“this is not hell… this is texas!”

from the mouths of babes. said laughing of course. it struck me as funny and so i laughed too.

this kid. oh this kid. i couldn’t ask for more. in an instant i will tell anyone that kids come to you for a reason. they find you, seek you out. their spirit hovers around you until conception. it’s a contract their soul signs just before birth. they choose you to complete their life path. to remind you of yours. i find reassurance in this. it’s all as it’s supposed to be. even when it feels like hell.

this kid sometimes doesn’t want to wear clothes or shoes. or whatever it is that he doesn’t want to do as we are walking out the door. as my arms are full and keys are in hand. i am the mother who keeps walking. i used to dote. i used to do it for him. but he is the kid now who quickly puts on his flip flops and steps outside, feeling the heat on his naked skin, he surprises himself at his own nakedness. “ah! i have no clothes on!” like he has short term memory to the events that happened inside the door just a minute before. so, he dresses himself in the yard next to the car as i cool down the car for him to climb in.

today is hell. today is not texas. today is somewhere deep inside oozing out uncontrollably. today is not a place, it’s a time in space. today is Y in the path marked ‘life’. today is the day of years added and accumulating. today is the day when i see how lucky i am to have him for my kid. he came to me, and i’m trying my hardest not to fuck him up. today is the day i dont’ think i’m succeeding.

he’s naked again out in the grass because he refused clothes. but clothes are needed before entering the car. those are the rules. those carseat buckles will burn your bum in this texas heat. and remember that today is hell. today momma is walking a fine line, a tightrope of emotion. it’s a mix of shoving down and projectile vomiting.

i’m wrestling with the carseat that is convienently not installed in my car. he stands naked in the grass with a pile of clothes beside him. ‘put on your underwear while i put in your carseat.’ i say to him as i wrestle with the fucking thing, and it’s nearing 112 degrees in the car that sat in the sun all morning with windows closed and doors locked. i’m remembering that first summer he was born. my fears of the hot cars, of doors that accidentally lock, of the bloated dead babies that speckle the tv news with sadness of their deaths after being forgotten in cars with windows rolled up.

i’m sweating and frustrated and life is not exactly how i would like it to be. not today. i get the carseat installed and turn around to see him in his underwear, pulled up to his chest like Ed Grimley, both legs sticking out of one leg hole with his privates hanging out completely in the hot breeze. he asks me, ‘i don’t know what a scrotum is for, scrotum’s are silly!’ i smile through my tears and help him get into his underwear comfortably. ‘climb in babe’ i say and he gets in and the carseat completely leans to one side under his weight. unsafe. all i want to do is drive away from today.

ugh. get out, start over. reinstall the carseat. sweat drips off my forehead into the fabric of the seat. it disappears into the plaid forever. i’m wrestling the beast and slaying it. tighten it down real good as he stands patiently outside the car in his underwear fumbling with his t-shirt. i think briefly that i must look like a maniac to him. hunched over the seat, one knee pressing weight into it, my six foot body curled up in this cramped space. what a scene i make as i tug on the seatbelt yelling ‘fuck you, fucker!’ it’s not the seatbelt i’m really yelling at, it’s life. life is a fucker. and this is hell.

he climbs back in and i get in the driver’s seat. he begins to buckle himself in the seat but he’s struggling with the straps. for some reason they are too tight, too short. he can’t get them up over his shoulder. i turn around to help him and wonder what the heck could be the problem. we both pull on it to try to loosen it over his shoulders and he says a quiet ‘ouch’ but tries and tries again to get it buckled.

i want to kill this carseat. i want to strangle the breath right out of it, throw it out in the street and drive over it multiple times. i want to stomp my feet and shout FUCK!! on the top of my lungs and hurt myself by pounding my head on the steering wheel. but i don’t. i try once again with the buckle like somehow it’s gonna miraculously now stretch to clip. he’s looking down at it, at my hands working it, at my quiet pleading whispered from clenched teeth, ‘come on!’ he says quietly, ‘it’s almost there!’ and i laugh at his sweetness in this moment, at how lucky i am to have him, how brave he is, how patient, how incredibly mellow he is. he looks up at me laughing at his words and he smiles and laughs too. and in that moment of smiling eye contact, i break down into tears. my head on his leg, i cry and cry.

i can’t get it together to keep it from him. i’m not fit. i’m not strong enough to shelter him from this. this is not ok for me to do. i must not be too human, it’s too much for him. i lay my head on the steering wheel and sob. and it’s not the carseat. it’s not hell. it’s life.

after a few minutes and a deep breath, i open the car door and ask him to get out once again. i reinstall the carseat for the third time, keeping the shoulder belts out of the way. he waits in the driver’s seat with the engine on, with the AC blowing cold. he sits there waiting, reaches over to take a sip from his sippy and turns up the stereo. ‘it’s the end of the world as we know it, and i feel fine’…. yes, it kinda feels like that i think. ‘ok, jump in’ i say. and he does. he buckles himself in and i put it in reverse. 

it’s silent for the first few moments. then the silence is filled with his voice and emotion ‘how were you crying momma?’ we talk about how i was frustrated and sad. ‘do you get frustrated and sad sometimes too?’ i ask him. ‘yeah’ he says, ‘and i cry.’

maybe one day he will remember this. this day. maybe this will be the day that stands out to him. not being the first time he has ever seen me cry, but maybe this day will be the day he remembers. like when i sat next to my mom on her big bed in the house that sat on the corner in new jersey. when i remember seeing her tears for the first time, i was four or five. she had backed into another car in the parking lot of the grocery store and my dad was about to find out. i remember that day. that moment that stood out when she was so sad, and i sat next to her and saw that she was human. and realized she was just like me.

foundation

you thought it would get easier as time went by, as he grew older.  i don’t know what you were thinking. maybe that bonding would come later? after time and space and walking and talking? what no one tells you is that it never gets any easier. it just gets different. it gets more emotional… as they come into their own, surrounded by us in this big big world.  

no one tells you that it gets harder as it multiplies and divides its way into your heart. bouncing and rolling downhill, picking up speed as it barrels towards you. no one tells you this as you stare into the face of your newborn and wonder how on earth you will manage it. how you will swing work and travel and sleep with the cocktail of your wife’s emotions and hormones and the tendacy towards sadness coursing through her blood. what were you thinking when she told you that, at this time and place, her needs were more important than yours? that life trumps all. that living and breathing trumps sleep. to wake the fuck up and help her? that no one wants to end up at the bottom of the river. what were you thinking when you just turned your back and muttered ’sorry’ as you walked away?

you never realized how a child, a living breathing creation, would become a looking glass. a mirror that reflects your name, your home, your relationships.  but this is what it does, as it does now. and you don’t want to believe that the first three years acted as our foundation.. the birth of us as parents.  

i can’t remember if it was Ricky Lake’s “The Business of Being Born” or Michael Moore’s “Sicko” which made me cry harder.  seeing how the post partum mother was treated in europe..  how she was given what she needed with no questions asked. given. just given because it’s the right thing to do. i’m angered at society for how we handle this time of life. this window that opens and closes briefly after a woman becomes a mother for the first time, second time, or third time. a woman requires the same attention no matter how many times over she becomes a mother. for however long it takes. no questions asked. and sorry if it’s a pain in your ass. sorry if your wife is sad or crying or tired or cranky. sorry if it’s a downer or a drag or not what you signed up for. sorry if she changed and it’s not fair to you. sorry we don’t live in europe. sorry it took me one year to get strong. sorry it took you three years to wake up.

sorry’s a sorry excuse.

this is our foundation, like it or not. this is the concrete slab we poured for ourselves. we are trying to build a house upon a foundation that is fractured. and we wonder why the damn thing keeps falling down.

free spirit

i dream of moving.

pulling up roots and packing up… in my dreams seems like the easy fix. but alas, those are dreams. and dreams often take a long time to become reality. so can i trick my gypsy heart with a virtual move? symbolic, of course. but something i have been contemplating for quite some time. i suddenly realized it was alot easier than i first thought. so here i am.

 

so, thank you for finding me here! please update your browser or bookmark or blogroll or google reader or RSS feed (do i even know what that is? i doubt it.) i’m so glad to have found all of you through this small world, i’m thrilled to maintain contact with all of you, and i’d hate to lose any of you just because my heart wandered over here. maybe leave me a comment to let me know what you think of all this wordpress business. i’m still working out the kinks. or if you’d rather just watch as it unfolds, please do, and return anytime for a visit! and thank you for making the world that much smaller, brighter, and kinder.

 

my gypsy heart beats loud in my ear. it drones out the mundane everyday details of life. i move through my day minute by minute, each step a step forward cause that’s all i can do, is keep moving until i know it feels right.

33 and 3

this is reality. this is 6pm on a saturday evening just before dinner is served. this is the kitchen door that slams. this is the back step, the concrete slab that soaks up sun and burns our barefeet. this is the heat, the need, the comfort we find. this is us.

i am noticing more.

i am noticing that i speak in exclamations, type in laughter, add smiling faces unnecessarily. i am noticing that i seek out the sunshine, the bouncing light, the hidden hearts. these are the things i notice when i go searching. these are the eyes that look out upon the world. as if i’m trying to convince myself of something. trying to fool myself with smiles and exclamations and pretty pretty things.

these are simply things i want. i want to gather beauty around me. i want to be surrounded by love. but i am noticing that these very same eyes change when looking inward. they are dark and puffy and real. i am not sunshine. i don’t need to be convinced of anything, i simply feel. and that is exactly as it should be. i dont’ need to hide, i find comfort in the light and the dark.

i am noticing that we are rattling the bars of our cage.

you are like me. your own fury, your own sound, your own voice sometimes scares you. we experience this push pull in life. this is us. these relationships that pull like taffy, stretched so thin that you just can’t believe there’s any more slack. then it folds upon itself and wraps itself around you with sticky arms of love.

giving is like sharing

i am lucky to be witness to a flowing current of positivity. it swirls around and sometimes laps at my feet. i like how it feels. it feels like love. like the world is just a little bit smaller, safer, and that we are a little bit stronger in it. making a mark or a difference each in our own little big way.

positivity begets positivity.

sometimes when i’m at the redlight at anderson lane and burnet road, i see the same man. he has no name but his skin is thick and tan and his hair is bushy and he carries a million signs. he uses them all, while standing at the corner, he does his best rendition of bob dylan’s subterrean homesick blues. somedays he is there just for me. somedays the words he chose to write on the cardboard he holds are the exact words i needed to hear. they are random. they are not “need a beer” or “i want a taco” like the man who stands on south lamar and manchaca. this man’s signs are stories, they are jokes, they are “it’s ok to smile.” today when his blue blue eyes fixed themselves on me, i rolled down my window and smiled at him. his sign taught me what i want river to learn the most, “giving is like sharing.” so, thank you mr. man. for giving me those words today. i heard you. and i’ll pass them on.

and so i’m on a new mission. i read about this idea of writing love letters to your city first through jen lemen at shutter sisters, she spoke of a Hope Revolution! and that little seed got planted in my mind during the dark days of february… and i see it more and more now. popping up through flickr, through blogging, through random conversations, it’s blooming like flowers…and it lures me in. inspiring friends like Hay and Kristin have recently relit my fire. passing on the positivity in the best way i know how. this Hope Revolution is exactly what i’m talking about. it’s like guerrilla poetry.

so these photos, these notes of hope will be hidden or placed strategically, tucked away in books, on mirrors, in tip jars, and tacked to trees around austin. knowing that they will find the person who needs them most.

“these days you might feel a shaft of light
make its way across your face
and when you do
you’ll know how it was meant to be
see the signs and know their meaning

you’ll know how it was meant to be
hear the signs and
know they’re speaking to you.”
~ 10,000 Maniacs

underwater world

i put on his goggles and jump in with my eyes open. breathing out my bubbles i sink to the bottom and lay there surrounded by all that blue blue green. i’m the only one there on the bottom of the pool. i watch the legs prance, the bubbles, the underwater grins, the fluid joy that moves in slow motion. fathers play with sons, and i see their games with barefeet dancing. i see the splash of cannon balls, the carbonation bubbling to the surface.

i rise with my head back, with my eyes to the light just like a kid. remembering the warmth and how the sun breaks through the surface. with my breath i remember freedom, i remember the extreme beauty of water and how extraordinary i feel in it. always a kid. i come up laughing and dive down again like a dolphin. i am invisible and pure, at home in this muted and muffled underwater world.

it’s where my laugh bounces off the water like droplets and splashes into his eyes. it’s where he sees me. the real me, and my laughter becomes contagious. it’s where i am happiest. not necessarily this pool. this city pool. but all the neighborhood pools of my childhood. the spring fed pools, the skinny dipped pools of my youth. all the pools that were hopped into with only moonlight and smiles on summer skin. not necessarily this pool, this city pool. but all the pools of my future. the backyard pools with blades of grass clinging to our heels… floating like mermaid tails. all flowing hair and shimmering scales.

pie fixes everything

there’s this woman in austin named Colleen. she runs a small catering and food delivery for city folk. wonderful quiches, soups, baked goods depending on season. i signed up for her menu and email newsletter when we shared a space at a local craft fair and i tasted her yummy recipes back in the fall.

every week now for over six months, i think of her as she pops in with an emailing of the latest menus. even though i seldom if never use her service i can’t help but keep her newsletter around. for every week there’s a reminder from her in my inbox that states “Pie Fixes Everything” and it causes me to smile even on really crummy days.

i love that.
because i believe it.
pie does fix everything.

well, not pie particularly. but most definitely ice cream. and usually a side of cake if it’s around. or cookies. or even a handful of chocolate chips. really, whatever i have on hand will do just fine.

but all these sweets and my ingestion of them leads me to wonder why. why the sweet tooth? is it really from grammy? her making each of us three grandkids our very own pie during visits? one apple, one cherry, one blueberry. and cutting it into six gigantic slices? really, the sweet cravings passed on through my dad’s blood? and how old was i when i came to learn of this? watching wide-eyed as he spooned maple syrup into his mouth straight from a glass bowl. i shrieked to myself, “you’re allowed to do that?!” the man eats ice cream for lunch for christ’s sake. ice cream.

nectar of the gods.
these sweets.

i’m learning that other things fix everything too.
honesty. communication. openness.
sunshine. music. dancing.

and recently: hula hooping.
serious. this could be my sweet tooth cap.

i think i need to pull in the reins a bit with the sugar and my need for it. the need to fill that pit, that void, that whatever it is that’s missing in my life that i fill with instant gratification. i was confessing to a friend the other day that sometimes i feel like i’m just gonna explode. like there must be something wrong with me, physically or emotionally, that i need to consume so many sweets. she replied, “please don’t explode! there’d be ice cream everywhere!”

so, hula hooping it is.
who’s game?

photo love

it’s a good day when you hear news of someone liking a photograph you took. constructive criticism is helpful, but photo love is even better. so, it was a good day for me, while in a swarm of mosquitos and unsettled feelings of overwhelm as my son slept placidly in the cabin up the hill in New Hampshire, that i received an email from sheri over at mamazine. turns out they like me!

check out the photo love shared through the Mama Focus contest and you can see the photo of mine (camerashymomma) that was recognized. yay! second runner up!

my photo was originally used in this post (which was its own different sort of feeling of overwhelm.) the whole process now strikes me as very funny. not funny ha ha, but ironic i guess that something that came from such pain could be seen as such creativity and later provide me with such a gift of beauty!

life is cyclical that way.
it humbles me and inspires me at the very same time.

so, thank you for the photo love and congratulations to all those winning mamas who participated with Mamazine and the Mama Focus Contest!

yer so bad

the first few chords of guitar resonate. “is this tom petty?” river asks from the backseat. “yeah, but this is his old band that’s new again…mudcrutch. it’s good stuff, huh?” there’s a shared silence between us. “yup” he replies out the window.

life happens in moments like these. and until i wrap my mind around that concept i will forever be floored by life simply happening. i always wonder if we are really truly living. and moments like this are my reminder that it zings and swirls around me, simultaneously crushing and reviving me.

life happens in the space between red lights, while changing lanes when a voice from the backseat says, “i’m so sad momma. i miss my cousins. i miss silas. i was so mad, i didn’t want to get on that plane and fly home.” the blinker blinks and my eyes glance back at his image in the rearview mirror. and i register that life is happening. here and now.

life happens in our sleep, in a groggy 1am conversation as he rolls towards me in the dark. “put your arm around me momma. i’m not big, i’m just little.” life happens in the sweetness of slumber. and i hope that it goes deep into the cracks of his dreams, into the depths of his subconscious. maybe it will pool a reservoir of sweetness that he can pull from when life turns sour.

life happens before my eyes and ears. it slips down the drain with the dish water. when he is overtired and overstimulated and over it all. when he doesn’t get his way and he stomps and screams til his face turns red. life happens in this breath, in this lack of breath, when he scolds me: “you are bad, momma! i want a different momma. you are not a good momma! i want a momma like sarah.” life happens with words that stab you in the moment. as a mother you remove the knife from your heart, wipe the blood on the thigh of your jeans, and continue loading the dishwasher.

this is life. it is moment by moment. it is the love, the frustration, the breaking point of relationships. the damage, the repair, and the continuance. life is life unconditional. and as i sit with my head in my hands watching the prisms dance across my kitchen floor, i can’t help but think that mothers are the strongest species on earth.

oh soul,
you worry too much.
you have seen your own strength.
you have seen your own beauty.
you have seen your golden wings.
of anything less,
why do you worry?
you are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
- jalal ad-din rumi

liberty

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home

And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
or driven to its knees
but it’s all right, it’s all right
for we lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the
road we’re traveling on
I wonder what’s gone wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong

And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hours
and sing an American tune
Oh, and it’s alright, it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying to get some rest

~ Paul Simon
American Tune