Friday, September 30, 2011

it's friday...

...and I couldn't be happier that this week is over. I am going to go sip some whiskey, watch Ms. Pettigrew Lives For A Day, and pass out joyfully.

Happy Friday loves.

Sunday, September 25, 2011


I do not love winter as a whole. I love the first snowfall, like most of us do, I love bundling up and walking outside and hearing...nothing. That quiet that is almost eerie. But I do not love that it lasts for months and that we struggle to keep the house warm.

But I do love the preparation. I've been puttering around the house, cleaning, making broths to freeze, cutting up old felted wool sweaters to make brightly-colored leg and arm warmers, considering making some heavy curtains for our flimsy windows. Nothing too intensive, as my neck is still healing and very, very vulnerable to injury right now. But enough that I feel like I'm useful again.

We picked the last of the tomatoes and I said my final goodbye to summer. It's been such a bloody difficult one--I can't say I'll really miss it.


- easing myself back into yoga, very slowly, very gently.
- eating tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.
- possibly painting something.
- watching an early Harry Potter movie with my small one.
- missing my husband.

Monday, September 19, 2011

only what i can do.

On days like today, I hurt. I can't turn my head to the left or right. I can't take a breathe without wincing. I can't cook pancakes for my boys, I can't go for my jog, I can't stand, can't sit, can't lay. I am bursting with agony and discomfort. There is not a thing anyone can do.

After a while--maybe because of the immense fatigue that comes with high amount of physical pain--the stabbing feeling just IS. It is there. It is huge. It is not leaving. I accept this, though I don't know how. It's amazing what the human body can physically adapt to. I hurt therefore I am.

There is only what I can do: sit and hurt. Lay and hurt. And watch my boy play blocks. That is all I can do, right now, in this moment. Watch. Notice that his hair is turning the exact same shade mine was when I was small. Notice that he can now write the word "the". Notice that he can get himself a yogurt from the fridge or a pear from the fruit bowl.

I cry. Sometimes in privacy, sometimes out in the open. Pain will lay waste to inhibition, will devastate pride. I have no pride anymore.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

breaking up with bitchy.

There has been a lot happening over the last month or so here. Things that I'd rather not mention in the internet world. I have a fine line of what I share, one that is very loosely defined, but I definitely know it when I feel it. I know what I'll share or explain, and what I'll leave to interpretation.

So let's ignore the what and focus on who. Moi. All of what's been happening has caused me to take a deep and very scary look inward. Not even a handful of days ago, I had a realization:

I do not like who I am becoming.

I realized that I'm turning into the type of woman who, for example, instead of enjoying playing with my son, is instead worrying about cleaning up the mess of play only 5 minutes into building towers. The type of woman who incessantly nags her husband because, hey, he does things a little differently than her. The type of woman who gets annoyed when said husband is listening to music and dancing around joyfully.

I am annoyed by my husbands joy.

What?!?!? What the fuck is wrong with me? Honestly!?1

It's clear to me that I am trying to exert control over pretty much everything in my life. What I can't figure out is why.

Actually, maybe I can.

My father--completely estranged from me--recently found me on my Facebook page and sent me a friend request. I can't say I'm actually that surprised. These days, everyone has a Facebook account. I had even checked at one time to see if he was on there, floating around in cyberspace. He wasn't, not when I looked, but has once again resurfaced in my life at a completely unexpected time.

My father completely unhinges me as a person. That is the honest truth.

This man, who at no other time makes ANY effort to contact me, now wants to have a shallow internet relationship. (I'm well aware that maybe he thinks that Facebook might open up to other things, but he seems to be forgetting that HE HAS TO PICK UP A PHONE AND ACTUALLY DIAL THE NUMBERS TO CALL ME.)

Anywho...I know how scattered and weird this blog entry is and I apologize. I am scattered and weird, so what can you do?

But the above has been bothering me--very, VERY much. I seem to always step into the same box when I'm having my daddy-issues: I become controlling, unattentive, obsessed with the weirdest, most unimportant details, and bitchy. Examples?

Hmmm...oh, you know. Ridiculous crap. Like, "Hayden, put the friggin' M&M's back. You can't have them. You'll turn into an obese person." (Yes, like RIGHT NOW. Like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka. I'm a fucking idiot.)

Or maybe my husband trying to cheer me up by taking me out for lunch or trying to joke around or tickle me. And I just respond SO well. Oh yes! You know, I marvel at my iron will when it comes to this. You could hand me a million dollars and a nanny and a new ass and I would still be a bitch.

So yes...I've been wondering what is wrong with me. Am I imbalanced? Do I have a hormonal issue? Do I consume too much animal flesh and caffeine? (Probably yes, to all three.)

It's enough. If my beautiful little boy asks me to dance with him to Lady Gaga and I refuse, simply because I just don't FEEL like it, then IT. IS. ENOUGH. I can't take myself anymore. I have been so bloody off-balance for a while now, and even though I know exactly what to do to heal myself, I haven't been doing it because I'm a sulky, LAZY ASS.

The remedies are actually pretty simple:

- stop drinking 45 cups of coffee a day. Too much coffee is known to make people extremely irritable, especially when the body is coming down off the caffeine and--BOOM!--crashes hard. One cup in the morning, then green tea or yerba mate the rest of the day.

- get back into yoga. In what reality do I live that I think yoga is not a necessity for me? I am the world's most anxious person, always tearing my cuticles apart and pacing around, and when I do yoga regularly I am actually normal. I am calm. I can think rationally. I did yoga the past two days after not doing it for, I don't know, a month and a half? I honestly wondered how I could punish myself by living without it.

- go vegan. At least for a while. I've never been a full-on vegetarian, but I do like to cleanse occasionally with an all-vegan diet. This I have not done in....I don't know. My body is fueled with the flesh and proteins of other living creatures, a lot of salt, some butter, and ginger ale for the resulting stomach cramps. Very little that is of the earth. To myself I say: Idiot woman.

- journal. Like, you know, a journal that NO ONE reads. Ever. A journal where I am free to spout even more self-indulgently than here. Where I can get it OUT. Whatever "it" might be at the moment. (Ramblings about my idiot-father? Could be!)

That's it. Simple. And I haven't been doing it. I am a moron. I am treating myself and everyone around me like crap because of my negligence. Granted, I haven't been doing it for very long, but I don't care. I was raised in an environment where, if you were tired or bored or unhappy, it gave you reason to treat everyone around you horribly, WHICH IS SUCH UTTER BULLSHIT AND I WILL NOT REPEAT THIS CYCLE.

Today was day one. I danced with my son and chased him with my "scary face" and goofed-off with him. Tonight I plan on actually shaving and seducing my husband. I might even give him a foot massage, who knows?

And--Lord please help me with this one--I am going to stop complaining. I am a blessed woman. No matter how determined I am to be unhappy, there is NO WAY around that fact. I have a home that I painted with any colors I chose. I have enough food to eat--even if there's a week here and there where we live off of pancakes and eggs and brown rice. I have a husband who isn't perfect, but who loves me so much it can make him cry openly (and who also does laundry). I have a brother who is me, if I were tall and male.

No more. No mas. I'm done. I know it sounds corny as hell, but I am breaking up with bitchy.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

hayden and the butterfly.

I love this. I love that when it's just my son and I spending time together, I get to see a beautifully sensitive side of him. No rough-housing, no screaming, no crazy, just him and his amazing curiosity for all things small.

He was very upset over the butterfly's injured wing. Poor guy.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

painting silk.

I never realized what a dream painting silk is. The paint just gently bleeds into the fabric in such a beautiful way.

Friday, September 2, 2011

smitten: Alexander Tinei

Alexander Tinei via pinterest

Alexander Tinei makes amazing paintings, often "tattooed" with blue. The one above is my favorite--I truly wish I had it hanging on my wall.

To see more, go here.

first day.

Usually, my son suffers from a bit of separation anxiety, especially if Daddy is present. So we naturally expected the worst on his first day of school.

Just goes to show (once again) how kids continually surprise. This little guy was jazzed. He did little jigs while he ate his cereal. He got dressed willingly. He strapped that backpack on with pride.

We're on day 3 now and he loves it. Loves school. Loves his teacher. He has something new to excitedly show us everyday.

I am a tired and proud mommy.