ahhh.... kimmy, kimmy, kim...

sigh. a rose by any other name... click on her cover of Where Soul Meets Body. The story is the guy from Death Cab heard this cover [it got copied to an mp3 player and passed along to him over lunch months ago] and had the biggest compliment for Rose involving losing his current honey for the girl who sang like that. ...

i've got my moodier mix on. the one i haven't listened to in months because i haven't had time to be in my own space with my own music with my own self because i've been too busy out takin' care of other people and their more immediate needs.

poor KimmyK just celebrated forty years of this cockeyed existence and she gets eaily confused: "I do have a question though Yorlor, explain watching the "3 YEAR OLD" to me. Whose 3 year old is this? Yours?"

kimmy, kimmy, kim .... i have no children of my own in the sense that there are no children in my house who wake up at two am and call out "mom" waiting for yours truly to answer them, or let them into bed when they show up drippy nosed and furrow browed about the boogie man or a missing teddy bear. [although when i write that part of me wishes i did].

i watch other people's kids. the 3 year old and the 5 year old are brothers. i worked with the 5 year old when he wasn't even two at a day care and when the 3 year old became a reality, i nannied that family for almost a year. i left to do the one year nursing program which i managed to F*#$ up, and am back watching the 3 year old roughly once a week for part of the day. it keeps me happy, connected and in love with moments like these, brought only to you by a 3 year old boy:
"buddy! time for lunch! come on down!" child arrives at table without his pants [not shocking as he has just gone to the bathroom and is known for kicking off the pants in the process]. what Yorlor doesn't catch on to is that the child has also left behind his skivvies, which brings us to the highlight of our entire week as Yorlor brings sliced apples to the table to compliment some rediculously wholesome lunch she has prepared. "where is your underwear and why are you touching your penis at the lunch table, buddy?"

HA!

i swear. my life couldn't get much better if i tried.

and i work with kids at the pool, where i teach them not to drown. i teach group classes, and private lessons. parents have called me at night to tell me that their children prayed for me at bedtime. they show off in the bathtub and insist that i get a full report at lessons. they wake up every morning and ask "is it swimming day?" one child, while making cookies at home with mom, thoughtfully desired to bring me some and then realized "but mom, she lives in the pool! she can't eat cookies in the pool!"

and so these kids are mine.

as are my nieces, and old neighbor's kids, and my baby cousins and my friend's kids and your kids, one day.

they just are.

i'll get mine. one day. whether they come out of my body or just cling to it.

they'll pad their tiny feet down the hallway and up to the bedside, picking which body they want to cuddle up to, which will likely be me, because i am a giant sucker with a capital stick up my ass. "momma? can i come sweep wif you? i'm code. [or skayered. or i don't feel so dood.]" and i will dutifully flap the heavy cover back over my hip to reveal the pocket of cuddly warm goodness that child longs for. he or she, or both of them, will crawl in and settle their wiggly little buns up against my belly and their hair will likely tickle my nose as i inhale the perfume of their innocent little head into my memory. "Lordisa, let them remember these moments when they need me and i can't be there." eventually they'll fall asleep and we may wake up in seperate beds again, but in that moment ...

oh dear, oh me , oh my...

i've confused you again, haven't i, dear?

i am single.

i have no children who call me mom [on purpose].

i am not a cat owning lesbian.

[i am watching friend's dog while she is over seas for the summer.]

i'm going to bed.