The Oscars

This is red in lieu of the red carpet. Genius? Definitely. Ironic? A little bit, because I could really give a rat's neither regions about the Oscars. I just love all the buzz people have to go with it; who's wearing what, who got snubbed, who looked like a mermaid...isn't there something more important to life than couture dresses and an actress's "baby bump"? My goodness. I live in Utah, for heaven's sakes...the HOME of the baby bump. Round here, baby bumps come by the million and really, it's all the same. Okay, minus the gowns and diamonds that totaled together would pay for a few countries to climb out of their impoverished holes. Now, don't get me wrong. I love babies. I can honestly say that. I love their smell and their coos and their little yawns and stretches. I can't say I always felt this way but after squeezing out my own little bumps, so to speak, I found that there really is something to all the baby hoopla. (In all honesty, my babies weren't bumps, they were mountains, and I was a force to be fanatically run from--not only because of my superior size, but also my "I'm hating everything and everyone", demeanor).
I am confused, however. My experience with motherhood was quite an awakening. I suddenly had this little person that controlled my entire existence. Every whim they had, I was at their beck and call...and little has changed as they have gotten older. If this would have been the way I was expected to act when I was married to Jeff--to give up everything, every extra second, just because he wanted to be held or fed or bathed or talked-to, I could claim being taken advantage of, possibly even abuse, if I counted all the sleeplessness, the guilt, the worry, the uncertainty. Yet, as a mother, it was expected. So what has this got to do with the Oscars? Yeah, I can see I've rambled, and things are probably fuzzy. I guess my point is, sometimes I am astounded at how EVERYTHING can become some sort of trend. Now it's babies. I guess in the broad spectrum of things there were worse ones: The low riders and G strings, how everything eighties was back that one summer, and my personal nemesis, the skinny jeans. Those are just plain evil--these thighs will never succumb. But again to my topic, babies are different.
My babies are the best people in my life. Sure, there are times when I would love to have some kind of conversation with an adult other than my husband, about something that makes me feel smart or sophisticated--I don't even hope for both anymore, one will do just fine. But during the day all the "I love you, Mom"s, or "You're a funny Mom"s, or even MOOOOOM!"s, bring me this huge piece of serenity because I know that no one can do whatever needs to be done, better. Over a week ago I was in SLC all day with Jess and Gabby and Jeff stayed home with the kids because they were sick. Jeff was supposed to come with me, but we decided it was more important for him to stay with Riley and Cole. I was gone from 7:30 am to 7:50 pm and after I got home, Cole came down to talk to me. Riley had already succumbed to her drug-induced stupor, but Cole fought it, and waited until he heard me. He came in with those big dark bags under his eyes, and said, "Mom, I waited for you all day. I had to give you a kiss and a hug goodnight, and tell you I love you. Now you say you love me." How could I say no to that? Suddenly all those days I wonder about the time I am possibly not putting to good use working or developing some kind of career, or going back to school to confirm what I have already come to guess--that I'm dumb as a rock, don't seem like any type of wrong-doing at all. I have all this guilt sometimes that my Riley and my Cole maybe miss out because I don't have a lot of worldliness to offer them, or money for things that kids want to do--like go to Disneyland and play on a soccer league. And I really wonder those days that it's just Cole and me and it seems like he is going to drive himself and me crazy as he waits for Riley to come home, because naturally, I'm boring. Yet, it was one day, one Saturday I wasn't there, and he missed me. He actually had to come down to tell me a few things about his day and just hug me, touch me, and let me know that he loves me. I get weepy thinking about it. I can't explain it, I'll never be able to put into words what my children do for me.
So I guess when I say I'm confused, it's that I don't know why Hollywood is so obsessed with babies right now. When I think Hollywood, I just don't think about a lot of people willing to put aside their figures, their careers, their lively hood, just for that one little person. Sure, it's new for a while, and then they can sell their "baby's first outing" pictures, and then they can bring the nanny in when, and let me use one of my favorite lines from Hot Fuzz, "This shit just got real." And true, too, they can offer their children every worldly prize that they could ever dream, and it would be of the highest quality.
I really hope I'm wrong. I really hope that there aren't any more of the Brittany Spears category of these new Celebrity parents because that's what concerns me. I'm sure her little boys have a lot of stuff. But they don't know that they are above and beyond anything money could buy. How could they know that? What will become of them? It seems like such a lonely and soulless world. I could go on forever, but for you, I won't. I will stop typing, and I will go upstairs, and I will check on my little ones. I will thank God that they are mine, and they are happy and healthy. I will be happy because they are everything to me, and I have a husband that encourages me to stay home with them...and doesn't mind that we will probably never have the luxuries that some lucky dogs do...i.e. a trophy wife, sans cellulite, and donning perfectly-globed breasts. There's just me, and my little girl, and my little boy, and my husband that's home by eight. Who needs the Oscars?