Ok, Break! Katy Perry Dance Party – GO.

You know, sometimes it’s frustrating to try to work from home at the same time as parenting.

But then there are moments where Katy Perry’s Firework comes on iTunes and Braden runs into the room and is all “ZOMG THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE SONGS EVAR” and then I’m all “NO. FREAKING. WAY. Do you wanna bust a move with me to it?” and he’s all “ARE YOU KIDDING? YESSSSSS.” And then that happens.

#winning

“I Need To Ask You About A Part Of My Body I Don’t Know About”

That’s what I heard from the bathroom the other night during Braden’s bathtime. Was I afraid? No. Was I offput? No. I’ve always been frank and open with him about his body, including telling him the actual names for things rather than the cute ones. Now, if you want to teach your children that they have a pee-pee instead of a penis, I don’t hold it against you, but that’s just not for me, man. I teach my son that he has a penis, we fart instead of pooting, and when a bitch gets uppity, you gotta smack that bitch down. Okay, so maybe I got a little carried away there at the end, but you get what I mean.

So when Braden made this announcement, I marched right in there and told him to go for it. He was sitting there looking very calm and relaxed, and at my arrival he stood up. With a glorious erection. If that wasn’t enough (it really, really was enough. no. really.) then he yanked at his testicle skin and demanded, “What. is. THIS?”

“Testicles.”
“But what’s INSIDE there?”
“It’s skin on the outside, and on the inside those are your testicles.”
“Okay. But what happens if I… SQUISH THEM?”
“Um. Well. They are very delicate and if you hit, yank, smash, or SQUISH them, it will probably hurt very bad. So be careful with them, okay?”

>pause. pensive look.<

“Okay, Mommy.”

>sits back down in bath. more pensive look<

“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Actually? It feels very nice when I squish my testicles with my fingers. I like that. I like it very much.”
“Braden?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“I’m happy for you. I’m going to leave the room now.”
“Okay, Mommy.”

>quiet moment<

From the bathroom:

“MY TESTICLES LOOK LIKE ALMONDS!”

“MOMMY? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?”

mapping the vault of memories

Children laugh a lot. It is a beautiful thing.

A few nights ago, I heard my son laugh from upstairs. The laughter tinkled merrily down the stairs from up high to down where I was standing in the kitchen. It was the laugh of a four year old – giddy, unrestrained, and in those chucklesome, high-pitched, and somehow fairy-like tones that only children that young can achieve.

That night I heard the free, sincere, heartfelt laughter of my son, and I had a thought, suddenly. It hit me without consideration and washed over me harshly. It did not care what I was doing when it came on, or where it would leave me after it fled into the night beyond me.

And the thought was this:

There will come a day when I will not be so privileged as to hear that sound anymore as a common occurrence in my life, my day to day What Is, my moments possible to take for granted (even though I don’t want to). There will come a time when that laugh does not even exist anymore.

There will be a day when forever more I will not be able to hear that sound. His laughter will still be accessible to me (sometimes) but it will never sound that way again. It will become lost forever in the vault, deep and wide and sometimes difficult to navigate, that contains my lifetime of memories.

And memories have this awful way of fading and being so hard to recall in a tangible way, so hard to truly feel in the same way as they were once experienced.

I stood there, at the foot of the stairs, frozen in that moment. I stood there, playing that brief sound over and over in my head, savoring it. I was all alone, and may have nearly appeared catatonic in that moment of true consideration and revelation.

Braden may never know that he’s ever done something so simple but so incredibly and effortlessly meaningful that it captivated his mother so greatly. He might not realize that she once stood quietly relishing the joyous beauty of a 3 second laugh he uttered about a little bit of something more than nothing that faded into the night without him giving it another passing thought.

When I write these moments, it is like I’m drawing a map to put up on the inside of that vault, so that when I dive into it later, so much later, maybe I can find these most important of thoughts and feelings, these memories of the most golden days, and hold them near me again for a few moments.

And I will know.

And now you do, too.

Taking the heart road.

Sometimes Braden (now age 4.5) asks me how to say things in Spanish. I go to this website and we enter words and then we learn now to say them together. He especially enjoys the feature where you can actually listen to a pronunciation of the word. Unfortunately, however, he gets really frustrated when we encounter a Spanish word with an “r” in it, and he can’t say it exactly the same way. I’ve tried to help him learn how to roll his r’s, but he hasn’t been successful yet.

Today he asked how to say “tree” in Spanish. The answer is “arbol.” He became very frustrated about the sound of his r’s again. I began encouraging him to keep trying, but he just kept telling me, “NO, because I CAN’T do it.” This prompted me to launch into a long discussion with him about how you have to keep trying when you can’t do something the first time, rather than giving up, if you really want to learn it. I even gave him examples from my childhood.

(I totally went through torturous and seemingly endless trials in front of the bathroom mirror to learn how to roll my tongue. I was going to be damned if my brother could do that and I could not, and refused to believe the BS idea everyone was feeding me that it’s a genetic trait and you can’t do it unless you inherit that. IN YO FACE, FALSE POP SCIENCE.)

Braden indicated he didn’t agree with my sage advice about trying and learning. So I told him that he can take a slightly easier path and trust my advice, or he can be stubborn and take the hard road through life. He considered this for a few moments, and replied, “I think that instead, I am going to take the heart road, Mommy.”

Me: “What?”
Braden: “I’m going to take the heart road instead.”
Me: “Oh? What is that road like?”
Braden: “It has lots of heart patterns on it. Red ones and pink ones too, and I like them. And lots of heart rocks. And heart shaped trees.”
Me: “How does that make you feel?”
Braden: “It makes me feel so happy.”
Me: “And where does this road lead?”
Braden: “It leads to everywhere you want to go. And there are stars racing in the sky.”

My friends, the heart road is paved with red and pink heart patterns, strewn with heart rocks, and lined with heart shaped trees. It will make you feel happy, stars will race in the sky overhead as you travel, and it leads to “everywhere you want to go.”

I guess being happy on “the heart road” is better than being miserable while struggling to learn rolling your r’s in the long run, huh? This kid kind of totally disarms me every damn day. And he really has no idea how brilliant these things he says really are.

I’m still a firm believer in trying for the things you desire, but I’m glad to have someone in my life who reminds me it’s not always a bad idea to voluntarily take the heart road.

This is what happens when I go to the bathroom to pee.

When I left the room he was making lovely drawings in his notebook.

If I’d had to take a dump, do you think he’d have progressed to his arms and face?

A sick day took him.

He didn’t need to take a sick day.  After all, he had nowhere to be, but with me. He had no way to call in sick, unless you count him coming up to me on Thursday afternoon, hands held out dramatically, with a glorious, thick streamer of snot hanging from his nose, saying, “Um. Mommy? I have a snot.”

Thursday night was full of the stuff nightmares are made of: he puked up part of his dinner because he was gagging on mucous, came to bed with me after his second screaming awakening made it clear I’d be running to his room all night long otherwise, kicked me repeatedly for the next 8 hours, woke at least once an hour screaming and crying, telling me it hurt and yelling “NO NO NO”, accused me of making his throat hurt (ouch, dude), refused to drink anything, and rounded it all out by peeing in the bed in the morning and then telling me to get up and make his breakfast.

I was so tired.  And so very grumpy.  Then, while I was peeling his wet underpants off of him, I suddenly smiled. I thought about how I had patted his back over and over again all night long. It reminded me so much of long nights when he was this little kid baby:

That was March ’08. I can’t believe it was that long ago. It seems like just yesterday.

But yesterday was forever ago. And it will never be again.

I looked at him, shivering before me after I got him out of the wet clothing. He looked back at me solemnly, and then reached his arms around my neck, climbing into my lap. He held on tight, snuggling his head into the curve of my neck, and we just rocked for a little while, together.

I mostly think that colds are from the very Devil himself; they are miserable, horrible things that torture us and make us feel as though a close cousin of death has crawled inside our faces and set up camp.  And when our kids are sick, it is the worst.  It is so awful to watch them suffer.

But sometimes I experience these tiny moments when I wonder if they are some kind of weird gifts to parents – obviously not in the times of worry and pain, but during those moments when our kids slow down and just want to be held again, loved again, rocked in our arms, or when they just nap in our laps again. These are gifts, even though given in sickness, and it is these little capsules of memories gone suddenly burst open, and a chance to teleport to another moment in time again, for just awhile, that make me smile even as he sniffles.

A sick day took him.

I was there where it delivered him, all day long.

Braden: “Mommy, I need to be fixed.”
Me: “You need to be fixed? Why, are you broken?”
Braden: “Yes, Mommy. I’m broken with sick.”

I am his designated fixer, and he is the spark of magic in my life.  I’m reminded, again, that whatever age he is right now, it’s my favorite one.

Better not drink all the booze. His teachers may need some.

Braden started a “Kid’s Day Out” program today. He’ll be going there twice a week for about 4.5 hours.

I made a joke on Twitter last night about it, where I may have said something like, “Braden is starting a “Kid’s Day Out” program tomorrow. I’m sad. And by sad, I mean, HELL YEAH BITCHEZ!!!!!!!!!!!1!1 *cough*”

Give or take a Hell yeah. Or a few exclamation points. Or something.

Okay, okay so those were my exact words.

I was really just kidding. I mean, it’s not as if I’ve had this written on my calendar for MONTHS in bright red ink, circled in double-wide black sharpie marker with large, swooping circles and underlined with pink glitter pen ink that almost screams I CAN’T WAIT, HOLY CRAP, I CAN’T WAIT.

Nope.

Who would do something like that? Pffft. Not me, that’s who. I’m a loving parent who never takes a moment with her son for granted.

No, you may not borrow my calendar to check on something real quick. Get your own damn calendar.

And it isn’t like I’m insanely stocked on party streamers and noise makers and booze and practically did flips all the way home from the damn place today. What kind of horrible parent do you take me for?

(Do not pay any attention to that pile of streamers and noise makers and booze over there. I am collecting for Goodwill. That’s the donation pile. Shut up. People who shop at Goodwill have to party too, DON’T THEY? Look at you, all High and Mighty, all “only us highly privileged people get to have parties with streamers and noise makers and booze.” You disgust me.)

Furthermore, I didn’t run out the door without even saying “Goodbye” to him, or telling the teacher his name. I didn’t forget to leave his lunch with him, and just throw it at one of the windows of the building as I was running away, deliriously screaming (or doing flips). And I didn’t yell something like, “YOU MAY NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!!!!” followed by mad cackling so loud it scared the birds out of the trees in a three mile radius.

I’m kind of baffled that you would even think any of those things. Where did you come up with that crap? Are you mentally unstable? I think you might need help.

I’d have to be as insane as you clearly are to do any of those things. I mean, I’d have to be plain out of my mind to do anything other than have been excited for him for the past week while at the same time feeling a weird tightness in my chest that I couldn’t shake.

I’d have to be kind of a crazy lunatic not to realize that, while cliched, this is literally the start of a long process where my child starts to cleave from me.  This is a thing I am both carefully, joyfully, preparing him for with everything I do for him every day and dreading with all the tiny fibers in my heart – the heart that clenched up a little this morning when I kissed him goodbye and I had to leave.

But I’m cool with it. Yeah, totally.  I didn’t feel kind of angsty while I was packing his lunch, I didn’t get a little sentimental when I wrote his name on a tag for his backpack, my heart didn’t swell and smoosh when I watched him walking to school with his Daddy, I didn’t take too many photos of him on his first day of school, and I didn’t frown a little when I got home and the house was blessedly quiet.

And empty.

Sigh.

This will be good for him.

I hope I can survive it.

(The booze will help. WOOOHOOOOOOOOO!)

I’m going to New York City, and also, I’m a freaking fantastic mother.

It is that time of year when bloggers of all kinds, mostly women, but also lots of men, start packing their bags and preparing to descend on some fabulous city for a popular blogging conference, as well as days and nights filled with more than their fair share of merriment and crazy making.

There have been weeks of hype and talk and more than just a gentle buzz, but more like a gnashing, crunching, building roar of excitement from those who are attending. That building cacophony of anticipation has been filled with excitement, anticipation, nerves, joy, anxiety, what ifs and a general sense of OH YAY, I CAN’T WAIT.

I’m speaking at this conference.

Dude.

I’m speaking at this conference!

I didn’t really mention that here even one time in the past several months, did I? I’ve been kind of a horrible blogger so far as words and stories and explanations go, lately, haven’t I? (Kind of. Just kind of? Hah.)

I go hither and yon, ebb and flow, rise and fall, swell and shrink.

<<< >>>

I’m here, living and laughing and crying and spinning and twirling and facing my fears and sometimes hiding in corners from the dark I Know Not What.  But mostly I’ve been running until my body is covered in sweat, stealing bites of chocolate here and there and torturing myself with happiness of all kinds.

Life has been full of a little of everything and not so much of nothing.

Yes, I speak in poems! How unfair of me, eh? But my life kind of feels like a poem to me right now, and so that is what you get. Neener.

<<< >>>

BUT.DUDE.I’M.SPEAKING.AT.THIS.CONFERENCE.

(Yes, I’m excited.)

I’m honored to be part of a trio of photographers who will be presenting a Room of Your Own Session on how to take great photos with a DSLR or Point & Shoot. I’m delighted beyond words to be sharing this experience with Mishelle Lane (@secretagentmama) and Rachel Devine (@sesameellis). These are amazing women, talented women, women who make me laugh and teach me, inspire me, and lift me up. I have thoroughly enjoyed working with them to create this presentation, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them in person in New York at this conference. I hope that those who attend take away valuable ideas and learn some things they’ve been wanting to know.

I’m full to bursting with all that excitement and anticipation I mentioned above.

I’m about to jett off to New York City! You know, that fabulous place full of bustle and lights, that never sleeps, and has way more sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and experiences than any place should dare to be allowed.

With those thoughts swirling in my head, I take a deep breath and acknowledge the huge smile on my face. I’M GOING TO NYC TO PLAY AND WORK AND PARTY AND SPEAK AT A CONFERENCE AND BE A GROWNUP ALL BY MYSELF (WITH MY FRIENDS) FOR DAYS AND DAYS.

Squee?

<<< >>>

Leaving Braden for that long is one of those things that makes me both sigh with relief and twists my guts with agony.

I will love having the break from him! (I will miss him!)

I will love not being pestered and bossed around by a 3 Year Old.

I will love peeing without being yelled at or visited, eating without attending to others first, bathing only myself and sleeping without someone screaming in the night.

I will enjoy waking without someone ordering me to make their breakfast, or crying when it’s not perfect.

I will love no cleaning up toys, wiping the pee up from around the toilet, or being head butted in the face.

I will love not being screamed at or hearing NO NO NO all.day.long.

<<< >>>

I WILL MISS HIM.

But it’s all good. His Daddy will be spending days with him. Then two different trusted friends will take turns caring for him. He’s in great hands.

And hey, I’m a freaking good Mom. (If you laugh, I will cut you.) I’ve raised this kid well, given him a great foundation. He’s been loved and supported emotionally, physically, and spiritually his whole life.

I am firmly sure that I’ve taught him well and given him all the tools he needs to make it through several days without me and not have any troubles.

I have set a great example for him for years now, and I know that will shine through.

Oh, shut up. At least I’m not the one who just taught him to say, “When Mommy’s gone we’re going to cruise chicks!”

[before you get all "oh no she di'in't!" I didn't teach him to flip the bird. he was showing me a "boo-boo" he wanted me to kiss. I don't teach my kid to give people the finger. gah. we are way too busy free-basing and listening to hard core rap while we count the money the hookers bring in to spend time on foolish finger salutes....]

And with that, I’m out.

New York, I can’t wait to be in you, baby. Peace out, beeshes.

*****