Thursday, June 14, 2012

You Know When You Read Something That Sort of Makes Sense, But Sort Of Sounds Like Someone Was Drinking When Writing?

I assume all of you have read the thrilling, yet heartfelt tale, "It's Not Easy Being A Bunny."  I  can't imagine this spellbinding book slipping by anyone, but if you haven't read it, run to the store to get it.

Stella currently requests this tale of P.J. Funnybunny no less than ten times a day...and tonight I figured out why. 

She might be a mere two years old, but she is wise beyond her years. 

The books starts with poor P.J. lamenting the trials and tribulations of being a bunny.  Too many carrots, too many siblings to contend with, and ears far too large for his frame.  You really feel his frustrations with his lot in life.

P.J. makes a bold, and partially psychotic choice to live his life as another animal in order to escape the torture that is his bunny existence. He tries to be a bear, but there is too much sleeping involved.  He lives with the birds, but alas he can not fly and this really jacks with a bird's life...unless you are an ostrich or a penguin, but P.J. didn't think to investigate the potential of living in extreme climates.  I truly believe he didn't research any of this. 

Frankly, P.J. sounds a bit lazy, particularly when he decides he can't be a beaver because they "work too hard."  Case in point, right?

Tonight though, as I was laughing at Stella's illogical fear of the drawing of the Moose, which never seems to get old to me because she is consistently afraid of all drawn moose, but not reindeer, (she's clearly a little disturbed,)  I realized that Stella thinks that I am P.J. Funnybunny!

This might confuse you, but it really does make sense. I am always lamenting that there are too many children for me to contend with, I feel thwarted in my potential success as a writer, a cook, a professional athlete of some sort, by my children (P.J.'s ears are just symbolism for my kids.)  I too often don't want to eat the pile of baby carrots I put on all of our plates multiple times a day, it gets old and frankly I should stop doing this. 

Stella clearly knows that I often think that if I could just escape some time from my kids I could focus on my writing and really try to do something with it.  If I could morph into someone that could be present most of the time, but balance that with a healthy amount of time to focus on other life giving things for me  like working or exercising or getting my nails done, I would probably enjoy my children a little more when I was around them.

I could get a full time job, I could probably change the world....probably.

If only I could be a possum.  I thought P.J. could totally hang around in a tree all day with the possum, he seems weak.

(Incidentally, in case you haven't read the book and are dying to know, P.J. can't stay with the moose due to some sort of speech impediment he has, tragedy really.)

After being scarred by my complete lack of plans for last summer, this summer is filled with half days of lessons, or classes, or camps, or appointments, turning me into a taxi shuttle and giving me very little time to sit in one place and work on anything that feeds my soul a bit.  My vision of long rest times when I could write and work on things, and joyful excursions to the pool have been crushed by unending witch doctor appointments and playdates and swim lessons. 

I do a lot of car dancing, memorizing words to popular songs on the radio, and reading Fifty Shades of Grey on my iPhone when I get stuck somewhere waiting for someone to finish something.  I think we can all agree I might be substantially less intelligent by the end of the summer.

I feel an upcoming redo of the schedule.

Summer is definitely better busy than not, but I sure could use a little time to go live with the birds, or grab a beer with a friend, or go for a walk with my husband.

I feel it's important to point out that my aspirations are more along the lines of full time employment, independently playing children, and spontaneous wealth which would afford me the luxury of time and endless options.  These are, I believe, reasonable and even feasible options, unlike P.J. who wants to just jump in with a totally different type of species and abandon his family forever. I think P.J. really just needed Cymbalta.

Point made though Stella, I know if I left and tried to do something besides the full time Mom right now I would inevitably run back to you all just life P.J., realizing life is too good being me so I should shut up and stop trying to figure out how to be someone else*.

*Disclaimer:  If I could figure out to be THE JLo, complete with large ass and Fiat, I would feel like I had no choice to morph into her, the world needs her, obviously.


Mel said...

That little Stella is wise beyond her years, Momma.

Leighannn said...

I've not read this book, and now after your review I'm not going to.
I had a mild panic attack with all of the morphing and personality disorders and think this bunny needs a good psych.
I can refer him to mine.

farnandas said...

I could write and work on things, and joyful excursions to the pool have been crushed by unending witch doctor appointments and playdates and swim lessons.