Some son, some pride and some joy
But I’ll get over these lousin’ up
Messin’ up, screwin’ up times
You’ll see, Ma, now comes the better part
Someone’s gonna make good
Cross his stupid heart
And I’m gonna make you,
Finally make you
Proud of your boy…
How I wish I could surrender my soul;
Shed the clothes that become my skin;
See the liar that burns within my needing.
How I wish I’d chosen darkness from cold.
How I wish I had screamed out loud,
Instead I’ve found no meaning.
I guess it’s time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,
All pleasure’s the same, it just keeps me from trouble.
Pride can stand a thousand trials
The strong will never fall
But watching stars without you my soul cried…
Also, on a completely separate note,
after three years of life,
Ava Thomas Marsh finally got a haircut.
Five whole years.
I always pictured myself as a mother. Always. What I never expected was that each year would surprise me so. When you were tiny, a blue bundle with your milky breath and your gaping rooty mouth, it seemed like you would never be big. I realized last night as I looked into your marbley blue eyes, it seems like you were never little.
The first night of your life you spent away from me. Your dad and I slept in the hospital room I’d been put in, and you stayed in the nursery. The nurses would bring you to me now and then to be fed, and then they’d take you away again. Except once they didn’t. I sat, half-upright and in huge pain, as you curled yourself into a ball in the crook of my arm. I was afraid to move, afraid to wake you, afraid I’d drop you. You stretched, yawned, and then started to choke. I eventually woke your dad by throwing a bottle of water at his head, and after you were gone I sat and sobbed. I was no good at this mother thing already, I was failing the first night.
But you survived. You read books, you sing, you talk, you press computer buttons and make Mario jump like you were never a tiny wad of blue blankets, a little slikyhaired toddler with white nubuck Easter shoes and a sailboat sweater, or a pale little body in an ambulance. You don’t stop. You’ve gone to theatre camp this week, and you’ve loved it. You’ve loved not being confined to a chair or a classroom and being able to move and talk.
That’s what I want for your life.
I never want you to feel supressed, trapped, or held down. It would be a disservice. I want you to move, to sing, to be all that you think you just might want to try being. You are absolutely you, and you want everyone to know that they are the best at being just who they are. Your heart is so full of love, and you are so full of life. I never thought I would be so lucky to know someone like you, much less be their mother.
Happy birthday, man. I’m prouder of you than you will ever know. One of the claims to fame I will always have, no matter what happens, is that I’m Max Marsh’s mom.