Dear Jack,

You are now three. You have been three for three months and three weeks. You like "Cars" and "Kung Fu Panda" and singing. You sing loudly for the world to hear. You sing from your heart and I admire it because I never have. I'm too afraid to sing out loud, to release my voice to the judgement of the world. I hum instead. It's safer.
You ride your tricycle... I'M SORRY! I mean "motorcycle"! You ride your "motorcycle" as fast as you can. Pushing your body forward and stopping just before you slam into something.

"Stop!" I yell. And you look over your shoulder and smile.
"Gotcha, " your eyes laugh.

I drive the speed limit (most of the time) and buckle my seat belt (most of the time). I make car appointments to make sure the brakes are okay and the AC is cool enough to keep your hair from sticking to your head after a long day at preschool. I worry about the brakes and impatient drivers. I worry now.

You want to open doors and help us cook. You like stickers and place them all over the house, taunting the perfectionist in me that would normally pull them off.
"Those are an eyesore!"

But I leave them be. Because you put them there. I don't care what Apartment Therapy says about it. Those tiny fingers picked those stickers off the paper and placed them there. And that's worth more too me.
Things have changed, dearest friend. You are bigger and faster and more bold than before. You are challenging us everyday. We are all growing, us three. Three. You are three...

I'm not sure what I expected out of motherhood. I suppose I expected to be afraid. Some days I am. But most days I'm not. You have made me fearless. A warrior. I know what I want now. I want the world and the stars. I want to give you a place to miss one day. A place to look back on and think "those were the days".

But these are the days. Right now. I'm trying to scrape them together and tuck them safely away because the world moves to fast and I feel like it doesn't understand the delicateness of these moments. I don't think the world understands what this means to me, these hand prints on paper, these marker filled pictures...

By next summer you will be four and I'll be thinking "those were the days." When you loved "Cars" and "Kung Fu Panda". When you liked to open doors and help us cook. When you sang from your soul and your daredevil eyes taunted my caution. When the hand prints on the paper were smaller.

And you were more mine than the worlds.

It's all happening sweet prince. You are growing up so fast. So fast. It's all happening so fast...



"Those were the days..."

Untitled

* I haven't written anything in the verse/poetry realm in quite some time (about five years or so), until today. It was nice to stretch that part of my soul a bit.




She walked through with her belly peering under the shirt stretched thin with expectations
"Hide it away," I think
"Keep it safe."
Hide it from the heat that has everyone down here and the jobs that have everyone down here.
Hide it from the exhaust bouncing off the asphalt.
Hide it from the angry voices over the phone and the men with sad livers and sadder wives.
And if it's a girl hide her from the weight that sits on the shoulders of every woman who walks with grace simply to keep from the fall.
And if it's a boy hide him from the gamblers and the dealers and the men in suits bought with the souls of the freshly squeezed.
"Keep it safe," I inhale as the smoke hits the back of my throat and rolls out over my lazy mouth.
That weight is heavy and those suits are expensive and I pull at my shirt to cover the scars left behind from the one I know I can't keep safe forever.

Friday Fondue- Saturday Edition

When you work weekends your whole concept of the rest of the week sort of goes completely out of whack. My "weekends", as of late, have been moved to Wednesday and Thursdays so Fridays and Saturdays have lost their shiny, happy luster since they've basically been my Monday and Tuesday. Don't ask me for the date, you'll be let down or kind of amused as you watch my face work out the math in my head.

But! Here are some links-

* Rebecca Woolf turns thirty and writes a damn beautiful post about it, naturally.
* Animals Being Dicks
* Shoe lust.
* In love with Audrey Pongracz's "That's why the call them crushes" painting (I'm a big lover of John Hughes movies).
* This would be an awesome and hilarious gift for a tea loving friend.
* One crazy adorable shop!
* I think Amy Poehler and Tina Fey are giving girls someone to look up to.
* Oh, hi! I'll take all of these outfits for my future daughter, thanks!
* I'm on the hunt for a top like this (I live in Tucson, I should be able to find one like this for way less than $168.00. I'm still kicking myself for not picking up a bunch on the cheap when we were in Ixtapa. Idiot.)
* Dream kitchen.
* Great, healthy and delicious recipe for avocado quinoa tacos.
* Adoring this baby quilt (my mother-in-law is a master quilter so maybe I can get her to try this pattern with Jack's old baby t-shirts since I'm hopeless at all things crafty and/or domestic. I'm a hell of a notebook doodler though!).
* The Evolution Of The Geek. Which geek are you?


Music Of The Week (I'm REALLY obsessed with these ones this week!)

"The Park" by Secret Cities
"Cannons" by Little Scream
"Everyday" by Vetiver
"When They Fight They Fight" by The Generationals
And lastly, this is NSFW. Not outright vulgar but very suggestive and quite possibly the sexiest video and song I've seen/heard in a long time-
"The Pornographer" by Parenthetical Girls

Here's hoping you all have a fantastic weekend and a wonderful Father's Day. May the men who gave us children, raised us up from children, remain a child at heart or a memory that will never leave your own have a special day. Love to you all.

Bear With Me

I've been a deadbeat blogger. It looms over my head everyday.
"Can I manage a post today?"
And the truth is, I have tons to work with. Some things painfully real and some things that happened to just pass on through my head. The second I sit down to type, they vanish. Overruled by fatigue and pushed back laundry or meals. My shirt is pulled at by Jack who wants nothing more than his mother and I'll be damned if I deny him that when so much of my time is spent at work these days. When so much of my left over time is spent trying to cheat time itself. Pumping my body full of caffeine, sacrificing sleep, pre-planning, push...push...push some more.

"So, I HAVE to mention it. You've lost about 5-10 lbs! Are you doing something?"
"Everything."

I miss the fullness of my breasts and I miss my knee bones not keeping me awake at night. I'm not really proud of my weight loss. More than anything I am fascinated. "So this is what it looks like. This what trying to have it all feels like. This is pressure." I put on my headphones and push...push...push some more.

Sometimes I cry behind my sunglasses as I watch children fall asleep on the city bus. I think of Jack and I think of the smiles he's sharing with other people all day. People who are not me. Stay-at-home motherhood has always been hard for me. I'm not made for it. I wish I was, but I suppose I'm just not wired that way. And I feel like a piece of shit mom for not being wired that way. But there are times when I do miss it. It can't be explained. It's only felt in my gut and it comes rising up behind my lenses. And I push...push..push some more.

And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I pour more coffee.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I turn it up.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I wipe it away discreetly with the back of my hand.

And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I write.

I am writing. And I am not breaking. Not yet.



* I apologize over the erratic nature of this post. It just felt good to type again. To open that bleed valve. Coherent posts to come (hopefully).

Working Titles In My Memoir (if I were to actually write a memoir and...yeah, THIS WAS ALL I HAD GUYS!)

Chapter One- "Anybody Have A Light?"
Chapter Two- "It's Not Really Just A Dry Heat"
Chapter Three- "'He Said He'd Like You More If You Weren't Such A Spaz'"
Chapter Four- "How To Be An Honor Student And Feign Interest"
Chapter Five- "Middle School..."
Chapter Six- "That One Time I Spent Four Years Hating Life" -or- "High School..."
Chapter Seven- "So Tell Me How You Feel..."
Chapter Eight- "How To Stay A Virgin"
Chapter Nine- "So I'm Not A Virgin Anymore, Now What?"
Chapter Ten- "Sex, Drugs and Price Is Right Re-runs"
Chapter Eleven- "Divorce! Fun For The Whole Family!"
Chapter Twelve- "So Do We Hug Or Something?" -or- "How To Meet Your Future Spouse On Myspace"
Chapter Thirteen- "Living In Sin For Dummies"
Chapter Fourteen- "My Pee Can Predict The Future" (this would be when I found out I was pregnant with Jack)
Chapter Fifteen- "Yes, SIX hotdogs"
Chapter Sixteen- "The World Weighs 9lbs 5oz and is 21.5 Inches Long"
Chapter Seventeen- "His So-Called Wife"
Chapter Eighteen- "Twenty-one Going On Thirty-two"
Chapter Nineteen- "In Which I Would Sell My Soul For Eight Hours Of Sleep"
Chapter Twenty- "Figuring It Out...Kinda"


What would your chapters be?

What I Wore

Please pardon the makeup-lessness. I've pretty much given up on it altogether it seems. Our temps have officially reached the hundreds, I get up at 4:45 am five days a week, sit in a class for 8.5 hours, commute on the city bus for an hour and a half, make dinner/get Jack's night routine going, tidy up, prepare for the next day and pass out. Needless to say, this blog has taken a hit in the content department. I have about four posts in queue; some half done, some near abandoned having turned into something else entirely. There is a constant nag in my head telling me to write. And yet the clock remains the king, and one I despise.

I just have to learn how to outsmart it.



Outfit Details-
Dress- Billabong via Ross (it shifted a little bit which makes it look a little lopsided in the pic)
Sandals- Urban Outfitters from a few years ago (these guys are on their last leg)
Hat- Gift from a friend and best remedy for the humidity's effect on my hair.
Bangles- India, gifted

If This Outfit Were A Song-