Sparrow's Nest

In Which I Have a Voice

2012-01-21T00:05:00.000-06:00

I am the weird mom. My kids are allowed to have pink hair, dino dolls, power tools, next to their feather boas, diaper box kitchens, plastic dishware. Where most preach nongenderspecific, yet push feminism, or masculism, I seriously allow choice. It makes most people uncomfortable. Because Gods forbid they choose the other god...

Kid, at 10, actually falls into the stereotype. she's sweet and feminine, she wants to please and find a boy to pay her bills, while she has babies. She takes after me, her mama, after all this time. I might not get what I want. But because of acceptance and forward thinking, she might.

In Which I Update

2012-01-13T08:42:00.001-06:00

We survived the holidays! Which I'm pretty sure deserves a cookie. It wasn't stressful, as much as just full. We didn't have one weekend where we weren't running to someone's house for a dinner or a party. The kids, of course, made out like bandits, especially for kids that come from a family that doesn't do Christmas gifts. Every year I say I'm going to get them in the habit of sending out thank you cards. Still haven't gotten that going.

We take off school in December, so the beginning of the year is like our August as far as school. Because that's the longest break we take from school, I always start Kid back with one of those comprehensive grade workbooks that you can pick up from Walmart for about $7. It reviews without spending too much time on anything, and allows her to still do most of her work on her own. As it's the second week of the new year, she's still not getting it done too much before bedtime, but give us two more weeks, and she'll be done by lunch time again.

Also, since it's election year, we're revisiting the lessons we did four years ago on election year, updating the information, learning about candidates and propositions. I want her to have a passion for having a voice when she's old enough to vote.

I was starting to potty train Rex, but I've decided to put it off a few more months since I just found out that we're moving again the end of February. I'd hate to put in all that effort just for her to relapse from being in a new place. She still goes and sits on the potty, but I don't put her in her Lego Star Wars or Yo Gabba Gabba underroos any more. She's also communicating so much. It always amazes me when she pulls out a short sentence or calls someone on being silly.

We don't really do New Year's Resolutions (geez, from reading our lives, you'd think we don't do holidays at all. well, we don't), but we do make to-do lists four times a year, of things that we want to change or accomplish before the next 3 month mark. I tend to add things to my list for the next checkpoint, as well, but then again, I'm the most slacker overachiever ever.

Kid's to-do list -
1. grow out my hair
2. be able to do schoolwork before lunch
3. join a sport or club
4. make something every day

Kid's long-term to-do list -
1. don't cut or straighten her hair
2. go to art camp this summer
3. teach Rex to swim

My to-do list -
1. don't straighten my hair
2. make something every day
3. purge a grocery bag a day

My long-term to-do list -
1. potty train Rex
2. get a car
3. don't cut or straighten my hair for a year (aka, learn to love the curls)
4. find another homeschool support group

Our lives have become routine but full. We've found a calm center in our sometimes turbulent world. And it's nice.

In Which I Talk About Body Image. Sort Of.

2011-12-21T00:41:00.000-06:00

I recently got my hair chopped off again. I like it. I'm trying to embrace my curls, thinking somehow that if I can love it super short, maybe I'll grow it back out.

I had a moment where I caught my reflection in the mirror (something that doesn't happen often) and I had the thought that I have the same haircut, the same shade of glasses, the same lack of makeup that I had in the 7th grade, a year that was particularly painful for me, self-image-wise. I had half a moment worry where I wondered if I would get the same type of negative reaction I got back then. Only half a moment.

Not that I have a positive self image. It's nowhere near as negative as it was once. It's more that I just don't think about it any more. But I need to. Especially since Kid is closing in on pre-teenager, as she likes to remind me.

She has such a positive self image. She's so confident in the clothes she chooses, the way her hair looks, the words she says. And that everyone around her is beautiful in some way.

Every time I get a new shirt or dress or shoes, it comes with a compliment from her. Every time I do something different with my hair, or attempt to wear makeup, it comes with gushing from her. And there are many times that I bite my tongue and hold in the negative response I automatically have, because I don't want her to start questioning the beauty she sees everywhere. Even in me.

In Which I Just Ramble

2011-12-11T00:09:00.000-06:00

I do most of my posts alongside sleeping children. It's not that they sleep often. In fact, in the last 3 weeks, Rex has allowed me one night of true sleep, all other nights waking every hour or two to pet my cheek, make sure I'm still there. Growing pains, terrible twos, attachment issues. Whatever the reason, I've been up a lot lately.

I'm okay with this. I know one day she'll outgrow me, as Kid did. Kid was in my bed til she was 6 years old, then she decided she was too old for Mama's bed, that she liked her own bed better. As with every other milestone, I was torn with that one. I was used to her small warm shape in my bed, kicking me every few hours as she did a 360 degree turn in the night. It was what I was used to. It took me 6 months to learn to sleep on my own. She slept fine.

Rex is a hot sleeper. So even now, she sleeps on a pallet next to me most of the time. But lately, she's slipped in next to me on my tiny twin sometime during the night, stealing my pillow, petting my face, asking for a 'blank, please'. And I love it. I try not to grouse about the lost sleep, the tired mornings, the fact that she sleeps til 10:30 am most mornings while I'm up running errands, doing chores. I try to just love that she needs me.

Because one day, she'll outgrow me, just as Kid did. And I'll have to learn how to sleep on my own.

In Which I Remember Again

2011-11-18T01:08:00.000-06:00

At this time two years ago, I'd sent home sweet Miss Amber and my mom, taken an Ambien, and was told to wait til morning to be given pitocin. I decided I had to potty, and called out to the super sweet, so attentive head nurse whose desk was right outside of my room to unhook me. I went, came back to my bed, and asked her to check me, because I still felt like I had to go. She gave me a half smile and mentioned that she had just checked me the hour before, measuring me at a 3. But, she checked anyways, and found me to be at a 10. Within an hour. Explaining my discomfort. I begged for an epidural, my previous experience being sleeping through the labor of Kid from the effects of an epidural and Demerol. The nurse held me as I waited for the drugs. The anesthesiologist had enough time to insert the needle, then he turned away to get the tube, at the same time that the nurse turned away to get gloves. When they turned back, Rex was on the delivery table, screaming for attention.

Mom was allowed in the room minutes later, after being told to stop in the waiting room once she got there after I called her asking her calmly (in my head) to come back. They laid Rex on my tummy, and I stroked her black hair, asked how she tested. My doctor showed minutes after that, joked about me not being able to wait for him, judged us both healthy, and left me to my decisions.

I opted to let them take her til 6am, then bring her to me, and she didn't leave my room after that til I checked out, 20 hours earlier than my insurance wanted. I had nurses in and out, praising me for the way I handled the birth sans drugs, although I felt like I was needy. I had another nurse who helped me get her to feed when she wouldn't, who adjusted her carseat straps before we left.

I remember those hours, where they told me not to sleep with her in the hospital bed, so I stayed awake, stroked her cheeks and her eyebrows, whispered myths and fairytales to her, set her down only long enough to go to the bathroom. I was exhausted, but it was worth it. I had what I'd always said I would - another child. I always believed I'd have a houseful, always *knew* I'd have two. And I was at peace, so much more than I had been in the years preceding. I had my life.

I wouldn't change a thing, except to forgo all the drugs. I would do the painful but quick experience over and over again. It was so worth it.

In Which The Holidayness Starts

2011-11-16T00:16:00.000-06:00

Kid had to remind me on November 1st that this is the month of thankfulness. The past few months have been hectic and stressful, but good. A dear friend-who-is-family got married. We scrambled to make Halloween happen last minute. We had Rex's ohsosmall birthday party. All without monetary help I'd gotten used to.

So, when we got past all of that this last Saturday, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Because now, we can rest.

We do holidays differently. For one, we don't do presents. There are a few exceptions to this - my mom get around it by doing end-of-year gifts rather than Christmas presents, last year the roommate did Santa gifts for the girls to keep up the magic for her girl, and up until this year the little brother's family took it as an opportunity to do the year's worth of gifting for the girls. Otherwise, we just don't do it.

Originally, I stopped doing gifts because Kid had a gimme year that made my heart ache. So I declared a year of no gifts. Instead, we spent the season making crafts, decorating the house, diying ornaments, telling stories, learning about traditions from other cultures, and picking out an Angel to buy for. Other than the super early trip to get things for our Angel, there was no fights into the mall, no frustrating searches for the sold out toy, no wondering what to get the relative that we never see.

Since the year before Rex graced us with her presence, I've given Kid the option to go back to gifting. And every year, she's turned it down. I even told her that this year, Rex's 3rd Christmas during her 2nd year, is the one that we need to start doing gifts if we're going to do the Santa thing. And Kid opted to not do it.

Honestly, I breathed a sigh of relief. I love the freedom that no gifts gives me. Even the slight frustration of having to go to WalMart to grab the shampoo/bandaids/cold medicine that we suddenly ran out of and need right now omg is nothing compared to what I remember my parents going through in that week before, or what I put myself through even pre-Kid. I love that she wants to keep it focused on fun and each other. And I love that it means we can rest. We can focus on trying to see the cousins and the grandparents, on cooking and making the house smell amazing, on documenting how their hands grow with finger paints and canvases.

This is my favorite time of year.

In Which They Sleep, Again

2011-11-09T00:42:00.000-06:00

I have a lot of pics of the children sleeping.

Kid sleeps on her side, or with her butt in the air, always in a bed, always.

Rex sleeps any which way, limbs askew, tucked into tight corners, closed cupboards, sprawled across the floors littered with destroyed forts.

I would love to take pics of them more in action, falling over each other, and me, building castles with nothing but blankets or playing cards, eating fruit and yogurt, storming the library during Park Day.

But the simple truth is this - I am not the Super Mom that's able to get those shots. I miss out on capturing those moments in digitized form. One day they'll forgive me. Maybe.

In Which I'm a N00B Every Time

2011-10-27T23:12:00.000-05:00

Rex has this new trick, where once she potties in a diaper, she removes it.

You have to understand, with Kid, I was scraping. I mean, we still scrape, but thanks to Swagbucks and Amazon giftcards, I can keep us in diapers and wipes forever. With Kid, she was potty trained before 2 years old, because I couldn't afford it. So now, with Rex, I wasn't going to rush it. I was going to just let her be free til maybe two and a half, or maybe three. She's not in daycare, she's not in school, just let her be.

It reminded me that we can't plan for our kids, even if our kids are planned. Their personalities are not the same as their siblings. Their progress will not follow the ones before. Where Kid excelled (speech, math, emotions), Rex is slow. Where Kid still lacks (memorization, listening, physical activity), Rex surpasses. If I had more kids, how would they differ? Who knows. But hopefully, from the example from these two, I can learn to accept anything, allow more, be pleased with individual accomplishment.

So Rex communicates slowly but wants to potty train early. I'll be grateful for the lack of diapers and find other cues for when she needs to go. It's what parents do. And that's what I'm still learning to be. A parent. And it's what I'll always be learning to be.

In Which I Remember

2011-10-11T00:10:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I am up late with Rock Star Baby. She never sleeps. Or at least, never when I want her to.

I've read all the awesome sleep baby books, listened to all the advice from mothers, grandmothers, internetsavvy moms, helpful childfree readers.

I still come back to my instincts. I know that if she naps during the day, she'll be up most of the night. I know I'd rather stay up with her whispering "SHHH!" as she echos it to her crying for a half hour as I rub her back. It's not for everyone. I know that. In fact, I'm pretty sure I wasn't even like this for Kid.

I try, really really hard, to not compare her to Kid. But it happens. Where Kid was docile, amicable, pleasing, Rex is most definitely boundary pushing, pleased with herself, onery. Rex wants to laugh, have fun, be made to laugh, while Kid wants plans laid out, organization to happen, schedules to come through. How can you compare such night and day personalities?

I always wanted a houseful, kidded about having 20 kids. These days, I'm learning to be content with my two completely opposite kids. Loving their differences, loving the bond that's so apparent between them. They are all I need.

In Which I Am Surrounded, Pt 2

2011-09-26T23:14:00.000-05:00

I am lucky. I am supported by people that love me no matter what. I have things come through more than they fall through, mostly at the last minute. With every setback, I do my best to build up one more reminder of my support system.

Kid loves our walls, in our bedroom. She asks me to tell the stories often. The photo taken of me the day before I had Rex that I love, mostly because of the beautiful woman that took it. The sketches of the Maine house and pencil drawn flowers by Aunt Zilpha. The painting of a fish out of water with the saying "Home is where you breathe" by the ex-roommate that no longer talks to me. The pic of me, Uncle Ryan, and Erik at HorrorCon years and years ago.

These are my touchpoints, my reminders that life is good, that my friends are amazing, that the people I come into contact with are so beautiful and wonderful, and that I make as much of an impact on them as they make on me, even when I don't think so.

In Which I Love Awkwardness

2011-09-15T21:18:00.001-05:00

I love my kids in their awkwardness.

I love when Kid dresses herself badly for a first impression. I love when she climbs better than the boy trying to impress her. I love when she says things that are deeper than her age, and then she gets embarrassed because she knows I'm going to Facebook it.

And I love when Rex fights sleep. throws her covers aside, bares her slightly tubby belly, sticks her fingers in her plug space, and hums.

I'm sure, more than anything, that one day Kid will wake up poised and perfected, against her nature, just as the aunt that she takes after. Awesome in her awkwardness. And Rex will be my rockstar child, who starts trends while trying to repel, inspires love while trying to hide.

But right now, I love this in between time. This moment that tells of them more than any other.

In Which I'm Ready

2011-09-04T23:06:00.000-05:00

I walked outside tonight and it was windy and cool. After almost 3 months of triple digit weather, all I wanted to do was stand there for the rest of the night.

I'm so ready. Ready for my favorite season, autumn, to make its presence known.

I'm ready for camping trips, making shapes out of smoke, snipe hunting (Kid is old enough this year!), being rained out, singing too loud and staying up too late.

I'm ready to air out my long sleeve shirts, my trusty flannel, my lovely sweaters, my favorite long socks and sturdy boots.

I'm ready to watch colors change, spend more time outdoors, play more in parks, walk more everywhere.

It's wishful thinking, that Texas would have fall before November, and last longer than a week. But tonight's fluke of perfect weather made me realize just how ready I am.

In which I am surrounded.

2011-08-26T22:55:00.000-05:00

I surround myself with women that are sure of themselves. They carry themselves as if they're beautiful, regardless of style or age or size. They treat themselves as if they're queens, regardless of income bracket. In one way, it helps, it gives me something to shoot for. In another, it beats me down, and makes me wonder what I'm missing in which I never got that. And then, those moments in which they come to me for advice about love or kids or money, those moments throw me, that they think I know more about it than they might. When always, always, I feel like I'm faking it.

In Which I Let Them Sleep

2011-08-01T22:59:00.001-05:00

I'm trying to sleep train Rex, in my slacker kind of way. I've figured out that if we skip nap, I can get her down by 9pm, as opposed to her normal pass out time of midnightish. So tonight, I started a routine. At 7:30, we went into the room and read books til she was tired of it. At 8, after running in and out of the living room, we went back to the room where she watched two episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba on Netflix (thank you, Aunt Stephanie!!) then a literal half moment of whining when I told her to stop squirming, and she was out.

I sit here now, insomniac that I am, watching her sleep, baby-shape peeking out of her jammies, occasionally turning this way and that in her restless style.

For once, it reminds me of Kid. As I've mentioned to most people before, I wasn't around Kid nearly as much as I should have been til about the age of 3, so most of my memories of her are older. But this, I remember.

I remember her sleeping in my bed before I was ready to rest. Me slipping in the room to whisper hopes and dreams and intentions to her lightly snoring shape. Brushing her hair from her face, wishing I could be that tender to her always.

I don't know why I did that. Why I do that now. Perhaps I think that good thoughts whispered to sleeping ears will lead to happy dreams. And really, as kids, what more luxury do they need but happy dreams?

In Which I Nurse the Summertime Blues

2011-06-28T23:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, I believe in curses. I believe that any car I buy will only last for one year before I have to dump a ton of money/time into it. I believe that every relationship, be it friendship or love, has a 90 day 'honeymoon' period. I believe that every time I try to do things 'normally' every thing falls apart.

Other times, often, I'm reminded that in the middle of mess comes miracles. I don't always focus on this, but I totally see them there. The roommate who seemingly effortlessly fills in the spaces she should. The friend who says all the right words. The truck driver that tried to stop traffic for me to go ahead of him this morning. The two construction workers that ended up late to work trying to get my car out of traffic. And the tow truck driver on the way to another job that stopped long enough to get me and the girls out of harm's way. Most of all, my parents, my mom and my sweet step-father, who take care of all of us kids so much more than we deserve.

Yeah, the bad part of all of this is that it came at the expense of one more car of mine biting the dust for an as of yet undetermined reason. Maybe sweet Greta the green wagon will make it. Maybe she'll go the way of Lola the lovely sports car. Maybe I'll have to depend on people for a while, something I'm seriously horrible at. Or maybe it'll be something minor. Either way, I should, and will try to, focus on what's good in my life. Friends, family, loves, people I can call on and depend on.

I've spent a whole lifetime wishing for it. Somehow I've fallen into it easily.

In Which It Is Summer

2011-06-15T23:13:00.000-05:00

Summer is upon us.

I catch glimpses of tan lines depending which clothes the girls wear.

We hide from midday sun, let the dogs take indoor siestas.

I'm fighting the urge to chop off all my hair. Pigtails and spin pins are my friends.

School has moved from specific daily work to book-lists quickly being crossed out.

We step outside at 8pm and breathe. The sidewalk burns out bare feet, the grass stands as an oasis.

Summer is hectic time in our little world. Trying to squeeze in quality time with those that have normal schedules from August to May, staying in pools til we're wrinkled, driving for an hour to spend a few with our friends.

I have little time to form words in my mind, let alone give this blinking cursor a piece of my whirling thoughts.

So forgive the scarcity of my posts, and catch us when you can.

In Which We Are Busy

2011-05-29T00:38:00.000-05:00

It's a holiday weekend. While normally, this wouldn't be any different than any other day for myself and my kids, as everyday is Saturday for us, this weekend is different. We are taking advantage of those we adore having time off, spending all day tomorrow with Chaz and his family, spending Monday with Aunt Beth and Uncle Tung and friends, letting Kid spend Monday night with Grammy. It's rare we book whole days, preferring to plan a small outing a day, let ourselves not become overwhelmed. Sometimes, though, it's really really good to surround ourselves with those we love, back to back, with no break.

In Which I Parent

2011-05-14T00:00:00.001-05:00

I admit it. I stick out in the way that I parent. It's a strange mix of strict and lenient. I homeschool and expect nothing but the best, yet Kid has watched shows like The Simpsons and CSI since the age of two.

Tonight, we watched a rerun of Family Guy. Through most of it, we talked about what it means to be part of the military, to be gay, to be judged by the way you look, your last name, the choices you've made. We talked about Westboro Baptist Church, scriptural truth and twisting, and what it means to love like Christ.

She's 10. Dangerously close to the age where she'll stop listening to me. So I try to slip in as many lessons about life as I can. I base them on things she sees, the way we're treated at Walmart, the food we give to friends, the family that silently disagrees with our lifestyle. I want her to know what's important, the way to treat people, the things to hold on to, and let go of.

So far, she's the golden child, the easy student. I can only hope she continues to learn in this way.

In which I am wrong

2011-04-24T00:40:00.000-05:00

Princess asked this week if Easter was the day in which the Easter Bunny laid his eggs.

And the roommate and I laughed about it. A lot.

Kid is going to church with the roommate and her family in the morning. I'll wake up early with her and help her into her dress and send her off. Rex and I will stay home.

This is my confession. I haven't been to church regularly in over two years.

When I was pregnant with Rex, I remember praying for her safety, hobnobbing with musical acts at the coffeeshop, making deals with God.

Then I slacked. I know this. So does Kid.

Kid joked around about the reason for Easter, then went on to explain, specifically and scripturally, what it really was.

I am wrong, because my apathy keeps Kid from going to church as much as she'd like to. And I know that. At the same time, I feel that I'm right, because she does know the real reason for this day, and for every other. I hope I can continue that with Rex.

Our Bohemian Lifestyle

2011-04-13T22:20:00.000-05:00

We often invite others to dinner, squeezing up to 12 people at our medium size oval table. We constantly make up parties, get togethers, dinners, events; any and all reasons to see our friends. We live by trade all we can - a dinner for fence work, hats for an oil change, babysitting for fresh fruit. We pass on clothes, and happily take hand-me-downs. We blow bubbles with strangers, watch lasers synced to Pink Floyd, discuss creepy childhood songs with librarians, and parenting with each other. We agree about kids, debate about politics, sink ourselves into television shows, and shout about society.

Somehow, we've built a life that feels like living.

In which I'm too strong to be weak

2011-03-28T00:37:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to admit that you're weak.

It's easy when you have someone behind you being strong for you. But when it's just you, and those that depend on you, you should never admit to your weakness. You have to have a strong face, a solid front. Always.

The strongest women I know have admitted to weakness. Worked on their blindsides. Asked for help.

I hope to learn how to do that. One day.

In which I give my amateur thoughts on love

2011-03-26T00:57:00.001-05:00

I was asked, recently, what I thought love was.

I said...
Love is
allowing the boy I watch sporadically to dress up as Tinkerbell
allowing my girls to play Superman
allowing Rex to continue her dinosaur obsession
allowing a long time friend to continue saying she's in love with someone that hurts her
and picking up the pieces when he hurts her

Love is
making things for those I love
seeing things that remind me of people I love and having to buy them or make them
counting down days, hours, minutes, til I get to see someone that makes me happy
making memories out of lazy days.

I didn't grow up with a lot of love around me. Mom did well, when she wasn't working. She sewed all our costumes, encouraged our obsessions, drove us to our sports. The love that I surround myself, and my girls with, these days, is more than I could ever hope for for my family, let alone myself.

I am blessed. Beyond anything I could ever wish for.

In which it feels like...

2011-02-28T11:55:00.001-06:00

We are tempting Spring these days. Kelly and the kids planted flowers out front, raked and bagged leaves. The kids have been playing Caucus Race around the tree, hide and seek behind the cars. We've aired out our short-sleeved shirts, unearthed our flip flops. We walk to the library, to the closest park, around the corners, discovering acorns and leaves, art and nature. Evenings still call for hoodies, but the days belong to the sun.

We had a garage sale this past weekend. Sat in the driveway, traded past for cash. We were silly, talking about things that made us laugh so hard, that I can't even remember now.

Mornings are the living room floor scattered with a lone shoe, a random DVD, sock monkey and a talking camera. It's a comfortable mess. A peaceful chaos.

Life is good.

In which all of the sudden, she's got it

2011-02-15T22:25:00.002-06:00

All of the sudden, Baby's got it. And soon, I need to come up with another pseudonym. Because it seems that she's no longer just 'Baby'.

She walks, while not to me or my mom, to my roommate, or the dog puppet at story time at the library.

She feeds herself, and is attempting the spoon (left-handed, I might add, a little too happy about that), and, of course, dumps the bowl out when she doesn't like it.

She's drinking from a sippy that weeks ago she screamed at.

I'm proud of her and sad that we've reached the point of no return at the same time. She can only fast forward from here.

She talks. Repeats words like 'Yeah!', 'Thank you', and 'Up!', skipping (thankfully) over the typical 'No!'. Gives high fives (thanks, Chaz) and kisses. Waves hello and goodbye. Operates her electronic toys and all their buttons like she's on a mission.

She's not really 'Baby' any more. And I already miss it.

In which they call her love

2011-02-09T00:45:00.002-06:00

I love easily. Friends, family, people married into family, friends I just met, parents of Kid's friends, parents that have kids Baby's age. Doesn't matter. I have love to spread.

Most people don't make a connection as fast as I do. And this is not their fault. At all.

The problem comes in trying to teach my kids both easy love of friendship, and cautious love of life. That not everyone gives as we do. Not everyone trusts as we do. Sometimes, most times, we have to earn things that we so freely give.

This isn't new. That's what I tell them. There is precedence, reasoning for them being cautious and us giving, constantly giving. Follow in pure footsteps. Ease into spaces made by those that had to fight for space. That's the best place to be. Love is hard to find, but easy to give. So give, and when it's real, we'll receive, so much.

In which I'm no longer snowed in

2011-02-06T15:58:00.000-06:00

Actually, it's the day after we're freed from our housebound selves. But we were busy yesterday.

I was okay, being locked in for four days. Really. I played games with Princess and Baby, crocheted a ton of fuzzy things, played online way too much, and wrote a bit, thought a bit. Things I needed to do.

While most of my friends hated the cold, the way they couldn't really get out, I enjoyed it. Except for one thing. Kid was at my mom's all week.

See, I have an awesome mom. Ever since Kid was potty trained, Mom has taken her overnight once a week, with few exceptions. Mom also keeps both kids for me anytime I need, like in cases of emergencies or hockey games.

So, Tuesday, Mom came out to get Kid. And Tuesday night it snowed. And Wednesday it froze. And Thursday it iced. And Friday it was treacherously cold. So it was Saturday before I got to see Kid again.

Don't get me wrong. Part of me was like, "Yay! A break!" That part died about Wednesday night.

I love being around my kids. It's rare that I need a break, and usually that's in the form of a trip to WalMart by myself, then I'm okay. I'm in no way supermom or anything even near that. I just have found that I've turned into one of 'those moms'.

You know 'those moms'. The ones whose email addresses have their kids' initials in them. The ones who send out photo greeting cards every chance they get. The ones who take their kids everywhere with them. That's me.

I always swore I would never be one of 'those moms'. But here I am. I figure I don't have to worry about it just yet. I've got at least another 17 years to get over it.

In which Baby walks

2011-01-30T22:52:00.000-06:00

Today Baby took three steps. All by herself.

Of course, this was after I left the room. Because she is, lovingly, my punk child, who doesn't strive to please as Kid did.

Last night, and today, she was showing off that she can stand on her own, as if she's done it forever. Which, knowing the way she is, she probably has.

I am in a mixed place with this. On one hand, all the other November babies around us have been walking forever, so I feel that this is good, that she should be here, that maybe (although I hate to say it) she's behind and needs to rush to catch up.

The other part of me, the bigger part, hates this, just as much as I hated when a friend convinced her to crawl. I know she'll hit all these milestones, that her vocabulary will continue to grow by leaps and bounds, that she, herself, will leap and bound. But just as I teared up with every bit of proof that showed Kid turning from baby to toddler to, well, kid, I will do the same with Baby.

In which, for once, I'm real

2011-01-24T22:00:00.002-06:00

Usually, I don't talk about dads. Mainly, because in my life, there isn't much to say.

My step-dad sucked. He was mean, in every way you could be, to me, my mom, my little brother. He made it very clear that I was the step-child, and treated me as such. And when my kids were born, he treated them just as bad. With a side of guilt, from the fact that he had to raise me, because my father wouldn't.

My real dad was a good dad, to the kids he was around. I wasn't one of them. I've gotten various versions of the story, who left who, who tried what. He died when I was 10, and I didn't make contact with his family til I was 23, so at this point, it doesn't matter.

Kid's dad has his problems. When she was born, it was drugs and mental health. These days, he's an awesome friend to those around him, a great step-dad to his girlfriend's kid. But for whatever reason, the moment he makes me a promise, it's broken. If I need money, it never comes. If he's supposed to take her somewhere, he never shows. At this point, I don't tell her anything that's happening the next day, just in case it doesn't.

Baby's dad doesn't even acknowledge her. End of story.

I know there are good dads out there. My friends are married to them. My friends are them. They are the anchor that keeps me from going off course. The support, even without knowing it, that keeps me from telling my kids the worst of their genetics.

When I was growing up, what kept me sane was the Father that no one could touch. That's all I can hope to teach my girls now. That there is, definitely, someone out there that loves them, even when those that should, don't.

In which I survive another year

2010-12-30T07:53:00.000-06:00

A few years ago, more than I want to sit down and calculate, I was informed of a specific superstition involving Irish food and the New Year, that allows you to end a year the same way you began it. To be honest, when I was informed of this particular tradition, I already had it in my head that the way I was ending that year was not the way I would be ending the next. And I was right. And I haven't had a year since, or before, that I haven't had the thought that the next one needed to be different.

Somehow, I tripped into my own tradition.

Last year was ended with friends. One that knows me possibly better than I know myself, one that has known me for years but we've not had the chance to get close, and a handful of other fun people. There was no drama, no problems, no issues. The new year was rung in, and I went home to my family.

On the ridiculously long drive home that night, I remember thinking, "This is right." To begin and end my years with those that love me, those that matter. And it doesn't take rough bread or cold beans. It doesn't take an over packed venue or a sparkly shirt (although sparkly shirts should never be discounted as important). It just takes making that effort to keep those I love around me.

So this year will end as it began. Surrounded by my friends and my kids and those I love with all I have in me. I can't ask for more.

In which we do Christmas our way

2010-12-17T16:04:00.001-06:00

I keep slipping and saying that this is our first Christmas with Baby. It's actually her second.

What makes me think that this is our first, is that it is the first Christmas that we are actually doing what we want.

We have set up our Charlie Brown tree, and filled it with handmade ornaments, yearly gift ornaments from Grammy (a tradition), and candy canes.

Kid has worn her Bad Santa shirt enough to scare the nice ladies at the local library.

We have avoided stores for anything but the most necessary of necessities.

There have been no gifts bought. No last minute online ordering. No scrambling for ideas for someone we forgot til now.

We will have a Christmas Eve get together with the friends that can make it out. And the next morning, we'll go to Denny's or IHOP and eat pancakes and sausage til we can't move. Then we'll head to Grammy's for lasagna.

Christmas for us has always been hectic running from this family to that and back again. Saying, "Okay, we'll take this one gift although we don't do gifts," to those that insist that they have to buy the girls something. Trying to not get frazzled when all we really want to do is focus on each other.

This year, we're able to do that. We have time to let Baby clap from the backseat as we drive slowly past lights. We have time to make foam star garland. We have time to let Kid and Princess roll oreos for cookies to give out.

Every year, we get closer and closer to exactly how we want to celebrate. This year is definitely the best yet.

DITL

2010-12-05T01:00:00.000-06:00

today
i wore makeup
a nice dress
3 inch heels

today
i cried
at one of my best friends' weddings
believed
in love
for her
in her perfect dress
in a perfect venue
with the only man
that's made for her

today
i slacked off
on house stuff
as my roommate
prepared
for our late thanksgiving dinner
that happens tomorrow

today
i realized
baby's chubby arms are slimming down
kid is pulling away from me
and i want more

today
as every day
i found peace
in the mundane
the every day
the rituals that define us
the typical that binds us

today
as every
other
day
i know
i'm happy.

In which the holidayness starts

2010-11-27T18:13:00.001-06:00

Our house is transforming. The big tree is up, decorated, lit. There are snowmen and stockings and santas peppered through the rooms. Today, the house smells of baking, all Kelly's doing, banana bread and gingerbread cookies.

I've been pretty bah humbug with Christmas for most of my life. It wasn't fun for me as a kid. It was stressful when I became an adult. It felt forced when I had Kid.

Over the last few years, Kid and I have formed Christmas traditions that make things fun, non-stress, and meaningful. We eliminated buying gifts, completely. We make everything, decorations, ornaments, crafts, candies. We tell stories and make care packages that we leave anonymously on doorsteps or desks.

Even with all of this, I kind of cringe when I see the tree go up in Walmart, hear the jingles play at the grocery store.

Today, I ran to Albertson's, twice, for supplies for the awesome Kelly cooking. The first time, I stepped into the automatic door, and immediately heard a carol playing. And my heart lifted. As silly and sentimental as that sounds, it did.

I have made peace with Christmas. I may not ever get back into the gift buying, crazy wrapping, carol singing, light search driving. But I won't just be waiting for the season to pass, burying myself in busy to make time pass. Every little bit...

In which I remember

2010-11-17T02:07:00.000-06:00

One year ago today -

I packed.
And repacked.
I got my Mom
and My Amber
To go to the Hospital
To wait for nothing
And go Home.

Hours later was much more interesting.

In which I move....Again

2010-11-15T20:31:00.000-06:00

So this past weekend, we moved, again.

And, again, it wasn't stressful, it wasn't long and drawn out, it wasn't second guessed.

I came across a friend's (at least, an internet friend's) blog entry, (our delightful life: daydream) which made something click in my head.

Maybe I'm not made to stay in one place. And maybe my kids aren't either. And maybe that's okay.

We shift easily from one schedule to another. We make home where we land. We learn the landmarks, the local stores, the parks and libraries and MOPs groups and homeschoolers in hiding. We sleep easily in borrowed beds and vacant couches. We fit our things in discarded dressers and recently emptied closets.

And we are happy about it. Every time we move, we extend our support group, connect with a wider circle, find more kindred spirits. We stay as long as we help the lives of those around us, and as long as they help ours.

This is the way our lives work, the way that we are happiest. The way that we keep those around us happiest.

So, we have moved, again. And yes, it is a good thing.

In which I take stock

2010-11-09T07:55:00.000-06:00

This is my life.

Waking up to grunts and pats and the sun barely rising.
Yogurt mixed with cereal, bread, apple juice and water.
Diaper changes.
Sweeping, laundry, dishes, laundry, dusting, dishes, kitty litter boxes, dishes.
Grilled cheese sandwiches, pan-fried quesadillas, microwaved potatoes.
Nap times, hour long drives to people I love, Walmart runs.
No pants days, trying to explain clashing to a Madonna in the making, sun-filled afternoons on the front porch.
Walks to the park, talks of science and belief and other people.
Facebook, texts that make me smile, texts that bring me down, emails that make me smile.
Dancing, making, running, jumping.
Telling stories, listening to stories, being part of stories.
Bad crime dramas, funny kids movies, Glee.
Last minute dinner, leftover candy, art, craft, cuddles, laughs.
Bedtime bottles and hugs and sometimes momentary cries.

I am thankful for my life. For the wrong turns and happy accidents I have been part of. For where it's brought me and what it's given me. And where it is taking me. I can't imagine it being any place bad.

I'm having a moment

2010-11-04T16:38:00.000-05:00

And I had to share.

My house is filled with children. They're playing diner. Trying to figure out the tab.

This, after running up and down the street screaming about duct tape. And spinning in circles doing ring around the rosie (which they all know the real back story of). And discussing why they're allowed to be weird now.

I always wanted my kids to have a different childhood than I did. The main part being that I was alone, a lot. I had few to no friends, depending on the year, and none in my neighborhood.

I love that I've accomplished this little thing.

In which I go backwards

2010-10-27T11:21:00.000-05:00

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
- e.e. cummings

I'm strange, in that I've known who I am for a long time. For as long as I can remember, I've known that I think different, see things differently, want things that are different. I've spent most of my life fighting against it, trying to fit into the standard, trying to be normal.

In the past year, I've realized more than ever that most of the people around me don't know me. It's probably my fault. Because I know how different I am, I keep most things closed off. I trade sarcasm for seriousness, give flip answers for hurt feelings. Those who should be closest to me read me wrong every day. And those I thought were left behind remind me at every meeting that it's okay to be who I really am.

More and more, I've returned to those people that knew me at my worst, at my crazy times, at my stupid wrong mean selfish times. Not because I'm turning back into that person, but because in spite of knowing that side of me, they always saw the good part of me, and now, always bring out the good part of me.

I don't know that I have the courage I need to be me. I'm working on it. It seems that a large part of that courage includes understanding that I'm going to lose people I love when I stop being what they expect. To me, that seems like it's the hardest part.

I am remembering, though, daily, how lucky I am, to have friends that know me, every horrible dark corner of me, and still love me. The fact that I have more than one of those makes me luckier than most, and I know that. They, more than anything else, are the source of the courage I find every day.

In which I do what I want

2010-10-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

We teach our children that selfishness is a bad thing. You should always share. You should always think of those around you. You should always put yourself last.

I learned that well. I defer to others on time lines and dinner plans and weekend trips. I rarely grab myself a drink or something to eat or something from the store without asking those around me what they need.I share my time and my kids and my life.

At some point, I realized I was suffering, from too much sharing. I realized this when I realized that my kids weren't getting enough attention and down-time. So I flipped it.

So if I'm not rushing out last minute to hang out with you, or if I've changed my mind about showing up to your function where you have so many people that you won't really notice that I haven't shown, please don't take it personally. I just need to learn to be selfish, to keep myself, and my kids, happy.

In which I get my fix

2010-10-06T08:50:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I am overwhelmed.

It's not even by things. It's by people.

Sometimes I feel like I don't do enough, in other people's eyes. And like others out there, supermoms who will remain nameless to protect the innocent and sweet, could handle my load and never break a sweat. And I am overwhelmed, because I should try harder, but I just don't have it in me, especially when I can physically feel negative feelings from other people weigh me down.

Other times, like yesterday, I unexpectedly get the fix I need to be able to do more.

All I was doing was explaining what I've been up to. Homeschooling. Taking care of Baby. Slowly starting a business. Babysitting. Setting up another MOPs job. Helping a few friends with their weddings. Having adventures with Kid. Helping maintain the house.

She interrupted to ask how my husband liked Denton. I told her that the lack of such a person was part of the reason for the move. She took in Baby, asleep in my arms, and Kid, putting together a skit with her friends for her class. And she called me 'Superwoman'. Ha. Something I rarely feel like.

But she has a point. I am surrounded by Superwomen. Those of us that have to take on not just the mom role, but also the dad role. The ones that wait for that monthly check that doesn't even cover a pack of diapers. The ones that miss their daughter's recital because they're working overtime to pay off the costume. The ones that don't know what to do with themselves the rare times that the kids are with someone else.

We do it all. We work and raise the kids and try not to pass on the same issues we have in hopes that the cycle ends. We try to choose better next time. If we have daughters, we hope our example doesn't scar them. If we have sons, we hope we're raising them to be better than their fathers.

I could take the easy way. We all could. But we choose what's best for our kids. They're our main reason for why we do what we do.

She saw that, this near-stranger. And she gave me the acknowledgement, the little bit of encouragement, that I need every once in a while, to keep doing what I know is right.

Sleep

2010-09-26T20:15:00.000-05:00

I woke up sick this morning. And had a very long argument with a friend. And missed church. And was sick. Did I mention I was sick?

By the end of the day of trying to work around the sick, I felt a little better. So I took Baby outside to watch the sunset. We sat on the porch and watch the colors bounce off of the other houses, the sun reflected in their windows. We watched stars come out one by one. Listened as children were called in by their parents. Observed one little boy tell his daddy he couldn't walk cause it was nighttime and his legs were broken at night so pleaseohplease could he be carried.

Baby leaned against me. I rubbed her back and smelled her hair. Told her wishes and fairytales. And she fell asleep, listening to the crickets sing a lullaby.

In which I talk to God

2010-09-13T01:13:00.000-05:00

I sat out for just a minute tonight on my balcony and talked to God.

Let me clarify.

When I was young, I 'talked' to God a lot. He was my own personal Santa. I asked for things. I got them. Some later than others. But looking back, I have to say, everything I asked for, I received, even if it was years, a decade, later. Even if whatever it was was no longer valuable to me.

When I was a teen, God was my sounding board. My father to take the place of the ones that failed. My teacher I could count on not to tell on me to my parents.

Right after that, He was my only friend. And when I say 'only', I mean literally, 'only'. The couple I had left over from high school had either gone on to better things, or were ripping me apart, and expecting me to thank them for it.

For a few years, we didn't communicate. Or rather, I didn't. I decided I was done. Held against Him the things people did in His name. It took me hitting rock bottom, then digging my heels in even further, plus two conversations, one with a soon-to-be convicted murderess, one with a convicted drug dealer, to realize what I truly believed.

After that, my conversations with God became different. I don't ask Him for things any more. The one exception has been when I started bleeding while pregnant with Baby. I prayed and begged and bargained to keep her safe, and would do it again. Otherwise, I don't ask Him for any thing.

I trust Him now. And I'm learning to trust myself, and what I know of the two of us, how far we've come together, how far we could go.

So our conversations now, especially tonight's, have turned back to the friend phase. I left most of mine just over an hour away. Or I'm losing them, currently, to life, to misunderstandings, to choices and decisions that I don't get a say in.

Tonight, I sat outside and watched the clouds play with the stars and just talked. I was honest about the ways I doubt. I was honest about the way I hurt. I told Him I wasn't sure how He felt about me anymore, the decisions I've made, the paths I've taken. But it's okay. Because I still know what I believe. And right now, that's all we needed to talk about.

In which things change

2010-09-06T09:34:00.000-05:00

Kid spent the night at a friend's last night. Granted, this friend is literally 4 houses down, but still. This was after that friend came to dinner here, and before that, Kid went to lunch over there.

I always wanted to be in a place where Kid, and at some point, Baby, could run wild and make friends and I wouldn't have to worry.

I always wanted my house to be filled with children, my own, other people's, random neighborhood ones.

And I always wanted Kid to be comfortable and independent and sure of herself.

With all that's gone on in the last year (and the exact year date is looming up rather closely), Kid took about 3 large steps backwards, in school, in life. But since we've been here, she's catching back up so quickly. She'll pass it by soon, I'm sure of it.

Part of me is sad, watching her run in and out all day, going to this person's house, collecting this friend, hitting up this park. I want to keep her tugging on my jeans, asking me to play, laughing at my laughter, holding on to my hand.

But I know she'll do awesome. I know she is awesome.

The proof? When she just ran in for 'just one sec' to hug me tight and kiss my cheek.

In which the day ends

2010-09-03T21:12:00.000-05:00

It was a good day. It was a stretch in the sun day. It was a day that we spent most of outdoors, which is the best days.

Kid ran the neighborhood from the moment the first school bus dropped off their first load. She was immediately latched on to by another child, and they ran up and down the street, around the corner to parks, grabbing and releasing others on their way. The new friend is supposed to get her at 8.30am tomorrow, so they can do it again.

Tonight we walked the streets, watched the lights in the lake change the colors of the water, argued over whether or not she could spot a poisonous frog in the dark, and ended the argument in giggles. She raced ahead of me once we got within houses of home, and I watched her slip in and out of houselights, free, happy, excited to get home.

I recently read a blog and the writer was writing a future letter to her kids. She talked about how they can look back on their childhood and say they were nomads, say they were poor, but they'll never be able to say they weren't happy. That's my goal. That my kids can't say they weren't happy.

In which I wish for Fall

2010-08-27T18:43:00.001-05:00

I wore jeans today. I haven't worn jeans but maybe twice since March. It gets so hot in dear, sweet, Texas. And usually stays stifling til way into October. But, as my previous post bragged, we've dropped to the low 90s, and I feel like celebrating.

So today, I have my cute jeans on. The ones that are almost in style, dark wash, that actually fit. They are only almost in style because they have something in common with all my other jeans that I love. They have swish.

You see, as I've stated before, most of my 'style' comes from the great grunge era. I gravitate towards tshirts (although mine fit a bit snug), I am addicted to buying off brand converse, and my jeans all have flare. Which means when I walk, I swish.

I love that sound, when I walk, of the material sliding against itself. I love the swish - swish - swish of steps taken. And I love what that means is around the corner.

Fall. Orange and brown leaves. Long sleeve henleys. Crisp air. Cold ears. Sunsets that steal colors from the world as the light dies. Rainstorms that clean out without leaving the bitter humid aftertaste. Clear night skies filled with stars so crowded you make up overlapping constellations to explain the light of the backyard.

I love Fall. I spend most of Spring and all of Summer wishing for Fall. And today, I felt it coming.

In which the weather get better

2010-08-26T10:07:00.000-05:00

It's cooled off in the last couple days. Rain has brought a much needed break from the over 100 degree days that have kept us shut in and lethargic.

This morning, Kid discovered the upstairs patio. I would call it a balcony, and probably get away with it, but it's more than that. It's already got a picnic table, chairs, a small end table, tiny torches. And with the weather so nice, it was perfect. A moment of peace. We just sat there, looking at the dollhouses surrounding us, watching butterflies flit in and out of the railing.

One more sign, one more reassurance, that this is home.

In which I finally say goodbye

2010-08-25T18:53:00.000-05:00

So we have moved. There's just slightly more than one carload left at dear Miss Amber's house, stealing space from her family who are temporarily bunking in with her. Most of the boxes have been unpacked, most of our things have found new places to collect dust, or wait to be used.

My kitchen things are all I'm having trouble with. My tupperware collection would make a 1950s housewife happier than she's ever been in her life. My casserole dishes don't fit in the lack of shelf space here. Combining kitchens is always the hardest. So for now, my kitchen things live in the garage.

Friday I go sign paperwork, bid farewell to the life I tried to lead. I wrote elsewhere that the thing that I realize I miss the most is my backyard.

i loved that backyard. it was mine. i strung white christmas lights and paper lanterns on the patio. planted zucchini and tomatoes in formula cans. dumped compost around the rose bush. stretched a clothesline from the patio to the house and pinned my colors against the sky. baby loved it, dug in the grass and moved dirt, smiled at the sun. kid drew timelines in chalk, wrote secrets with soap. we never fought in the backyard. he brought me cold beer, told me stories of the stars. we listened to the neighbors blaring tejano, calling their soap-opera-named children in for dinner, chasing chickens into coops. we made plans for new orleans, new mexico, greece. watched fireflies chase hummingbirds. ate grilled burgers and veggies. if we had stayed outside...

We are in need of a new backyard, of new memories. But first, we need to say goodbye. So, Friday, I go to say goodbye, so we can finally start again.

In which I do nothing

2010-08-10T15:28:00.001-05:00

For the last two days, I've done nothing.

Usually, I run between two jobs, at least one store, and home; cook at least one meal; clean at least one room.

It's not like I don't have anything to do.

I am in between jobs. But that won't be solved til at least next week.

The car is still semi-defunct, so store trips are fewer and farther between. But that's probably for the best.

Tonight I might make some white cheddar mac&cheese. Or not. We'll see.

As for cleaning - perhaps I'm overwhelmed. Not that the place is a mess. No more than the usual clutter of kids and life, dust that settles when we don't, dirt in corners we never sit. But, as in every case when I move, I feel the need to make sure the place that I'm leaving is cleaner than how I found it. Blame my upbringing for that one, I suppose. So I think to myself, "I'll get the bathroom today", which starts out with me wiping down the sink, which makes me refill the soap dispenser, which has me straightening up the hall closet, which makes me organize the pile of blankets in my room, which makes me hunt for a box for said blankets, which causes me despair over the boxes of things I don't use but need in the garage...and so on.

At the same time, I know I'm okay. I know this move is the right move. I'm not being outed, as I was from my last place. In fact, those around me have done all they can to try to help me stay. But this move is right, this place we're going is right, this life we're headed to is right. Perhaps I'm so in awe of something not giving me pause, something that I'm not having to talk myself into, that I just don't know what to do with myself.

I'll take that over normality any day.

In which my year starts over

2010-08-04T10:33:00.000-05:00

Most people make their resolutions on New Year's. Some make them on their birthday. Personally, I'm not big on resolutions. But this seems a good time for them.

It's been a long year. Looking back, it seems very wasteful to me. We're about to move for the third time in less than a year. Hopefully, this time, it's for good. We changed curriculum three times before we threw our hands up and begged for help and figured out what the issue was. We started and lost so many routines, some due to just not fitting, some due to crazy unstable personal issues. We didn't get our normal Christmas craftiness going. I didn't get my business off the ground.

So, since everyone's excited about the start of the school year, it seems like a good time to me to make a few resolutions.

Like create more. Play more. Relax more. Things I could never do right because I was always the only one doing anything. Thanks to examples from new friends, I know I can let go of perfection and strive for happiness instead. So that's my resolution. More happiness. Less perfection. I think I can pull it off.

I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair

2010-07-28T17:38:00.004-05:00

A lot of my life is tied up in my hair. I'm a girl, it's how we are. If it rains and my beautiful straightening job goes frizzy, the rest of my day is shot. If my curls decide to be magazine worthy and I get hit on by a guy lightly pulling one to watch it spring back, my day is made. I don't even have to wear makeup to feel pretty. I've got hair to spare.

The problem with the amounts of awesome hair that I have is that I have serious massive amounts. A trim takes me 45 minutes, with constant comments from the hairdresser if she's never laid scissors on my hair before. More than likely, she'll even try to talk me out of the texturizing and layering that I know my hair needs to lie flat and behave. So, mostly, I keep it short. Like, chin length or shorter.

When I don't, when I grow it out, it's always, always for a guy. You see, men don't realize that for my hair to be pretty and smooth and straight it takes 2 hair products, blow drying, straightening, and little to no humidity. And bouncy curls take 3 products, indoor air drying time, and little to no humidity, or the curls take over the tri-city area. So they always, always want to see it long. And I give in. Just this once, just so I can see it, just so I know that what you say is true.

What this means is that a basic part of my ending of a relationship includes a drastic haircut. Today, I lost 6 inches. It took the wonderful lady 1.5 hours, not including shampoo. And luckily, she has the same hair affliction, so she not only understood, but was in awe of my courage, to go from long to shortshortshort.

Because, as I explained to her, with my hair short, I can be me. I don't have to think about whether or not my hair will eat the barrette/comb/brush/elastic, as it so often does. I don't have to constantly flip it out of my face, off of my neck, out of my mouth. And, hardest of all for me, I can't hide behind it.

Terry Moore once said that he doesn't draw capes, he draws hair. While I think that's beautiful, and I love his graphic novels, I think I would tangle in a cape, get lost in it, just as I do with hair. And I wouldn't be me. I would be pretending to be someone else. Something I'm trying very hard not to do anymore.

So the hair is short, and intends to stay that way. No more tangle, no more hiding, no more getting lost. That's the goal.

In which it rains

2010-07-26T13:46:00.003-05:00

I've never been afraid of rain. And I've never taught Kid to be either. While other children were brought in from the first drops, she stayed out til she wrinkled. At one point, after a weekend of Wizard of Oz on repeat, she went so far as to tell her daycare teacher that she could stay out and play in the rain, because 'real witches don't melt'.

I have given in to a lot of things in my life. We're told that we have to. You know what I mean. You have to send your child to this school. You have to teach them this way. You have to sign them up for this sport and have them wear this style. You have to show up for the luncheon with this side dish and discuss only this thing. And I tried, very hard, to do those things that I had to do. Including, taking Kid out of the rain.

My recent crash and burn has afforded me this luxury - it has seared away all that I had built up, and left me nothing but rain to make it all grow again. So I find myself back where I started. Not where I have to be, but where I want to be. And once more, rain is an occasion to dance, to play and laugh, to catch all we can and be grateful for the growth.

In which I am thankful

2010-07-19T20:42:00.003-05:00

It's 8.45pm and I am thankful.

Kid is asleep after spending last night with Grammy. They saw a movie, did their girl thing, found a new learning website to add to our daily school. She came home and played with Baby and looked at Six Flag pics and cuddled and showered and passed out.

Baby stayed up a little longer with me. She played on the floor while I did dishes and switched out the laundry. Then passed out next to me as I started watching Garden State.

My life is beautiful, and I can't complain at all. Apart from my gorgeous well-behaved super easy kids, I have friends that never stop being there for me. That care, actually care, about my kids. I have family that loves me even if they don't always agree with me. My struggles are small, and the more I learn to trust, to accept help, and to believe, both in myself and in those around me, the more I am blessed.

In which I believe something

2010-07-18T22:44:00.005-05:00

I believe some days are just meant to suck.

You know the ones. You sleep through your alarm. Both kids want the one packet of oatmeal left. The cat puked on your last clean pair of jeans. The dog's hair won't come out of your lucky sweater.

Mine was Friday. It actually started out as a fantastic day. I had a great play date with a fantastic friend whose daughter gets along with Kid. I had plans to spend a way full weekend with another good friend, and see yet a third friend Saturday whose quality time I was definitely missing.

Then, on the way to the house of the friend who I was staying with. My oh so wonderful housemate informs me that our house is flooded. An issue with changing out the washer/dryer. They think it's fixed, then it's not. She tries to clean up, and the broom breaks. Then Greta the green station wagon decided to stall. I restarted her, and she stalled again. On the second restart, I saw that she was getting close to overheating, and pulled into the closest Walgreens, hoping that a little time and a little coolant would make dear old Greta all better.

No such luck.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am one of the easiest going people in the world. Nothing ever seems to faze me. Few things ever make me flinch. There's not more than a handful who have ever seen me really truly break down.

One of the surest ways to make that happen - give me a car issue. I can't deal with them. I can't do it.

Luckily, along with all of my junk I have found that I have a support system that has proven unshakable no matter what mess I've thrown at it. And, on top of that luck, I seem to have added to my support system.

So tomorrow, a plumber comes out to fix up the washer/dryer issue. And, Greta is fixed and running. I survived both crises because I have people who are willing to pick up what I can't. And it helped me remember that no matter how sure I am that some days just shouldn't be, and aren't meant to be, good, somewhere in them, in everything, is something that reminds you that life is amazing, and people are good.

I cry at the end of movies

2010-06-29T13:43:00.002-05:00

No really, I do.

The end of A League of Their Own makes me tear up. The end of Knocked Up totally makes me sob. And the end of the third Pirates movie, don't even get me started.

I like to blame it on the music. There has to be a certain cord, or maybe a certain key, that hits women's hormone like a punch in the gut. Or maybe the cinematography. Movies are getting more and more beautiful, and we are appreciating them less and less.

With the last two, I know in reality, it's the couple aspect, and the impossibility of that becoming true. That's something I can't fix.

But with the first, it's the overwhelming feeling of how it must be to be part of something amazing. A team, a collective, a commune, a family. Some sort of group forged out of hard work or tragedy or a moment in time that you didn't let pass you by.

I want that.

I am wearing a dress today

2010-06-27T08:57:00.002-05:00

No really. I am.

It's white with pink ribbon straps. It has multi-colored butterflies on it, and even a few sequins.

It is Sunday, so I'm using church as the excuse.

You see, I've dressed like a highschool grunge kid since, well, the grunge era. Tshirts, scuffed baggy jeans, converse or vans or flip flops or (if I'm lucky) Doc Martens.

Part of it is that I was in junior high when that fad came through.

Most of it is I could hide in those clothes.

I was the girl who blossomed over a summer. While all my classmates stayed they're former boy-figure selves, and called me fat, whore, ugly. And, I've always struggled with my weight. Not in the normal way, which is inability to maintain a diet, but in the way that I know I'm healthy and attractive, but I feel like I should be just a little bit smaller/more fit/more redheaded/better dressed/etc.

So this is my attempt to overcome myself. To wear my clothes, rather than just be a stopping place for them. And to, maybe, find a bit of feminine something inside of me.

Wish me luck.

In which I wish for things

2010-06-26T07:25:00.003-05:00

I love lists. I'm not very organized. I'm not really scheduled. But I love lists.

There are lists I've made that I've since abandoned. Lists that I have to follow at the store. Lists of to-dos that I pretend I never wrote.

And lists of things I wish for.

Like a baby that sleeps til 10am.
Or a home, where my kids know they won't move from in the next year or less.
And dreams that don't make me paranoid about what I have to do the next day.
Plus, bacon. Because it's important.

At this very moment, I wish I knew what to wish for to make it all better.

Free time

2010-06-25T06:23:00.002-05:00

It's officially summer. The humidity sucks. The heat is unbearable. We don't really want to do anything beyond staying inside with the AC as our best friend.

So what does Kid do with her new found free time? She works on a multiplication and division book, 5th grade version, that I told her she could get rid of last month. I'm not even kidding. I walk past her room multiple times to her bent over that thing, brow furrowed, tongue slightly sticking out, fingers gripping the pencil like it was a lifeline. She even asks me to check it about once a week.

The girl is weird.

Bad parent moment?

2010-06-24T12:10:00.002-05:00

In my quest to find something to replace the baby tub, which Baby is definitely too chunky for, dear Miss Amber informed me that the tubs have non-slip coating on them. Since Baby's new favorite thing is to sit up on her own, today was a day of firsts.

(You see, I did go through all this before, with Kid. But honestly, it was over 8 years ago, and I was a different person then. In fact, I've been a handful of people since then.)

So I put about half an inch of water in the tub, and lowered Baby's naked healthy butt into it, half expecting some sort of freak out. She took to it like a duck to, well, water.

I'm posting this oh-so-boring of a moment for this reason - I'm not used to doing things because I know it's the right time. I tend to think it's the right time and check with about 4 people before I sleep on it to make sure I'm sort of okay with it.

I also got a convertible car seat for her. Without input.

The day of firsts is not necessarily a huge milestone for her, or even a first time that I've bathed a child in a tub. But it's big for me. To follow my instincts alone, and be right, is a good feeling.

Once upon a time...

2010-06-24T10:57:00.004-05:00

Fairytales were real.

This is sort of like that.

Except, this is the story of more than just one girl-who-should-be-a-princess. And there's more than one dragon to slay. And, well, Price Charming needs a bit more charm school.

Otherwise, it's pretty much the same. The girls work hard. They're taught that family and God are important. Their mother loves them very much. Their father is a long story that may be told in another book, but not now. And there should be a happy ending in there somewhere.

This is just details. Daily life spent learning, teaching, creating, living, loving, hoping, dreaming. It doesn't promise to entertain or educate. Just to be.

Maybe if more things would just be, more fairytales might come true.