I first started this blog as an outlet. As a stay at home mom with a newborn (Ben) I was in love, but I was bored. I needed something to stimulate me creatively. And I like to take pictures (d'uh!) But I also like to write. And I have not been doing much of that lately. So I am going to change that. I am going to write more. Mondays seem like a good day and I like myself some structure. So the first question is what to write about? Well, I do best writing about my crazy life, so here goes. Two things I have been thinking about lately are the weather and titles. Texas weather is something I may never get used to. It has not rained here in ages and I feel like I am going to burst. I just need it to rain really hard. I even had a dream last night that it rained and the backyard was a bit flooded and I felt RELIEF. How strange is that? I don't think I have ever had a dream about the weather before. And now I have allergies, which I have managed to stave off for almost four years. And about this time of year I start to dread the next five months when it is going to be hot and humid. It starts to feel like a prison sentence. And all I want is s slight breeze and the smell of water. The first time I went to a lake in Texas it was so warm it was like wading in pee. All I could think was, "You have GOT to be kidding me". We have decided to spend three weeks in Berkeley this summer house sitting for Camille and Jason and I will be so grateful to get out of the Texas heat for a little respite. I think I will go to Ocean Beach in SF and wear a sweater. THAT is what summer is all about.
And what is my aversion to the missus thing? When people call me Mrs. Liebster I look for Josh's mom. When they call me Mrs. Berry, I look for mine. I just cannot get used to being called anything other than Bonnie and the word missus make me feel like I am in an E.M. Forester novel. What ever happened to Ms? Seems pretty non existent here. It makes me feel old. And I begin to wonder why I still feel like a kid surrounded by others mom who are even younger than me. Why they seem older, more put together, more like 'real' adults. My friend Tara says she thinks we start to feel like adults when we stop expecting others to take care of us. I think of this often and wonder if it is the case for me. Is that why I feel perpetually young? Am I expecting someone else to be responsible for me? Sometimes I think yes and sometimes I think no. And I wonder if I will ever really feel like and adult. Maybe when I have grandchildren.