Love be not proud

So I have posted 100 entries.

Each entry is a birth.  Each time I sit to compose I am writing something that needs to be released.

I have written about love, loss and the sad perplexing state of being in between.  I have written about children and parents and what it means to be both.  I have catalogued popping pills and swilling alcohol.  I have disparaged and praised.

It is no small feat... sitting here, trying to compose something worth reading.  I might want to spill salacious neighborhood details or air dirty private laundry.. . when you write, nothing is sacred.  It takes a certain amount of restraint to keep from dishing on love lives and abandoned conquests.

This weekend, I felt my place.  I went to a BBQ in Bethesda... for those not familiar with the DC area think Westchester to New York... the houses were grandiose and the cars were elegant.  I thought of myriad stories to tell... I gauged social rapport, I took note, I watched with rapture... I am a different breed.    I wore Anthropologie when others donned Cavalli.  I was happy with the keg beer, while others clamored for Grey Goose.  I hold a degree from a state university.  A B.A.  I could not match wits with those with doctorates from Ivy League schools.

Yet.  Yet, we were all humbled, equalized by the love we had for children.

Family.  We are beholden.  Whether scarred or blessed, each has their story to tell.  This weekend, I watched as my children ran round with others who came from much more gentrified backgrounds than ours.  They didn't pause to ask what each other did or where they came from or who were their parents.  They were kids... running wild, having fun.  Do you remember what that was like?

They are color blind, oblivious to wealth or the lack there of... give a child a ball, a bit of grass and a few contemporaries and you have a game to watch.

I wish I could say I had as much verve.  I felt inferior.  I felt less than attractive.  i felt inadequate.  No one uttered a word that wouldve made me feel such a way... I went there on my own.

I celebrated my sister-in-law's earning of a PH.D today.  I joked with relatives about how Tim and I were the stupid ones in the family since we were the only ones without advance degrees.  I was only half joking.

Life is hard.  Families are harder.  The best chance we have is to stand tall and take it on the chin.  I've weathered my storms and taken my hits.  I have more character than a shakespearan play.

I ache for the lessons my children will have to learn.  I shudder contemplating their losses.  I yearn to shelter them from the ugliness which inevitably ensues.

I've rambled... too much wine, too little forethought... well.  I part with this.... if only I had wings to shelter them from the blows, if only I could stand in their stead and take the fall, if only I could give them life's rich pageant... if I could shower them with knowledge and power.... if only.

I may not have a PH. D or live in Bethesda... I may not aspire to such an address or distinction.  I love my children unequivcoably.

Ah well.  What more could you ask for?