I am at a complete loss in terms of formulating a coherent post. Complete. Loss.

Mostly, I have these random thoughts flutter through my head and I think about writing them down, but I’ve got a baby in one arm, prepping dinner with the other hand while playing a last minute game of hide and seek with a four year old.

By the time I sit down to write… poof…. inspiration gone.

I was going to write a post about choices.

I’ve noticed something about the way people view choice. Whether it’s the mommy wars or religion, people invest heavily in their choices, and, of course, it should be that way. A choice is a reflection of priorities, values and beliefs, so it makes sense that one would cling to them fiercely.

Still, I wonder why people make tearing down the “other” an integral part of their choice making process. I find that a lot of people think that the rightness of their choice depends heavily on the diminishment of someone else who has chosen differently. I feel like a lot of times that’s completely inappropriate and just adds unnecessary negativity into the mix. Plus, just because someone else might be wrong, it doesn’t make you any more right. Leave them alone. Live your life.

Then, I was going to write about competition. Now that I have two kids, I notice myself comparing them, a lot. I’m careful, of course, not to value one set of behaviors over another. A few weeks ago, I was watching a mother purposely referee an eating match between her kids. What’s the point of that? I grew up like that, and I think I spent so much time competing with my brother that I missed out on a lot of years where we could have just been friends. I believe that sibling rivalry is a nurture issue. I think siblings want to get along. In the end, I think some parents force siblings to compete… and for what? Love? That’s just, well, awful.

Love is not a prize to be won. It’s a gift.

I also have to post photos of my baby. I will do this in the very, very near future. Just know that he’s cute. So very cute. And sweet.

Does anyone watch True Blood? Sookie Stackhouse gets on my nerves. What is it with chicks who fall in love with vampires that makes me want to punch them in the face? I think it’s because they symbolize all the women out there who knowingly make bad choices when they know it’s all going to end badly. I just want to grab them by the shoulders and say, “You know better… you know that you know better… I don’t care if he’s 140 years old and could write my Master’s thesis because he was actually there… he’s a vampire. Hello.”

I love snackiepoo. I really, really do. You know how people walk around quoting Saturday Night Live? I don’t have TV, so I walk around quoting her. “Somebody in this room is upset and it’s the pretty one.” Genius.

How do you tell your brown skinned daughter that there’s something off about her wanting to be Snow White for Halloween? You don’t. You just suck it up and remember when you were her age, you wanted to be Snow White and distinctly remember your parents making a joke about it to you. And you realize how lucky your daughter is that you’re her mom.

So, these are the things I’ve been meaning to write about, but haven’t.

Life is incredibly good.

That is all.

How are YOU?

Every queen starts out as a princess.

Some princesses live in castles full of light and music.

They are loved by everyone.

They learn to sing and dance.

They’re told that they’re lovely and sweet.

They’re adored by their wise father and their kind mother.

They take these seeds of beauty and let them grow into gardens full of love and hope.

Other princesses live in dark shadowed fortresses.

They wander through rooms feeling trapped and lonely.

They learn that nobody cares about what they want.

They’re told that they’re selfish and thoughtless.

They’re ignored by the people that should love them.

They swallow the pain of rejection and let it grow inside until it can’t help but spill out.

Every queen starts out as a princess.

But every princess chooses what kind of queen she’s going to become.

It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and wrong.  If I thought you didn’t know the difference, we wouldn’t be friends in the first place.  I will tell you the truth, though, when I think you’re ready to hear it.  But know that you can tell me anything and I will still love you the same. Which is a lot.

I promise.

When you’re sad, I’ll make little jokes in an effort to make you laugh.  I do this because I want you to remember what it feels like to laugh from your gut… the way you did when you were a kid, before you knew that life could be messy and painful and often devastatingly complicated.  I’m not being flippant in an effort to dismiss you or your pain when I make these jokes.

I promise.

I will believe you when you tell me who you are.  I’ll be honest with you about who I am.  No matter how much we change over time, as long as we are honest with one another about that, we’ll always be friends.

I promise.

You don’t have to tell me anything.  You can tell me everything.  Whatever you decide, it’s fine.  I cherish your need to share, I respect your need to withhold. 

I promise.

I’ll keep your secrets.  If you aren’t telling everyone about this, I know there’s a good reason for that.  I won’t tell a soul.  OK, maybe I might tell my baby if it’s a really good secret.  But, he can’t talk, yet, so your secret is still safe.

I promise.

I’ll tell you interesting little facts about the world, how it works and all of the things I’ve learned so far.  I don’t do this to make myself feel smart, I do it so that we can have interesting conversations and feel like we’re intrepid explorers of this stunning planet, of this amazing life and of all of the deep, meaningful moments that we’re living.

I promise.

I’ll try my very best not to let you mistake my need to be perfect for actual perfection.  When I make a mistake, if I feel like I’m not enough, if I feel sad or angry, I’ll tell you.  I will tell you so that you can feel like we’re both stumbling blindly into uncharted territory.  Even though it’s incredibly difficult for me, I will let you see me when I am weak.

I promise.

I’m busy, but I can make time for you.  You’re not bothering me.  Call me.  Come over.  Ask for the favor.  Yes, even if you want me to help you paint.

I promise.

Sometimes, I’ll look beyond your brave smile to the wounded heart inside, and I won’t tell you what I see if you don’t want me to tell you.  But, in my heart, I’ll cry with you.

I promise.

Other times, I’ll see beyond the serious facade, the one that is desperately trying to push back frivolous laughter and I’ll give you one of those knowing smiles that lets you know that this laughter lives in me, as well.  Because I know that being the only one giggling is almost as upsetting as being the only one who isn’t.  I will always giggle with you. 

I promise.

When I look at you, I will look with eyes that really see you.  I will see your heart.  I will see your soul.  And you will always look beautiful to me.

I promise.

You will never be alone.

Ever.

I promise.