You know what’s fun? Walking. Walking is awesome.
In fact, I think I want to start walking a lot. To all kinds of places. Like the gym and the grocery store and, well, pretty much anywhere I want to go.
And I think to make it more awesome than it is inherently, which, in case you didn’t know, is really freaking awesome, I think I’ll carry Braden strapped to my back, everywhere I go. You know, WALKING. Everywhere.
You know, the gym, the grocery store, the pool, downtown, the library, special events, you know PRETTY MUCH ANYWHERE I WANT TO GO.
Do you know WHY?
Because I freaking love walking.
Oh, and it might have just a little bit to do with the fact that on Sunday our car decided to die a horrible death. As in, the engine had a myocardial infarction and its soul has risen to Engine Heaven.
We do not have the funds to remedy this kick in the ass by The Universe.*
Because we are stupid and don’t save our money properly awesome.
I mean, walking is a nice thing to do for exercise or window shopping and all but DAMMIT it’s TEXAS out there people, as in 105 degrees, and my ass isn’t walking ANYWHERE awesome.
And I’m going to do it. A lot.
Please kill me now.
PS: The only thing I hold onto that makes this all okay is that the day that our car decided to give up and leave us stranded like the selfish son of a bitch it clearly is, I pulled out my phone to search for something and it suggested I choose from the closest wireless networks. And either this person is supposed to be my best friend EVER (something just suggests to me that we’d think the same things are funny) or the dickhead was totally serious and did some black magic on our car.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking about jackie1.
I’m on to you, Jackie. We’re either going to be blood sisters, or I’m contacting a crazy voodoo witchdoctor to help me send your soul to hell for eternity.
Braden’s personality is this incredibly intoxicating blend of sweet, joyful, and smart mixed up with volatile, demanding, and loud. I’m going to go ahead and claim responsibility for passing on/modeling the former behaviors and blame my husband for the latter. Not because it’s true, but because I’m mostly an asshole and I like to say anything I can to make myself look good.
My son is not shy. He is unafraid to let you, and everyone around you, know exactly what he thinks and feels at any particular moment.
His thoughtful observations and questions [“If the bug is dead, we should just recharge his batteries.” / “Why is the sun sleeping?”]
strange ideas [“My penis is on backwards.”]
silly, quick quips [Him: “You need to get me a new eyeball!” Me: “Just call me Frankenmommy.” Him: “You’re not green.”]
and even his demanding and frustrated exclamations [“I CAN’T GO PEE, I HAVE TO DANCE FIRST.”]
are equally interesting and enlightening, often funny.
He’ll make you think and also laugh.
But did I mention that he’s loud? Holy crap, he’s LOUD. As John put it the other day, “He goes to 11. And often stays there.”
It’s so true.
Because of this, I was both excited and somewhat scared (okay, more than somewhat, possibly a shitload at times, when I considered it too carefully) about Braden’s very first time on an airplane. In fact, as soon as I found out we were going to get on an airplane with him, I started punching myself in the face no less than 10 times every 30 minutes to toughen myself up. I asked John to make airplane noises and then start screaming directly into my ear at random times when we’re in public to help condition me. For some reason he made the same face he made that one time I asked him how long he thought it would take for a mouse to explode in the microwave and whether or not that time would be altered by getting the mouse really drunk first.Read More»
It’s no secret to me (and the world at large) that my child is freaking adorable.
Go ahead, roll your eyes and gag a little. It’s okay. I don’t mind. But he is brilliantly handsome, and that’s just a fact.
And when his hair gets all shaggy, I think it gives him this sweet charm.
But it’s summertime now – a time when little ones get especially hot and sweaty. He’s been batting at his hair, getting annoyed with it. I’ve been watching it inch closer to his eyes, slowly. Haircut time has been approaching.
I knew this was coming and I’ve had… plans.
When he got so incredibly frustrated with it last week that he started slapping at the side of his head and growling, I asked him if he wanted a haircut. His response was, “YES, MOMMY. OH. YES.”
So I told him I’d cut it soon and asked him if he wanted the kind of haircut I was thinking of giving him. He said yes without a pause. I asked him if he knew what that meant. He just looked at me and smiled. I laughed and saved the definition for later.
Yesterday, I showed him a photo to see if he was sure. The child smiled so largely that his face almost broke.
“Do you want me to cut your hair like that?”
“Oh, yes, Mommy! Yes, that’s right!”
And then he bounded off and head butted the dog a few times before howling and racing into the kitchen, where he slammed into the cabinets, bounced back, and rolled across the floor laughing.
I’m pretty sure it suits his personality.
“Mommy! Take a picture of my bum!”
“Did you take the picture of my bum?”
“No, Mommy! NO TAKING PICTURES OF MY FACE.”
“But take a picture of my hands, Mommy!”
“Thank you, Mommy! Good job, Mommy.”
any day with him is filled with all kinds of emotions…
some highs and some lows, curious adventures,
and the fantastic and beautiful little things
that, without him, I’d
<rambling post of awesomeness>
I have had way too much fun lately. In fact, I told John that I was pretty sure I’m going to die soon and this is The Universe’s way of saying, “Oh, hey, sorry about that…” ahead of time. A lot of times The Universe is a total dickhead, but I can imagine that maybe sometimes it gets bummed out about what a shit it is and tries to be cool to you to make up for it.
It’s kind of like how I pretend to be nice to John every once in a while when I realize I’ve been a total hole for months on end. Cause, you know, a few hours of not actually saying anything derogatory and smiling a lot can make up for endless weeks of torture and passive aggressive quips blended with just out and out aggressive combativeness and demanding, controlling, and manipulative domestic behavior.
God help him if he complains though; then I’m all, “DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THE TIME THAT I HANDED YOU A NAPKIN WHEN YOUR FACE WAS DIRTY? I BLEED FOR YOU, INGRATE.”
Or something. But, basically, I know not to push The Universe and all, because it’s just doing the best it can, damnit. Ya dig?
So. Yeah. The Universe is clearly trying to be nice to me because it feels bad about my impending doom.
Either that or it is going to plan such a fiery, explosive and painful ending for me that getting me all complacent and mellow first will make things that much funnier for the bastard when it all goes down. The Universe is probably sitting in a dark room rubbing his hands together, and he’s all, “This stupid bitch has NO IDEA what’s in store for her, man. It.is.going.to.be.EPIC. I am totally going to photograph the look on her face and Twitpic it when she gets hers. MUAHAHAHAH.”
Um. Wow, The Universe just went from being a maybe, kind-of dickhead to a completely sadistic psychopath in my mind. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve been into the caffeine again. Also the wine. Maybe a little of the blow powdered sugar.
What the hell was the point of this post? Oh, yeah. I’ve been having fun lately – making new friends in our neighborhood, going out with girls I actually like, and generally, well, not being locked in my house like a socially inept, loser ho-bag.
That is, I’ve been pretending I’m not a socially inept, loser ho-bag, and nobody is on to the deception yet, so clearly I am up for the next Academy Award. (note to self: do not marry Jesse James any time soon)
Last Wednesday, in another installment of Happy Fun Times I Should Feel Guilty About (don’t worry, I got mine) I went to an Open House at Beleza Medspa with some lady friends: Blythe (Aka @Bejewell) and Leigh. We needed to learn about ways you can change what nature does to your body, and instead, make it all fake and HOT.
Apparently, Blythe and Leigh were getting drunk for free while they were waiting for me to arrive late (people start drinking to cope with the fact that they miss me, I’m that awesome) (either that or they drink to cope with the fact that I’m about to arrive) and once I got there, we went to a back room to find out about the process of having your facial skin turned from haggarific to Goddess Sheen of Awesometasticness.
This process is also known, to lesser degree, as Let’s Burn Your Ugly Face Off. You’ll only have to hide in a cave for about 4-6 days while all the skin flakes off as if you have some horrible and contagious disease. But after that? YOU WILL BE BEAUTIFUL. It’s a metamorphosis. You have to let your inner butterfly out… by KILLING THE SHIT OUT OF THAT CATERPILLAR we like to call your real face.Read More»
they say it flies
often it rolls and tears
sometimes it creeps
and sneaks quickly, while you are distracted
it’s a flower that
drops its petals
far too quickly
you look around you
and they are scattered
like the pieces of your soul
changes explode all around
milestones rip past you
things you try to cling to are lost
others are found, unexpectedly
nostalgia will mock
serendipity can tease
the man holding the hourglass
has a snide grin
a cruel, jagged laugh
we all struggle to make sure
the joke is not on us
but when the laughter fades,
what side of the punchline will you be on?
always, we are progressing
through the stages of life
whether we resist the movement
or just flow
time pushes your existence
along a path that isn’t paved, but
being created by your own passage
do your feet drag lines down
or are there hand prints
indicating that you did
cartwheels along the way?
your life, like time
tumbles by swiftly
and often quietly
if you let it
like the life of that flower
from bud to fragrant memory.
try to stop and notice
those moments when
it is in bloom
just as often as we note
the petals that fall.
April 26th rolled past me, as it did you. It brought pain and joy and all things in between to him and her and them and the others. It was a day, and we all walked into and out of it, just like we do so many others. Some days leave their marks on you and those marks, be they soft lip prints or jagged, deep carvings, stain you. This is Life’s Tattoo. This is the one that can’t be removed; you just have to learn to live with your new ink. You may even find beauty in it.
I thought about this baby several times on this past day that happened like they all do, as clocks everywhere mark the time that slides by without any effort. It has been 2 years since that first miscarriage, the one that opened the door on a special kind of fear and loathing, and introduced me to the doubt of my female body. On this day I wondered, as I have so many times, who that one could have been if conditions had been just right. I sometimes stare off into nowhere, eyes distant, face slack, thinking these thoughts. Then I sigh deeply and swallow a lump in my throat; my hand may wipe at a tear that rolls absently. Other times I feel a peace, a moving on, an acceptance.
My world feels different than it used to so many moons ago. I am changed. There are some wonderful differences and there are, scattered about, some not so fabulous ones. These things, the changes both good and bad, are all just a part of the What Is. I can handle that. I can roll with it and still find a reason to be, see a splendor in life. It’s always there, waiting for me to rediscover it.
There have been times I didn’t think that was possible – that I’d be able to see beauty and feel bliss in life again, be able to even care if it was there or not. But I hold that knowledge, that truth, close to me now, as I live and breathe. This tender awareness seems to sit in the palm of my hot hand like a smooth pebble. It holds weight and feels cool against my skin. I like it; it grounds me.
I have learned another truth during this time, as well. A less fabulous one, I’m afraid. In every situation during the past two years where I have said to a group of women (of any size) that I have had miscarriages, at least one of them always shares that she has had one, also. There are too many of us. Why does it never fail to shock me, even though I know well by now how often it happens?
To all of you who have experienced this or other painful loss, I thought about you today, too. I felt sadness and tension, and then I released it. I sought the love and peace in my heart. After soaking it in for awhile, I released that into the universe, too.
I hope it finds you, much like a cool pebble that might just land, unexpectedly, in your upturned palm.
His very first cone of ice cream to eat all on his own was a waffle cone bigger than his head. He loved it deeply.
It loved him back. They became one in a melty explosion of chocolate toddler happiness.
You just can’t stand in the way of a love so deep (and sticky) as this – you just put it outside, watch the sweet carnage unfold, laugh and take lots of photos.
Mark it down on the list of fun stuff I’ll miss witnessing one day.