The Clock is Ticking

And they are both of them naked, the man and his wife, and they are not ashamed of themselves.
~Genesis 2:25 (Young's Literal Translation)

I'm feeling shy and silly and quiet. And giddy. Ever so freakin' giddy.

I never feel this way. I'm the boss at work. Supervisory and in charge. I make decisions, I'm the go-to girl. And then, I get home, where I live with a 7year old fuzzy-haired non-leader. So, I make the decisions there, dinner, bills, shopping. I even have control of the remote, though that may have more to do with having opposable thumbs than because I rule.

In short, I'm a very independent 21st century woman, who does not need a man and can certainly function both literally and figuratively on my own. I've done it for so long now I hardly need to think about it. It just is who I am.

But that's not who I want to be.

For all my stubbornness regarding being an independent woman, there's a part of me that just wants to be Donna Reed. Or June Cleever. With a little Scarlett O'Hara mixed in for good measure.

I want...this...































Which feels like it flies in the face of who I have made myself out to be. But we all know there's a "work us" and a "home us."

It's just that for some reason (or maybe because of someone), I'm feeling more like not stifling that quiet and shy part of me that just wants to be taken care of and, of all things, let a man do it.

I wanna be a girl...and just a girl. Be all Tammy Wynette and stand by my man.

I'm probably one of the few people of my generation (okay, relatively few) who will vow to "love, honor, and obey" when I marry my future husband. I don't think my obedience to my husband eliminates my brain or makes me less than an equal. The man is the head of the household, spiritually at the very least. And I want it to be that way.

But I do want to have my life away from the house. My work life. So...balance.

The Bible reference. Goes back to the idea that Adam and Eve were not capable of hiding from each other. They were naked before the other, literally and figuratively, and were unashamed by this. It wasn't until sin was introduced that either felt like there might be something to hide from the other. Which is sad, because it's made humans as a whole untrusting of others.

And I don't want to be that way. I would prefer to be "naked and unashamed" with my partner/spouse. There should be no fear of him finding something out about me, or vice versa.

Yeah. I wanna be June Cleever. Ward would be a worthy partner. I'd even take Wally and Beaver. However, I'd prefer that Eddie Haskell just stayed home.

It's been bizarro the last few weeks. Things happening, trying to make sense of things. So, this is sort of an update post, but more a chance for me to meander....no, mosey. I like that word better. *grin*

We've started a weight loss challenge at work. An old friend of mine, P, was a personal trainer in another life and volunteered to be the person yelling at me when I detour from the straight and narrow of diet and exercise. He was rather mean the first day (before I'd actually started), and we've only actually met once since then because of previous engagements. But that one day I'd made progress--down by 4 lbs. I'm still steadily dropping so that's good.

On that note, I'm down by 10 pounds from where I was 3 weeks ago. I'm like, totally flabbergasted. Seriously. I'm not sick and I'm not starving myself. I'm not dreaming about food and eating a head of iceberg lettuce so that something's in my stomach.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my outlook on life lately.

I've got to learn to be less pessimistic. Not that I'm horribly so, I don't think, but I know that I am too often.

I talked once about my dad and "wonderful, wonderful" (I'll find that link later.). You know, the basic idea is that my dad is never just "fine" when you ask how he is. He's always "ginger peachy" or "wonderful, wonderful." Of all the people in my life, he's probably the most consistently positive person that I know. It's really pretty awesome, and I hope to be just like him one day.

Anyway, I was thinking about that post again. I reread it recently, and was thinking about how I'm always "pretty good" or just "fine." What a boring way to live.

Then, a few weeks ago, I read an article in a parenting magazine about raising joy-filled kids (to which I cannot find a link. If I do, I'll share it.). I came to two realizations. First, I do an amazing job with The WonderDog. All those little things they suggest to raise a child (um, dog) who is joyful are the things I do for him. One thing stood out, to me and I've been pondering it for weeks.

Get caught up in "wow" moments. Of course, what the writer was suggesting was that you allow yourself to get caught up in your child's wow moments, even if you don't think they're particularly "wow." It'll make them feel good that you think the things that spark them are exciting too. I do this with The WonderDog. He is completely wowed by frogs, lizards, and the sprinklers here at our apartment complex. So, we take time to go play with them. We've been on frog hunts more than one evening, actually managed to catch our quarry even.

But, I got to thinking, positive people let themselves get caught up in wow moments. Negative or pessimistic people do not. I rarely let myself get carried away with wow things. I always tell myself I don't have time. Lately, though, I've been on the look out for them, in the back of my mind. I let myself be taken over with the sheer joy of just something pretty or word play or whatever.

I told The Man about this over lunch in New Orleans a week ago. I'm sure he thought I was nutty--I was going nutty over the sauce on the hot wings at Pat O'Brien's. It was AMAZING. I can still taste it. I think I actually moaned at one point. After one look from him that had tones of "what the hell is going on over there?" in it, I felt I'd better tell him that I'm restructuring my outlook.

So, I explained. I explained that I'm tired of not absolutely loving my life. Okay, so there are aspects of it I'm not ever going to like (like being alone), but that doesn't mean I shouldn't let myself be happy and excited about all the wonderful things in it.

And so, I'm trying. This last week was rough. Very rough. But, it was made easier by allowing The WonderDog to lead on our walks, so I could see what captured him. You can't tell me dogs don't have imaginations. He's all over the place when we walk. And just like a child, he plays with the thin air. There's a story line going on in his head that he gets caught up in. When he gets caught playing with the characters, he gets this sheepish look on his face. I can tell he's a little embarassed that he got caught fighting with imaginary foes, but he'd really rather get back to the fun.

While it wouldn't be strictly appropriate for me to get caught up in the story with him (how exactly would I explain that should someone ask what I'm doing?), that doesn't mean I can't allow myself to get caught up in a day dream now and again.

Yesterday, I skipped out on church. I should've gone, I know I should've. I needed some quiet, though. Needed to be still, and I wouldn't have done that going to church. So, I spent some extra time on the couch, and when it had warmed a little, I moved outside. I took a book, my old favorite To Kill a Mockingbird. The WonderDog alternated between the sunny spot on the patio and my lap. I sipped tea, first iced tea, then chamomile. I just loved the day. A little lizard sunned himself on the rail and didn't care that I was staring at him, or that I held up The WonderDog to see him.

There were no big wows yesterday, but there were some little ones. Like The WonderDog just sniffing the lizard and not freakin' completely out because OMG MOM THERE'S A LIZARD, THERE'S A LIZARD!!!! Or, dozing off a little in the sun. And the fact that my complex, which is NEVER silent during the day, was peaceful and quiet all day long.

It was a good day. I came in just after sunset and settled in with a cup of cocoa and my needlepoint. The small dog snuggled in under the afghan, effectively becoming my personal space heater. We watched our shows, then migrated to the bed.

All in all, it was pretty wonderful. Wonderful.

Might've been ginger peachy, too.

Okay, a few weeks ago, I wrote about my clock and a case of the "I want ones."

Well, they passed. Quickly, in fact. Well, they started fading before I wrote that post, and were pretty much gone by the end of the day after hitting the publish button.

I've always wavered about wanting children. Well, wanting my own children. I've gone from naming my future babies to shying away from babies in general--related or not. I've thought about adopting older kids--which is certainly something to consider if that's what God has in store for me and my one-day husband. But I've never imagined myself pregnant, giving birth (though I do know that if that ever happens, I am not one of those women who want a natural birth. Give me drugs, in quantity, please.). I've never looked at my friends who have new babies and wanted that part.

Babies don't scare me, any more than older children scare me (now, adults, they scare me). I've babysat, kept my friends kids, and goo-gooed and gah-gahed with the best of them. I've just never felt that pull for longer than a little while.

I'm perfectly happy being Aunt Jayne and would be the most devoted of step-mothers if that's how things happen. I know a couple of kids I'd love to be wicked step-mother to. In that "love you to bits, miss you all the time, saw this and thought about you, can't wait to have you home with us again" kind of wicked.

But is my clock still ticking? Well, yes. But not for kids. It's more about getting on with life.