today, on this eve of my 29th year of life, i reminisce. i wonder. i'm happy. i'm sad.
it's
hard to believe that seven years ago tomorrow, i was in the midst of
the worst day of my life. my biggest heartbreak. my reaching up to rock
bottom. goodbyes are hard. part of me knew when i got a call on the 23rd
of december seven years ago to come to louisiana to say goodbye that he
would go on my birthday. i remember calling my mom, too shocked to cry
telling her we needed to go NOW. i remember holding his hand. playing
him one last song on the guitar. doing my best to keep it together, for
him, for me, for his dad, for my mom. i was losing the biggest part of
my life. the part of my life i had spent six years loving.
the
morning of the 28th i was back at work and my phone rang. when i saw my
mom's name pop up, i knew. i knew i'd miss him forever. i knew that
every day i would think of him. i didn't know how i would go on. i
didn't know how to survive when he wasn't there to love, to care for.
in
retrospect, i know that a lot of things in my life would have been a
lot harder if i hadn't lost him when i was so young. it seems most of my
late teens/early twenties was plagued with the death of people i loved.
it made me strong. they made me strong. they still make me strong.
in
the midst of my rock bottom of losing him, i met someone. someone else who changed my life. i met him at the wrong time. we
were so right, but i wasn't done healing. i wasn't over it,
not that i'll ever be. i wasn't done falling apart. and i had to fall
apart to be made whole again.
some days i wonder if part of my
soul will always want for what could never be. i'm so beyond blessed in
my life today. i am happy that somehow along the
way i did something right to deserve this life.
i wanted so much
for my life. here i am, a year and a day away from the big 3-0, and i
have to say that i am exactly where i want to be, even if i had to
endure some curves and some heartache along the way. those curves, those
heartaches made me who i am, and brought me here, to this place, with a beautiful daughter who is so
full of spunk and life. i sold myself short when i dreamed of her, she
is so much more than i ever wished for. more than i ever thought
possible. she is beautiful and smart, energetic and full of heart. i
have a job that pays the bills and puts more than enough food on the
table. i have a family who is second to none.
i always miss my
allen (and bull) family. i always love them. and every day, especially
on this day, i think of them fondly, dearly, and with all of my heart.
i'll never forget the shy boy on the steps of church camp who couldn't
get the nerve to ask out an older girl. the same boy with whom i spent
his last days loving with my whole heart, singing to sleep, and praying
for to heal. i'll never forget that boy who taught me to love, who
taught me strength and weakness, who taught me that it's ok to hurt, and
cry. who taught me how to dream. but most of all, who taught me that
it's ok to be ok when things are beyond your control.
i finally
feel like i'm healing. i'm hoping to pick up my guitar again soon. i'm
hoping to play my daughter songs and fill our home with music like mine
was growing up. i want her to sing and dance, and know that part of me. i
managed christmas this year without a complete and total meltdown. baby
steps. we don't heal at once. sometimes it takes a while. i'm happy to
be ending this chapter known as my twenties. i'm ready for my next
chapter, ready to meet the challenge. ready to embrace it with open
arms. ready to heal. ready to be ok.
and finally, i am. i am ok.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
White Trash Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas an' all thru the park, wasn't nuttin to hear, 'cept a mew, and a bark.
The stockings were hung by the fake fireplace, in hopes that ol' fat guy would soon show his face.
The kids was asleep with the little tv on, and screen doors were slamming, the flying pigs on the lawn.
Mimi in the kitchen was finishing the pie, and papa was online tossing the die.
When out in the street there came a loud crash,
They'd hoped the ol' cats weren't into the trash.
When they looked out the winder they gasped dern right heavy,
They thought the drunk neighbor done crashed his ol' Chevy.
The street light shone down on the pavement below, gave just enough light to the crash scene down low.
When what to their baffled brains did appear,
But a ol' beat up sled, led by eight ten-point deer.
The little ol' driver snubbed out his last cig, I wondered how fat man got up on that rig.
Mo' fast than the police his curses they came. He coughed and he choked as he called them by name.
Dern dasher and dancer, git on prancer and vixen. Git on Comet and Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen.
To the end of the street and over the wall, Git on you ol' reindeer, git over, ya all!
Gravel and dust like a ternader did fly, got to the ol' brick wall, and was up in the sky.
Above metal rooftops those derned reindeer flew with that beat up ol' sled, an' ol' fat boy too.
And then in a flash was heard on the roof, the scuffles and clumsy of all them dern hooves.
Put their heads in the door and was turnin' around when thru the big picture winder, fat boy came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red 'cept his hair and his boots and that suit was all dirty with ashes and soot.
A bag full of presents he swung right around and looked like a burgler 'bout to make his first round.
His eyes sorta twinkled and his dimples would kill ya, looked like he'd been dippin' 'to papa's tequila.
His lips was drawn up into a right smile and the beard on his chin was as long as a mile!
The butt of a cig held tight 'tween his teeth, and the smoke done made smelly the new Christmas wreath.
He had a round face and a big round belly, shook the house when he laughed like a jar o' Mimi's jelly.
He looked fat and hungry that ol' Christmas crook, knew his ol' lady back home musta been a good cook.
He winked right away and turned his fat neck They knew about then wasn't nuttin' to fret.
He said not a word and went on to his job, filled all the stockings and turned with a nod. Packages flung under the tree that did twinkle, then out in a flash back thru the winder.
He climbed in his sled and cursed them to go, bet he was wishin' the south got some snow. Heard him yell loud as he drove to the sky, "Happy Christmas ya all and have a good night!"
The stockings were hung by the fake fireplace, in hopes that ol' fat guy would soon show his face.
The kids was asleep with the little tv on, and screen doors were slamming, the flying pigs on the lawn.
Mimi in the kitchen was finishing the pie, and papa was online tossing the die.
When out in the street there came a loud crash,
They'd hoped the ol' cats weren't into the trash.
When they looked out the winder they gasped dern right heavy,
They thought the drunk neighbor done crashed his ol' Chevy.
The street light shone down on the pavement below, gave just enough light to the crash scene down low.
When what to their baffled brains did appear,
But a ol' beat up sled, led by eight ten-point deer.
The little ol' driver snubbed out his last cig, I wondered how fat man got up on that rig.
Mo' fast than the police his curses they came. He coughed and he choked as he called them by name.
Dern dasher and dancer, git on prancer and vixen. Git on Comet and Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen.
To the end of the street and over the wall, Git on you ol' reindeer, git over, ya all!
Gravel and dust like a ternader did fly, got to the ol' brick wall, and was up in the sky.
Above metal rooftops those derned reindeer flew with that beat up ol' sled, an' ol' fat boy too.
And then in a flash was heard on the roof, the scuffles and clumsy of all them dern hooves.
Put their heads in the door and was turnin' around when thru the big picture winder, fat boy came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red 'cept his hair and his boots and that suit was all dirty with ashes and soot.
A bag full of presents he swung right around and looked like a burgler 'bout to make his first round.
His eyes sorta twinkled and his dimples would kill ya, looked like he'd been dippin' 'to papa's tequila.
His lips was drawn up into a right smile and the beard on his chin was as long as a mile!
The butt of a cig held tight 'tween his teeth, and the smoke done made smelly the new Christmas wreath.
He had a round face and a big round belly, shook the house when he laughed like a jar o' Mimi's jelly.
He looked fat and hungry that ol' Christmas crook, knew his ol' lady back home musta been a good cook.
He winked right away and turned his fat neck They knew about then wasn't nuttin' to fret.
He said not a word and went on to his job, filled all the stockings and turned with a nod. Packages flung under the tree that did twinkle, then out in a flash back thru the winder.
He climbed in his sled and cursed them to go, bet he was wishin' the south got some snow. Heard him yell loud as he drove to the sky, "Happy Christmas ya all and have a good night!"
Friday, December 14, 2012
Tragedy, defined.
Just a few thoughts about this horrific day. It's a tragedy.
trag·e·dy
/ˈtrajidē/
Noun
An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
People lost "loved ones," the news said. "Loved ones," a term people use when a second cousin dies in a car accident. "Loved ones," a beloved grandparent who has lived and loved for a lifetime. "Loved ones," a person who knew what being a "loved one" is. These were CHILDREN. Innocent, precious, no doubt loved, but how can we label these children with a name we use for people who have LIVED a life? Not saying that my views on loved ones consists of old people and second cousins, or that they don't matter, because they do. They are loved, they leave a void. They will be missed. These children were so much more than "loved ones." They were babies. No child should have to hear and see their friends get shot up by some deranged psychopath who has it out for someone who happens to be a teacher.
Bear with me, I'm going here. Call me a liberal, call me a gun hater, call me whatever, stop reading. Fine. But, a gun, by definition,
gun[ guhn ]
noun
1. a weapon consisting of a metal tube, with mechanical attachments, from which projectiles are shot by the force of an explosive; a piece of ordnance.
A weapon, by definition,
weap·on
/ˈwepən/
Noun
A thing designed or used for inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.
Something designed or used for "inflicting bodily harm or physical damage."
They say guns don't kill people, that people kill people. Without a gun, a person would wield a knife, or a bomb, or a fist, or whatever "weapon" they choose. Guns DO kill people. Guns have killed people I have known and loved. A gun killed a four-year-old in Houston last week. He pulled the trigger himself.
So many are so willing to say stop the violence, but these same people say that we have a right to carry these "weapons" with us wherever we go. Sure, maybe if this teacher or another person in that school had carried a "weapon" they could have retaliated and killed that jerk before he could kill so many kids.
As a parent I worry that someday a student might bring a "weapon" into my kids' schools. Now, I worry that a deranged stranger has that opportunity. As a parent, I was relieved to have gotten an email on safety precautions and emergency situations from my daughter's preschool to put my mind at ease about my baby while she's at school.
school
/sko͞ol/
Noun
An institution for educating children.
I want my daughter to be educated. I want her to know that there are wonderful things in this world. I don't want her to HAVE to know that there are bad things and people out there that cause harm for no reason. I don't her to have to know the definition of violence first hand.
vi·o·lence
/ˈvī(ə)ləns/
Noun
Behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something.
Strength of emotion or an unpleasant or destructive natural force.
These are things we should be protecting our kids from, and, if you see it fit, educating them on proper use. No child should be left in the dark wondering, is that my friend getting shot? Is that my little sister crying in the next room? Is that my brother that just screamed for help?
End the violence. It's so easy to say, so impossible to implement. Educate yourselves, your children, your spouses, your "loved ones" on what to do in an emergency situation. Report suspicious people. Be suspicious of people who are out of place. Ask questions. Seek knowledge. Be. Smart.
And hug your kids. Let your loved ones know they are loved.
trag·e·dy
/ˈtrajidē/
Noun
An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
People lost "loved ones," the news said. "Loved ones," a term people use when a second cousin dies in a car accident. "Loved ones," a beloved grandparent who has lived and loved for a lifetime. "Loved ones," a person who knew what being a "loved one" is. These were CHILDREN. Innocent, precious, no doubt loved, but how can we label these children with a name we use for people who have LIVED a life? Not saying that my views on loved ones consists of old people and second cousins, or that they don't matter, because they do. They are loved, they leave a void. They will be missed. These children were so much more than "loved ones." They were babies. No child should have to hear and see their friends get shot up by some deranged psychopath who has it out for someone who happens to be a teacher.
Bear with me, I'm going here. Call me a liberal, call me a gun hater, call me whatever, stop reading. Fine. But, a gun, by definition,
gun[ guhn ]
noun
1. a weapon consisting of a metal tube, with mechanical attachments, from which projectiles are shot by the force of an explosive; a piece of ordnance.
A weapon, by definition,
weap·on
/ˈwepən/
Noun
A thing designed or used for inflicting bodily harm or physical damage.
Something designed or used for "inflicting bodily harm or physical damage."
They say guns don't kill people, that people kill people. Without a gun, a person would wield a knife, or a bomb, or a fist, or whatever "weapon" they choose. Guns DO kill people. Guns have killed people I have known and loved. A gun killed a four-year-old in Houston last week. He pulled the trigger himself.
So many are so willing to say stop the violence, but these same people say that we have a right to carry these "weapons" with us wherever we go. Sure, maybe if this teacher or another person in that school had carried a "weapon" they could have retaliated and killed that jerk before he could kill so many kids.
As a parent I worry that someday a student might bring a "weapon" into my kids' schools. Now, I worry that a deranged stranger has that opportunity. As a parent, I was relieved to have gotten an email on safety precautions and emergency situations from my daughter's preschool to put my mind at ease about my baby while she's at school.
school
/sko͞ol/
Noun
An institution for educating children.
I want my daughter to be educated. I want her to know that there are wonderful things in this world. I don't want her to HAVE to know that there are bad things and people out there that cause harm for no reason. I don't her to have to know the definition of violence first hand.
vi·o·lence
/ˈvī(ə)ləns/
Noun
Behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something.
Strength of emotion or an unpleasant or destructive natural force.
These are things we should be protecting our kids from, and, if you see it fit, educating them on proper use. No child should be left in the dark wondering, is that my friend getting shot? Is that my little sister crying in the next room? Is that my brother that just screamed for help?
End the violence. It's so easy to say, so impossible to implement. Educate yourselves, your children, your spouses, your "loved ones" on what to do in an emergency situation. Report suspicious people. Be suspicious of people who are out of place. Ask questions. Seek knowledge. Be. Smart.
And hug your kids. Let your loved ones know they are loved.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
shape shifting
i'm not entirely sure what i'm writing about. i felt the need to express.
i just finished editing an awesome family session and it made my heart full. i don't think my life would be complete without photography. it lets me see things in a way that not many people see them. from this angle, or that. through this lens or that one. it helps me cope. it helps me find myself. i'm never happier than when i'm shooting. i zone out. it's wonderful.
i used to be this way with my guitar. with my voice. maybe my outlet has shifted. these days, it's hard to get through a song or a christmas carol without choking. i haven't brought myself to get out my guitar since my last post. maybe i'm busy. maybe i'm tired. but maybe i'm scared to face ol' hazel again. afraid hazel will have forgotten me. or worse, that i have forgotten. i used to play for hours in my empty apartment with the windows open with an open notebook and a pencil. and as i sit here, typing, i glance down at these lyrics...
maybe over time my eyes have jaded / and thru it all i know that life has faded / seems that nothing's quite the same / maybe i'm the one to blame
maybe i am to blame. maybe i'm changing. growing. shifting. i still LOVE to write. and my life is full of music. just not mine. it still hurts to sing. it still hurts to play. my father in law keeps telling me i need to get my guitar out for goose and play for her. i'd play her this song, the one i wrote before i met her. maybe it was for her all along...
i'd give it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
maybe, just maybe, my "choking" is joy, that my dreams have come true. i waited all my life to fall in love. real love. love that makes you crazy. love that makes you hurt when it isn't there. love that makes you feel complete.
maybe life's supposed to be confusing / and over all can be consuming / i know life's a mystery / maybe i should set it free
i spent a lot of my early twenties crying. in hope, in sadness, in desperation, in joy, in regret. in depression. i spent most decembers crying. my little girl changed that for me. the joys in life, they're worth waiting for. they're worth picking yourself, dusting off your pants and keeping on.
maybe tears of hope are overrated / and all the joys in life are long awaited / i want to wait until the day / when i can close my eyes and say // i gave it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
peace. i've finally found peace. i'm at peace when i shoot. i'm at peace when i'm capturing memories, making them last forever. new babies. first kisses. birthday cakes. shredded gift paper. promises. hope. love. joy.
so confusing yet so clear / i don't know but am i near / can i find the bounds of love / want to know it's from above
that's all.
i just finished editing an awesome family session and it made my heart full. i don't think my life would be complete without photography. it lets me see things in a way that not many people see them. from this angle, or that. through this lens or that one. it helps me cope. it helps me find myself. i'm never happier than when i'm shooting. i zone out. it's wonderful.
i used to be this way with my guitar. with my voice. maybe my outlet has shifted. these days, it's hard to get through a song or a christmas carol without choking. i haven't brought myself to get out my guitar since my last post. maybe i'm busy. maybe i'm tired. but maybe i'm scared to face ol' hazel again. afraid hazel will have forgotten me. or worse, that i have forgotten. i used to play for hours in my empty apartment with the windows open with an open notebook and a pencil. and as i sit here, typing, i glance down at these lyrics...
maybe over time my eyes have jaded / and thru it all i know that life has faded / seems that nothing's quite the same / maybe i'm the one to blame
maybe i am to blame. maybe i'm changing. growing. shifting. i still LOVE to write. and my life is full of music. just not mine. it still hurts to sing. it still hurts to play. my father in law keeps telling me i need to get my guitar out for goose and play for her. i'd play her this song, the one i wrote before i met her. maybe it was for her all along...
i'd give it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
maybe, just maybe, my "choking" is joy, that my dreams have come true. i waited all my life to fall in love. real love. love that makes you crazy. love that makes you hurt when it isn't there. love that makes you feel complete.
maybe life's supposed to be confusing / and over all can be consuming / i know life's a mystery / maybe i should set it free
i spent a lot of my early twenties crying. in hope, in sadness, in desperation, in joy, in regret. in depression. i spent most decembers crying. my little girl changed that for me. the joys in life, they're worth waiting for. they're worth picking yourself, dusting off your pants and keeping on.
maybe tears of hope are overrated / and all the joys in life are long awaited / i want to wait until the day / when i can close my eyes and say // i gave it all to find / your face in a crowd / your voice out loud / i'm searching for a peace inside / a peace that makes me come alive
peace. i've finally found peace. i'm at peace when i shoot. i'm at peace when i'm capturing memories, making them last forever. new babies. first kisses. birthday cakes. shredded gift paper. promises. hope. love. joy.
so confusing yet so clear / i don't know but am i near / can i find the bounds of love / want to know it's from above
that's all.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
heart-deep.
they say beauty is only skin-deep. that we have to SEE ourselves as beautiful to be beautiful. no woman i know can agree to this. i read a wonderful article yesterday about calling yourself beautiful for your daughters. it hit home.
i grew up with a mom who called me her "beautiful tamera" and i was her spitting image. i still am. this mom who called me beautiful, who did her best to give me everything thought i was beautiful and still does. i'm sure her mom feels the same way about her (and me!). sometimes my mom still calls me beautiful and i wonder how she can see it. i realize now, now that i have a daughter, how it's possible. even on her ugliest, fit-throwing, biting all the kids at daycare, cookies all over her face, she is my beautiful mess and the day some boy ruins that for her i'm going to be pissed.
i don't want my daughter to grow up thinking oh when i'm old enough to think, i won't be pretty anymore. i won't be beautiful, because i've outgrown it. i want her to know that she's ALWAYS beautiful and that beauty ISN'T skin deep, it's heart-deep. i want her to feel the way i feel about her when she looks at herself in the mirror. so many parents are like "oh, you're going to raise a narcissist." not that i want her to be self-involved or selfish, but i do want her to take pride in herself, not just her actions, but in herself, physically. i want to raise a confident young woman, not a timid, shy little squirrel like i was. i want her to feel in her heart that she is perfect the way she is. that she is beautiful, and she will never learn that, except from me.
i sit here, stained t-shirt from college, legs hairy, split ends, grey hair peeking its way out of my part, hair messy from sleep and i'm suppsed to think all this is beautiful? what am i thinking. heart-deep, tam. heart-deep. i'm "mom-shaped," which means i'm still struggling to lose the seventy pounds i gained when i was pregnant and i also like cookies too much. my clothes hardly ever match, i've got permanent bags under my eyes from lack of sleep over wondering how i'm going to screw up my daughter in this short 18 years that she will live with me, and worrying about money, and my relationship with my husband, and stepdaughter, and whether the dogs are rearranging my living room floor with their teeth.
i have food to eat. i have a bed to sleep in. i have sweet and perfect kids to worry about. i have a home to worry about and i have furry kids.
i have two working legs. i have hair on my head, and i am in good health, and i have the ability to make myself better. i have the ability to be beautiful because beauty isn't skin deep. it's heart-deep.
heart-deep. you have to feel it to believe it. heart-deep. you have to love yourself. heart-deep. your love shows to others. heart. deep. heart-deep.
it's so easy to fall into the "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." i was talking to a friend the other day and i used to play guitar and sing and write and do all this stuff that, now that, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." she told me to make time. make time. heart-deep.
the last memory i have of playing guitar and really loving it was almost six years ago. i've picked up my guitar now and again, but not like that. i haven't played like that. with heart. with soul. with love. with careless abandon to the world around me. my world has changed since then. and i haven't found time in two years to even pick it up because (say it with me), "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." heart-deep. if it's something you love, make time. make time. heart-deep.
i wrote a novel. how many people can say that (besides the obvious published ones)? i wrote a novel that's sitting because, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." it's complete, edited, read over many times by others, query letter written. just needs to find a home with a publisher. it's a story that needs to be shared, and it's something i love. make time. make time. heart-deep.
i could go on about my half-finished projects, my half-finished life, but the point is, if it's something you love, make time. it's heart-deep. if you're doing something you love, you gain the confidence you need to feel "oh, i'm so awesome right now." which, in turn makes you feel pretty inside, which reflects to the outside. so.
make time. make time. heart-deep.
i grew up with a mom who called me her "beautiful tamera" and i was her spitting image. i still am. this mom who called me beautiful, who did her best to give me everything thought i was beautiful and still does. i'm sure her mom feels the same way about her (and me!). sometimes my mom still calls me beautiful and i wonder how she can see it. i realize now, now that i have a daughter, how it's possible. even on her ugliest, fit-throwing, biting all the kids at daycare, cookies all over her face, she is my beautiful mess and the day some boy ruins that for her i'm going to be pissed.
i don't want my daughter to grow up thinking oh when i'm old enough to think, i won't be pretty anymore. i won't be beautiful, because i've outgrown it. i want her to know that she's ALWAYS beautiful and that beauty ISN'T skin deep, it's heart-deep. i want her to feel the way i feel about her when she looks at herself in the mirror. so many parents are like "oh, you're going to raise a narcissist." not that i want her to be self-involved or selfish, but i do want her to take pride in herself, not just her actions, but in herself, physically. i want to raise a confident young woman, not a timid, shy little squirrel like i was. i want her to feel in her heart that she is perfect the way she is. that she is beautiful, and she will never learn that, except from me.
i sit here, stained t-shirt from college, legs hairy, split ends, grey hair peeking its way out of my part, hair messy from sleep and i'm suppsed to think all this is beautiful? what am i thinking. heart-deep, tam. heart-deep. i'm "mom-shaped," which means i'm still struggling to lose the seventy pounds i gained when i was pregnant and i also like cookies too much. my clothes hardly ever match, i've got permanent bags under my eyes from lack of sleep over wondering how i'm going to screw up my daughter in this short 18 years that she will live with me, and worrying about money, and my relationship with my husband, and stepdaughter, and whether the dogs are rearranging my living room floor with their teeth.
i have food to eat. i have a bed to sleep in. i have sweet and perfect kids to worry about. i have a home to worry about and i have furry kids.
i have two working legs. i have hair on my head, and i am in good health, and i have the ability to make myself better. i have the ability to be beautiful because beauty isn't skin deep. it's heart-deep.
heart-deep. you have to feel it to believe it. heart-deep. you have to love yourself. heart-deep. your love shows to others. heart. deep. heart-deep.
it's so easy to fall into the "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." i was talking to a friend the other day and i used to play guitar and sing and write and do all this stuff that, now that, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." she told me to make time. make time. heart-deep.
the last memory i have of playing guitar and really loving it was almost six years ago. i've picked up my guitar now and again, but not like that. i haven't played like that. with heart. with soul. with love. with careless abandon to the world around me. my world has changed since then. and i haven't found time in two years to even pick it up because (say it with me), "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." heart-deep. if it's something you love, make time. make time. heart-deep.
i wrote a novel. how many people can say that (besides the obvious published ones)? i wrote a novel that's sitting because, "i'm a mom, i don't have time for (this)." it's complete, edited, read over many times by others, query letter written. just needs to find a home with a publisher. it's a story that needs to be shared, and it's something i love. make time. make time. heart-deep.
i could go on about my half-finished projects, my half-finished life, but the point is, if it's something you love, make time. it's heart-deep. if you're doing something you love, you gain the confidence you need to feel "oh, i'm so awesome right now." which, in turn makes you feel pretty inside, which reflects to the outside. so.
make time. make time. heart-deep.
Monday, June 25, 2012
explanation of doubt.
"i am not embarrassed by my faith, but i'm also not embarrassed by my doubt." - john green
this sort of explains me these days. i mean, i know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is something more than this life. but, being human, with free will, i can't help but doubt that it is what everyone thinks it is. i'm unsure. let me explain (mom).
it's EASY to believe in something when things are going wrong because we NEED something to believe in. it's EASY to believe in something when things are going well because things are fine.
but what about the hum-drum, monotony of human life? where do we forget? where do we remember?
i can't look at my daughter and NOT believe in something big. something that creates a baby from a single cell, perfectly forms a little human out of two parts of bigger humans. i looked at my daughter for the first time and felt incredibly blessed.
i once had this incredible faith in god. not saying that i've jumped ship, and not asking for sympathy or not trying to worry anyone, i'm just saying that it's been a long road. it's been a bumpy road. i'm not saying "poor me, look at what i've been through." this is not a cry for salvation. this is not a holier than thou declaration. it's merely late night thoughts on paper, that i've been pondering for quite some time.
i know there would be (and probably IS) disappointment daily in who i have become. i know there's also pride from some for who i have become.
i hope that someday i make my daughter proud. i hope that someday my daughter can ask me honest questions about faith, about god, about doubt, about life, about death, about life after death, about where we go and what we do and i hope that i don't tell her the wrong thing. i realize that i don't pray like i should, i don't believe like i should, i don't talk like i should, but who sets those bars? a preacher? a teacher? a father? a mother? a grandparent? a higher being?
my heart hurts when i hear something bad is happening to anyone. i don't give the standard "i'll pray for you" when i hear that anymore. i've learned that that isn't what people want to hear. people want something genuine. people want something real and me telling someone i will pray for them would probably scare most of the people i know. why? because i've learned that some people really mean it when they say i'll pray for you, but a lot of people don't. i never know what to say, because, in reality, (and this sounds horrible) i probably won't pray. i might send a thought. i might pause and have some silence and i feel like that is enough. i feel like my creator, who made and knows my heart, knows what my silence speaks, knows my thoughts are sometimes a cry for help but i feel in my heart a breaking when i hear something bad. maybe i'm searching for something more to life, maybe i will forever be trying to figure myself out. to figure this life out. to conquer the world.
i want to conquer the world for my little girl. i want to protect her from every harm, but i also want to teach her. i want her to learn. i want her to experience LIFE. experience is the only way i ever learned. i remember looking at myself in a mirror after escaping to the bathroom at a bible study and i felt a stir. i felt something in my being that scared me. i didn't know how to express it so i cried. i feel like i'd cry all the time if i HAD to decide what exactly i am, who exactly i am. i don't think we ever know. i don't think we are meant to know. i think that whatever we end up as, whether dust or angels or different humans without a clue, i want to learn and know and be able to say that i gave it all i got.
i may be crass and crude and downright rude sometimes, but i feel like that's a part of me that i've tried to suppress in the past and it only comes back tenfold. i may not sugar coat things with a sweet voice or a nice picture, but i try to be honest with everyone i encounter.
so, maybe, maybe this is an apology to everyone i've ever offended. maybe it's a warning to everyone i haven't. but maybe, just maybe, this part of me is the key to who i am, and accepting that is part of accepting me. and it's a part of me accepting people who aren't like me.
there are different people in the world. there are people who look different, think different, walk different, talk different, love different, feel different and i used to be VERY opposed to difference. i have damn near ruined relationships in the past because of this opposition and i have learned that giving that opposition away has done a lot for my heart. if you had told me ten years ago that i would be fully supportive of certain rights and liberties and politics i would have laughed at you. well prayed for you, then laughed at you. but even at my "best" my heart was at its worst. i feel like my heart is finally leveled out. i feel like my heart is finally my own. and that this is my best. my heart is full. my life is more than i ever expected. i have a wonderful family and i have love.
and after all, that's all we need.
this sort of explains me these days. i mean, i know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is something more than this life. but, being human, with free will, i can't help but doubt that it is what everyone thinks it is. i'm unsure. let me explain (mom).
it's EASY to believe in something when things are going wrong because we NEED something to believe in. it's EASY to believe in something when things are going well because things are fine.
but what about the hum-drum, monotony of human life? where do we forget? where do we remember?
i can't look at my daughter and NOT believe in something big. something that creates a baby from a single cell, perfectly forms a little human out of two parts of bigger humans. i looked at my daughter for the first time and felt incredibly blessed.
i once had this incredible faith in god. not saying that i've jumped ship, and not asking for sympathy or not trying to worry anyone, i'm just saying that it's been a long road. it's been a bumpy road. i'm not saying "poor me, look at what i've been through." this is not a cry for salvation. this is not a holier than thou declaration. it's merely late night thoughts on paper, that i've been pondering for quite some time.
i know there would be (and probably IS) disappointment daily in who i have become. i know there's also pride from some for who i have become.
i hope that someday i make my daughter proud. i hope that someday my daughter can ask me honest questions about faith, about god, about doubt, about life, about death, about life after death, about where we go and what we do and i hope that i don't tell her the wrong thing. i realize that i don't pray like i should, i don't believe like i should, i don't talk like i should, but who sets those bars? a preacher? a teacher? a father? a mother? a grandparent? a higher being?
my heart hurts when i hear something bad is happening to anyone. i don't give the standard "i'll pray for you" when i hear that anymore. i've learned that that isn't what people want to hear. people want something genuine. people want something real and me telling someone i will pray for them would probably scare most of the people i know. why? because i've learned that some people really mean it when they say i'll pray for you, but a lot of people don't. i never know what to say, because, in reality, (and this sounds horrible) i probably won't pray. i might send a thought. i might pause and have some silence and i feel like that is enough. i feel like my creator, who made and knows my heart, knows what my silence speaks, knows my thoughts are sometimes a cry for help but i feel in my heart a breaking when i hear something bad. maybe i'm searching for something more to life, maybe i will forever be trying to figure myself out. to figure this life out. to conquer the world.
i want to conquer the world for my little girl. i want to protect her from every harm, but i also want to teach her. i want her to learn. i want her to experience LIFE. experience is the only way i ever learned. i remember looking at myself in a mirror after escaping to the bathroom at a bible study and i felt a stir. i felt something in my being that scared me. i didn't know how to express it so i cried. i feel like i'd cry all the time if i HAD to decide what exactly i am, who exactly i am. i don't think we ever know. i don't think we are meant to know. i think that whatever we end up as, whether dust or angels or different humans without a clue, i want to learn and know and be able to say that i gave it all i got.
i may be crass and crude and downright rude sometimes, but i feel like that's a part of me that i've tried to suppress in the past and it only comes back tenfold. i may not sugar coat things with a sweet voice or a nice picture, but i try to be honest with everyone i encounter.
so, maybe, maybe this is an apology to everyone i've ever offended. maybe it's a warning to everyone i haven't. but maybe, just maybe, this part of me is the key to who i am, and accepting that is part of accepting me. and it's a part of me accepting people who aren't like me.
there are different people in the world. there are people who look different, think different, walk different, talk different, love different, feel different and i used to be VERY opposed to difference. i have damn near ruined relationships in the past because of this opposition and i have learned that giving that opposition away has done a lot for my heart. if you had told me ten years ago that i would be fully supportive of certain rights and liberties and politics i would have laughed at you. well prayed for you, then laughed at you. but even at my "best" my heart was at its worst. i feel like my heart is finally leveled out. i feel like my heart is finally my own. and that this is my best. my heart is full. my life is more than i ever expected. i have a wonderful family and i have love.
and after all, that's all we need.
Friday, June 8, 2012
hot mess
i read a really great blog at lunch today that one of my friends posted. i nearly peed myself laughing so hard. here's a link. http://tryingtobegood.com/2012/06/02/an-open-letter-to-all-parents-from-a-non-parent-10/?shared=email&msg=fail
that to preface something i've probably needed to write for a long time but needed the appropriate inspiration and wormhole with which to preface my bitching about non parents bitching about parents. we all did it. told parents how to raise their kids before we actually were parents.
as i write this, there are two kids and a cat in my bed. goose is "helping" me write, and little miss is watching power puff girls because they are awesome.
now that i am a parent, i'm a lot more lax with my appearance, my housekeeping pretty much everything i thought i would be awesome at. i was going to be a mom, an employee, look perfect every day, have awesome hair, always look well kept and would never ever let my kid go in public with a dirty shirt, no shoes and crap on her face. i was also going to publish my book, write a few more, keep playing guitar and conquer the world, before dinner, which i would make from scratch every night. i'm lucky these days if i make it out of the house without a fruit snack stuck to my ass. it takes me two months or more to edit a photo shoot that would have taken me a week before.
i thought parenting would be a lot like when i was just a stepparent. little miss was always very well-behaved, clean, and didn't make huge messes. that was the life! once she got a sister and turned four it's like a tornado has been hovering over the household. two girls and we've recently added two dogs and a cat. yes, we are crazy.
now that i'm a parent, i understand why when i was a teenager people didn't take me up on babysitting offers more often. i mean, didn't those boring old people want to get out of the house? now, i know. it's not that they didn't want to get out of the house or that they didn't trust me. (i was certified for crying out loud!) they didn't trust their KIDS! i love my girls, don't get me wrong. but the only way i'd let someone to whom i'm not blood related keep them is if i didn't want them in my life anymore.
goose is super sweet when she wakes up. literally until you pull the plug she's silly and sweet and lovey, but if you pull the plug before she's ready, you better run. you tell her to go to bed one minute before she's ready, get ready for thirty minutes to two hours of wallerin' fightin' kickin' screamin' pain in your ears.
our morning routine usually consists of my alarm going off at six, husband's at 630, and both of us snoozing til around 710. then we wake up, say a collective "ahh shit!" and start rushing around to leave the house by 725. it's 711, he's halfway dressed, i'm looking for a pair of pants that are probably on the couch. if they're folded i don't have to shake them. i then rummage thru the clothes on the couch for something that semi-matches for lucy. it's now 713 and i'm running back into our rooms, pulling my pants up and hopefully zipping them (which, yes, i forgot to do yesterday), head to sink to put in contacts. 717 i find a diaper and attempt to wake the goose. she's not having it. some mornings i find a pullup, some mornings the diaper goes on backward because she will not roll over. i manage to get something over her ass and clothes on her and maybe shoes if there are some on the floor close by. 722, husband goes outside to feed the dogs. goose and i brush teeth and head for the kitchen where i pull out something for lunch or not. 724 husband comes back inside and gets the baby, kisses all around, she's buckled into his truck by 725 and i'm opening the garage door to pull out in my car at 727. this is not a routine. this is chaos.
i'm a hot mess these days. i wore the same pair of jeans all week til last night when goose smeared spaghetti all over them and i was PISSED because i really didn't want to do laundry last night. woke up this morning in a panic because i hadn't remembered to put clothes in dryer last night so i went to find a few towels to throw in the dryer with my wet jeans, praying they would be dry by 720. what i find when i got to the washer? oh yeah, i didn't turn it on last night. so there are my jeans. still in the washer. still covered in spaghetti.
i didn't have it all together when i was single, by any means. when i was just married with no full-time kids, i actually combed my hair in the mornings. some days i don't match, but both the shirt and the pants are semi-clean and not too wrinkly. most days i get matching shoes on my feet. yes, i went to work once with two DIFFERENT shoes on.
that all said, there are some great times. like when goose gives me cuddles. when little miss and i paint a picture. when the three of us have girl time and little miss is insistent that we don't tell daddy we're painting our nails. those are the good times. the smiley times. the times when i'm not pulling my hair out, stressing about the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the floor, or the toys that overtake the house. i'd much rather have those toys and kids to play with them than not. sure, there's a lot of frustration in my house. a LOT. but there's also a lot of joy. squeals of hide and go seek. new words (usually appropriate) and developments and pictures hanging on the fridge that MY baby drew. they may look like nothing, but to me? to me they look like love.
amidst the chaos and screaming and throwing ourselves on the ground, there is always always always LOVE.
that to preface something i've probably needed to write for a long time but needed the appropriate inspiration and wormhole with which to preface my bitching about non parents bitching about parents. we all did it. told parents how to raise their kids before we actually were parents.as i write this, there are two kids and a cat in my bed. goose is "helping" me write, and little miss is watching power puff girls because they are awesome.
now that i am a parent, i'm a lot more lax with my appearance, my housekeeping pretty much everything i thought i would be awesome at. i was going to be a mom, an employee, look perfect every day, have awesome hair, always look well kept and would never ever let my kid go in public with a dirty shirt, no shoes and crap on her face. i was also going to publish my book, write a few more, keep playing guitar and conquer the world, before dinner, which i would make from scratch every night. i'm lucky these days if i make it out of the house without a fruit snack stuck to my ass. it takes me two months or more to edit a photo shoot that would have taken me a week before.
i thought parenting would be a lot like when i was just a stepparent. little miss was always very well-behaved, clean, and didn't make huge messes. that was the life! once she got a sister and turned four it's like a tornado has been hovering over the household. two girls and we've recently added two dogs and a cat. yes, we are crazy.
now that i'm a parent, i understand why when i was a teenager people didn't take me up on babysitting offers more often. i mean, didn't those boring old people want to get out of the house? now, i know. it's not that they didn't want to get out of the house or that they didn't trust me. (i was certified for crying out loud!) they didn't trust their KIDS! i love my girls, don't get me wrong. but the only way i'd let someone to whom i'm not blood related keep them is if i didn't want them in my life anymore.
goose is super sweet when she wakes up. literally until you pull the plug she's silly and sweet and lovey, but if you pull the plug before she's ready, you better run. you tell her to go to bed one minute before she's ready, get ready for thirty minutes to two hours of wallerin' fightin' kickin' screamin' pain in your ears.
our morning routine usually consists of my alarm going off at six, husband's at 630, and both of us snoozing til around 710. then we wake up, say a collective "ahh shit!" and start rushing around to leave the house by 725. it's 711, he's halfway dressed, i'm looking for a pair of pants that are probably on the couch. if they're folded i don't have to shake them. i then rummage thru the clothes on the couch for something that semi-matches for lucy. it's now 713 and i'm running back into our rooms, pulling my pants up and hopefully zipping them (which, yes, i forgot to do yesterday), head to sink to put in contacts. 717 i find a diaper and attempt to wake the goose. she's not having it. some mornings i find a pullup, some mornings the diaper goes on backward because she will not roll over. i manage to get something over her ass and clothes on her and maybe shoes if there are some on the floor close by. 722, husband goes outside to feed the dogs. goose and i brush teeth and head for the kitchen where i pull out something for lunch or not. 724 husband comes back inside and gets the baby, kisses all around, she's buckled into his truck by 725 and i'm opening the garage door to pull out in my car at 727. this is not a routine. this is chaos.
i'm a hot mess these days. i wore the same pair of jeans all week til last night when goose smeared spaghetti all over them and i was PISSED because i really didn't want to do laundry last night. woke up this morning in a panic because i hadn't remembered to put clothes in dryer last night so i went to find a few towels to throw in the dryer with my wet jeans, praying they would be dry by 720. what i find when i got to the washer? oh yeah, i didn't turn it on last night. so there are my jeans. still in the washer. still covered in spaghetti.
i didn't have it all together when i was single, by any means. when i was just married with no full-time kids, i actually combed my hair in the mornings. some days i don't match, but both the shirt and the pants are semi-clean and not too wrinkly. most days i get matching shoes on my feet. yes, i went to work once with two DIFFERENT shoes on.
that all said, there are some great times. like when goose gives me cuddles. when little miss and i paint a picture. when the three of us have girl time and little miss is insistent that we don't tell daddy we're painting our nails. those are the good times. the smiley times. the times when i'm not pulling my hair out, stressing about the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the floor, or the toys that overtake the house. i'd much rather have those toys and kids to play with them than not. sure, there's a lot of frustration in my house. a LOT. but there's also a lot of joy. squeals of hide and go seek. new words (usually appropriate) and developments and pictures hanging on the fridge that MY baby drew. they may look like nothing, but to me? to me they look like love.
amidst the chaos and screaming and throwing ourselves on the ground, there is always always always LOVE.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
weltschmerz
weltschmerz (VELT-shmairts) : noun, often capitalized
1: mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state
2: a mood of sentimental sadness
well, i said it was coming. i was talking to a friend earlier this week and said i was pndring a parenting blog. "all the shit no one tells you." i suppose i sort of still am. i was going to talk about how four teeth come in at once adn your little angel becomes godzilla with a vengeance. or that the smell it-change it rule only applies if your little monster is willing to be changed, otherwise, you better pull out your running shoes. or that you never know how much 85 wipes can be until you've picked them up one at a time in one room. and while toilet paper is an awesome modern convenience, it's not so much when your toddler has grabbed a roll by the end and walked the house with it, finding every semi-wet spot previously created by said toddler...
today i wake with a different mentality. lucy woke up early this morning, a teething godzilla. all she needed was a plug and a cuddle. she got situated once again and fell asleep with her arm around my neck, playing with my hair. i can't help this morning but think about mommas around who have lost babies recently. when i checked my email after sitting awake, contemplating, weltschmerz was my word of the day. it kind of expressed in one word how it made me feel to think of my world without my girls.
i think about people i don't know. like courtney roth who lost her little boy to EB, a terrifying condition that took him at just two years and eight months. about another mom i read about just a few months ago who lost her daughter to krabbe disease. about friends who have lost babies that they never met, about my own experiences. about jenny sturm, my best friend's little sister who got taken from this world at just ten years of brain cancer. of erin freeze, who was taken in the eighth grade. of travis allen who lost is life at just twenty.
we live in a sad world. we live in a world where babies get sick. where kids get sick. where adults live in fear of their babies getting sick. we live in a world where some parents truly understand love and some just don't get it. we live in a world where some "parents" can look at their kids and not feel every ounce of love available. we live in a world of murder and depression and the things that come with those. of adults who hurt kids. of kids who hurt kids.
we also live in a world of baby cuddles. a world where we can enjoy every moment. where we can trust amongst the chaos that our babies are being loved. where we work for a living. my living, my being, is my baby's smile. is my stepdaughter's joy. and i refuse to miss a moment of happiness because of the unhappiness in the world. love every moment. hug your babies tight. and think about the mothers and fathers who can't do that anymore.
1: mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state
2: a mood of sentimental sadness
well, i said it was coming. i was talking to a friend earlier this week and said i was pndring a parenting blog. "all the shit no one tells you." i suppose i sort of still am. i was going to talk about how four teeth come in at once adn your little angel becomes godzilla with a vengeance. or that the smell it-change it rule only applies if your little monster is willing to be changed, otherwise, you better pull out your running shoes. or that you never know how much 85 wipes can be until you've picked them up one at a time in one room. and while toilet paper is an awesome modern convenience, it's not so much when your toddler has grabbed a roll by the end and walked the house with it, finding every semi-wet spot previously created by said toddler...
today i wake with a different mentality. lucy woke up early this morning, a teething godzilla. all she needed was a plug and a cuddle. she got situated once again and fell asleep with her arm around my neck, playing with my hair. i can't help this morning but think about mommas around who have lost babies recently. when i checked my email after sitting awake, contemplating, weltschmerz was my word of the day. it kind of expressed in one word how it made me feel to think of my world without my girls.
i think about people i don't know. like courtney roth who lost her little boy to EB, a terrifying condition that took him at just two years and eight months. about another mom i read about just a few months ago who lost her daughter to krabbe disease. about friends who have lost babies that they never met, about my own experiences. about jenny sturm, my best friend's little sister who got taken from this world at just ten years of brain cancer. of erin freeze, who was taken in the eighth grade. of travis allen who lost is life at just twenty.
we live in a sad world. we live in a world where babies get sick. where kids get sick. where adults live in fear of their babies getting sick. we live in a world where some parents truly understand love and some just don't get it. we live in a world where some "parents" can look at their kids and not feel every ounce of love available. we live in a world of murder and depression and the things that come with those. of adults who hurt kids. of kids who hurt kids.
we also live in a world of baby cuddles. a world where we can enjoy every moment. where we can trust amongst the chaos that our babies are being loved. where we work for a living. my living, my being, is my baby's smile. is my stepdaughter's joy. and i refuse to miss a moment of happiness because of the unhappiness in the world. love every moment. hug your babies tight. and think about the mothers and fathers who can't do that anymore.
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