My brain is wild tonight. This isn’t bad, it’s a good thing.
The music is up and I’m dancing but the shades are drawn and its within the safety of my own bedroom.
Because I still have standards and neighbors to avoid scarring. But it’s happening. The thing I never thought I’d say, much less type.
I’ve become more comfortable with the weight of steel toed shoes on my feet and dirty jeans than I knew.
It took me high stepping it in my beat up old tennies through the grocery store, leaving a dust trail in my wake for this fact to come to light.
Duck ambles at a safe distance behind me, lest he get covered in the schmutz blow back and carefully hiding his amusement, but I can feel it.
He’s still being cautious after last week’s Xbox debut. Smart kid.
I’m okay with that.
I’m coming home every day looking like I took a bath in dust and dirt, with a generous dollop of orange rust contrast. You know, to break up the monochromatic look I’m rocking.
It does accentuate my red hair nicely in a totally garish, screamy, hey look at me, I’m a wreck walking kind of way.
I’m okay with that too.
I’m fairly confident in the knowledge of my carrying more bruises, bumps, and blisters than freckles at the moment.
But this doesn’t bother me overly, shorts season is almost done anyway and sexy is all in the mind.
I’ve downsized 4 pants sizes, I haven’t had a soda or any…okay, not many, sweets in longer than I can recall.
Yep. Definitely okay with all of the above.
My hair is shaggy, long, and in desperate need of a haircut. And at the end of the day, hangs in frizzled but flat corkscrews around my head, making me bear a striking resemblance to all things…yuck.
That, okay now that does need to be remedied. But not yet.
Duck is proud of his Mom. While I am cognizant that it may be his way of sucking up, I don’t think it is.
Well not completely.
He seems to think I’m some kind of badass, the way I tromp through stores he’d just as soon not be in, boldly look cashiers right in the eyeball and say,”I have a coupon for that.”
Though not necessarily in those words.
I’ve tried to explain it to him, namely that I’m not a badass or some kind of weird Mom superhero, but he’s not listening.
Yeah, I’m nothing of the sort.
What he’s really proud of is my newfound happiness and my renewed sense of direction and purpose. Even if that means I have more time for creative discipline for him.
These are the things that shine so clearly from me now, that I can’t help but see them and so can he.
And I’m okay with that.