Monday, February 27, 2012

That's Three Times One Hundred!

By accident I realized this was my 300th entry. Cue the confetti and junk! I'm not going to take the bait and write a commemorative entry though-- I contemplated making a 300-item list of things I love, which I suppose is just so me I could puke, but I can't be here all day repeating myself. Instead I'll just acknowledge the arbitrary milestone and move on (keeping in mind that even when I think I haven't been writing, there's evidence that I was at least writing something about nothing. Hundreds of times).

Anyway, to prolong my legacy of prolific insubstantiality, here was my takeaway from the weekend.

I always watch the Academy Awards, though I rarely see the films in contention until years after, if ever. I love movies, I just get to them at my own pace. Maybe I make a point to watch the Oscars because I want a toehold on cultural relevance or like to gawk at pretty dresses (my faves of the night being Viola Davis, Penelope Cruz and, so help me, Gwyneth Paltrow), whatever, I just always watch them even though for all the Chris Rock, Emma Stone and Jim Rash moments, they are dumb and disappointing. I don't actually want to talk about the Oscars themselves right now though, just about how they served as the catalyst for the mini parental revelation I made halfway through, which is when I remembered how last year a then-10-month old HR was having a bad night and was up every hour so I missed just about everything. This was when I didn't see how we'd ever get him to go to sleep on his own, and  I had that hopeless feeling like, things would never get any better. And I heard the show totally sucked and I don't even remember or care which films were nominated, but at the time I was seriously disgruntled.

And then there I was last night, watching the show like the queen of the world while I took for granted that he'd sleep, at least through the broadcast. It was a personal high-five mama moment, like, look how far we've come with our lives and what seemed so dang important at one time was not even a consideration now. And then he woke up, inconsolable, just when they got to the big awards and I had to hear about them from Mike.

But I don't feel diminished in our progress and the positive side of time passages. Because though it drove home to me that even when my son is 50--and I hope I'm still around in a non-vegetable way, but even then--I will not have a damn thing truly figured out in regard to parenting. We just do our best, and deal with whatever happens. Can't fight it, just enjoy the good stuff and jettison the rest. Hell, maybe HR was just born with an internal distaste for awards show and is working to steer me away from the parade of self-importance.

The other thing I learned this weekend is that Ronnie James Dio may be dead, but he is alive and well in my wheelhouse in Rock Band. Add "metal singer" to my list of careers to fall back on.

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