He'll change

PSA: Last night Sam showed up for TV time with some sort of Fanta & vanilla ice cream concoction that I'm calling a Creamsicle Float. He presented it in two matching mugs, each with its own bendy straw & spoon, the better for optimum individual Creamsicle Float devouring. OMG, yum! Am I the only woman who goes all melty--me, not the drink--when her man brings her delicious treats out of the blue? We sipped & ate them merrily while reading skanky Harry Potter fanfic (me) and watching Psyche (him). Happiness.

Speaking of men, back to my intended topic: man-myths. Ish.

I was thinking about them last night when I came into our crowded bedroom to sleep in my crowded bed which currently features a) Sam, b) sleepybeautifulevil Wright, c) 12 inches of space for me. Did I mention that Violet now sleeps on on her toddler mattress on our floor? Yes, well, we are all struggling here at the 'rents. I finally gave up and decided that we would get through these last months in whatever way possible, and if that means that we all seek comfort from each other through shared sleep, so be it. If I were her, I wouldn't want to sleep in the office/bedroom that we call "Violet's room" either. Anyway, our current setup has something so comfy and time-honored about it. It's like we are giving echoey props to our homesteading forebears, for whom living in one room was a given, not a hardship. In our case, however, we will hopefully have a spacious dwelling of cookie-cutter stucco waiting on the other side of our synchronized snores.

But was talking about myths?

Right. Um, a well-documented man-myth, one that is the basis for many--dare I say most?--romantic stories is this: a worthy woman takes a bad man and, with her superior feminine wiles, turns him into a good one. Here's a similar one: a woman takes man who is bad on the outside and, maybe not outwardly turns him around, but at least turns him enough so that he is different and sweet when they are alone together. The "I see behind the veil, and I'm the luckiest woman ever" myth. We might scoff at these ideas as sorta silly, but nevertheless they are time-honored, powerful themes. Pay attention, and you will notice them in many, many of the stories that we see today in movies/TV/books, heck, even life. I admit that I am a HUGE sucker for them, considering that my absolute favorite type of hero is the bad-boy type. To take it even further, I might even say that I married a bad boy of sorts. :) (The other ones just made me yawn.)

Coming to bed last night with my precious Wright laying there taking up an unreasonable amount of space and looking like an angel, I was struck with the thought that Baby Wright and I are a classic man-myth. Because, let's face it, this kid is a complete terror during most of his waking hours. He is full swing into what I like to call The Witching Year, that horrific period between 18 - 30 months old when my children are just plain frustrating and un-fun to be around. He is adamantly scream-y and stubborn about every single little detail in his life. He has an unapologetic, rafter-shaking cry/scream that he whips out at the drop of the hat. I mean, no doubt he communicates efficiently, but in the most annoying way possible. I can't take him anywhere without becoming completely embarrassed, stressed out, and in general only nominally able to complete my errand. I walk out of any room he is in and it is like I died, based on his reaction. Also, I'm pretty sure my dad might not admit it, but he hates him (a clue: when he stomps around with shooting-range earmuffs...ya think?). Even my mom has expressed ample frustration at his constant running, screaming, throwing, and general disobedience.

But...I get this private, intimate little side of Baby Wright that no one else does...and I am IN LOVE. I mean, like, I have a huge crush on my child and want to gaze at him lovingly for hours. He is so perfectly formed, so beautiful. I adore his guileless gaze and golden curls. His puffy cheeks and block-y feet. Oh, I could go on and on. *sigh* When I hold him in my arms to nurse him and he is still and I can admire him, when I come upon him groggy and cuddly post-nap, I not only forgive him his awful behavior, I actually forget. I am just in awe of this...this being that I helped bring into the world and am charged with. I only focus on that. And, when reality comes crashing down, as it inevitably does, I hope. And I think...he'll change. :)