First Ryan at Pacing the Panic Room does a kick-ass review ( with pictures of course ) of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, which both Mr. Curry and I read with intense, burning jealousy.
Second The artwork here at The Dishwasher's Tears mesmerizes me. The man is truly talented.
Third I could dream about being like Bleubird: amazingly chic, creative and put together while pregnant, but it would just make me laugh, probably while snorting, in very un-chic clothing with no makeup and my hair in a big cele-bun on my head. Instead, we can marvel at her awesomeness!
Fourth Enter this huge and awesome giveaway on Making It Lovely. I did!
Fifth Someday, I hope to look at at a blog page and realize that one Douchey Bitch is listed in Followers. For then, assimilation will be complete. Until then, I can keep posting links and
making people like this write really funny diatribes against blogs.
Sixth Look here at House 09 for what this amazing mom built her kids. Totally Little House on the Prairie meets Pottery Barn.
ps
Checking in to let you guys know I'm hanging on to all your money in my Paypal to give to Mamapundit, but have not heard back from her yet as to her Paypal addy. She has said on her blog she is ( of course ) completely overwhelmed with grief for her Henry and then love for her new baby, and has a huge backlog of emails. I'll let you know when the money exchanges 'hands'.
xo
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
oh, Baby!
Ever will sleep with Mr. Curry and I, and also share a room with Lola Moon. Lola is painting ( read: Mr. Curry ) her room blue at the end of this month, with orange stencils on the wall of her side that read Her Name Was Lola ( unless last minute changes, Lola Moon does lend itself to art) and Ever's side will read Ever After... with possibly a castle where the princess is saving the prince ( anyone read the awesome book The Paper Bag Princess) Then we will rehang her banner, where each panel is a fairy of a different seasonALSO..Lola is obsessed with the ocean ( she did a week of Sea World Camp in late June ) and I want to put up some great posters of sea life that are scientific in feel, like the butterfly poster above. if anyone knows where to find one, please hook me up. i can't find any that are just right as of yet )
Orange is Lola's favorite color, so I bought a few woven bright orange baskets at Michaels which are filled with books, and will be adding a few other orange touches to the room
Teepee!!! This is so awesome
I love the thrift store feeling art hung on this richly colored wall
co-sleeping with the new rich, found @ Marvelous K!ddo
found @ Oh Happy Day and totally inspired me to try to photograph this with Ever at Christmastime
tweet tweetTuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Curry Family Picnic
The setting near the bay- we are all under the front tree, playing volleyball and underneath the back tree. Ed's Grandma Curry is the matriarch of the family at 88. She was there, big hat on in her wheelchair, Parkinson's be damned.
Mr. Curry's big Top Gun moment= sex.y. I see a whole future of new babies in this picture.
Lola and cousins Sarah and zoey
20 weeks with Ever Elizabeth :)
Uncle Carl with sleeping Jacob making peace over Mr. Curry, Dakota and Ian
Mr. Curry, Dakota and the beautiful and lovable Auntie Kristi, Mr. C's sister
Lola on the paddle board with the excellently patient Uncle Carl
Lola with Howie, Ed's Uncle Mikey's sweet funny girlfriend's dog (got that?)
Ian and Howie
Cousin Reef building with Dakota and Ian
Reef and Lola are so sweet together. They are really close and love each other so much!Thursday, July 15, 2010
Atmospheric Disturbances ( Scenes From a Marriage )
Today rolled in moody cloud, heavy sky face, thick. Weather that feels like Nashville Tennesse where family lives, not San Diego California in July. Hot as hell peaked and softened into wet and warm, bringing thunder and rain in the late afternoon. Stepping out of air conditioner and into a warm shower, back and forth. Ever is kicking hard as I write, and the thunder is rolling lovely. The sky has the dim bright corners that suggest a veiled threat, the rain is tiptoeing on my roof. The anxiety fluxed as the weather.
Last weekend we had our first marriage therapy appointment and it was good. Afterward, later, I fell apart, full of named and unnamed fears and self doubts and panics. The panics. I sobbed on and off all weekend, in and out of Mr. Curry's arms. And then a stillness inside, an eye of the storm. I am worn and look worn, but I am loved and look loved. I move with Mr. Curry through these things, sometimes as if underwater, but always within fingertip reach of each other: there is the sky and his face, the sudden overcast and rain and his sex, the talk of others and the still meeting of our eyes. There is everything else, and Mr. Curry. This is how he has always made me feel and in eight years of marriage I have only ever lost this during his worst Bipolar struggles. Losing touch with him...like losing his face underwater when we are drowning. Like thinking he is on the bottom of the ocean and I cannot reach him. Every single time I think in wonder and fear to myself This is how the world will be for me if we cannot find our way. The emptiness that is left after you have been understood, connected and loved by someone day in and day out is a grief I hope to wait out until death. I was happy before Mr. Curry. I was strong, and smart, and connected, and loved, and inspired by life- I was alive. And. There is nothing that can replace or negate the profound joy that comes from being a team bound together in love and commitment. There are other things. But they are not this thing.
It is the way when we walk together our bodies find each other and bump. It is in travel and the stark emotional contrast different geographies evoke, and how we are always in sync, experiencing and reflecting and absorbing, always with a backdrop of gratitude to be alive, to be doing. It is in reading side by side. It is in the arguing and the amazing way an argument suddenly disappears in your mouth as you laugh. It is the ugly hateful feelings that can arise from the prodding of the oldest, sourest wounds, and the intimacy that rises with the expression of those wounds, the trust, the connections formed from secrets said and heard. It is the middle of the night and heat. It is the middle of the day and our children around us. It is the washing of dishes. It is the making of dinner. It is the sound of his voice reading to Lola. It is the thump of his body wrestling with the boys. It is the heft of his hand over Ever. It is the kissing, the groping, the making out, the quickies, the romantic notes. It is the total honesty, something we have had always, through mental illness or not. It is the faithfulness of our bodies. It is the fact that we both love Barack Obama. It is the way we both hone in on the character of people quickly. It is the kind of people we both agree are our kind and the fact that that kind has nothing to do with religion, color, race, accent, sexual preferences or political association. It is how no matter where we have gone, how strange or how wonderful, surrounded by filth or beauty, safety is next to each other. No matter what problems or arguments or hurts, we never abandon protecting and loving one anther.
There are the children, their love and smell and voices and needs and struggles, and Mr. Curry. Always he is the constant, the traveling companion, the sanctuary...at times, from myself. When I was half insane with grief after the loss of our 13 week pregnancy and the physical trauma of two blood transfusions and that tiny body sliding out of me, Mr. Curry stayed in that current with me, sheltering me as he grieved himself. What I remember most from the hospital is the loss, and then Mr. Curry- his hand on my arm as I went in and out of consciousness, his voice talking to the nurses, his eyes meeting mine and his body sheltering me from the eyes of nurses and doctors, how he was there for two days, every single time I fell asleep, and every single time I woke.
At the end of the day I cannot wait to tell him everything and to hear his everything. At the end of the night I cannot wait for the ten, twenty minutes we might eek out alone before he falls asleep, to feel his heavy strong fingers in my hair. He rises at 5am and works all day. We meet in the in between spaces of our family life and those spaces are more than enough to cultivate the deepest intimacy I have ever known. To be seen clearly and still loved and wanted...to see clearly and still love, still want- still choose. Thunder rolls and nothing can be better than these atmospheric disturbances with his companionship, our mutual appreciation of Nature and it's glorious Religion we both embrace. To lose yourself in another's heart and body rolling with you as the skies roll over must be what God thought of as passion, as love, when made man and woman. If we both believed in God we would say thank you. I believe in not knowing, and say thank you even more reverently. For every day is a complete mystery and blessing both.
The miserable times must be carved away at-
This is the therapy. The man who sits before us, and we sit on his soft colored couch, looking back and forth between him and ourselves, revealing our gross inadequacies and failures before a perfect stranger we are paying to make us stronger, more loving, more knowing. Here, I am an abuse survivor, at times ridden with anxiety and panic. Here, I come from a deeply troubled home, struggling with Bipolar. For the intellectual non believer, perhaps therapy is a facet of faith. Heal us. Help us heal. Love is not enough but it is essential, and we have it. Help us not to damage this gift beyond repair.
Amen.
Last weekend we had our first marriage therapy appointment and it was good. Afterward, later, I fell apart, full of named and unnamed fears and self doubts and panics. The panics. I sobbed on and off all weekend, in and out of Mr. Curry's arms. And then a stillness inside, an eye of the storm. I am worn and look worn, but I am loved and look loved. I move with Mr. Curry through these things, sometimes as if underwater, but always within fingertip reach of each other: there is the sky and his face, the sudden overcast and rain and his sex, the talk of others and the still meeting of our eyes. There is everything else, and Mr. Curry. This is how he has always made me feel and in eight years of marriage I have only ever lost this during his worst Bipolar struggles. Losing touch with him...like losing his face underwater when we are drowning. Like thinking he is on the bottom of the ocean and I cannot reach him. Every single time I think in wonder and fear to myself This is how the world will be for me if we cannot find our way. The emptiness that is left after you have been understood, connected and loved by someone day in and day out is a grief I hope to wait out until death. I was happy before Mr. Curry. I was strong, and smart, and connected, and loved, and inspired by life- I was alive. And. There is nothing that can replace or negate the profound joy that comes from being a team bound together in love and commitment. There are other things. But they are not this thing.
It is the way when we walk together our bodies find each other and bump. It is in travel and the stark emotional contrast different geographies evoke, and how we are always in sync, experiencing and reflecting and absorbing, always with a backdrop of gratitude to be alive, to be doing. It is in reading side by side. It is in the arguing and the amazing way an argument suddenly disappears in your mouth as you laugh. It is the ugly hateful feelings that can arise from the prodding of the oldest, sourest wounds, and the intimacy that rises with the expression of those wounds, the trust, the connections formed from secrets said and heard. It is the middle of the night and heat. It is the middle of the day and our children around us. It is the washing of dishes. It is the making of dinner. It is the sound of his voice reading to Lola. It is the thump of his body wrestling with the boys. It is the heft of his hand over Ever. It is the kissing, the groping, the making out, the quickies, the romantic notes. It is the total honesty, something we have had always, through mental illness or not. It is the faithfulness of our bodies. It is the fact that we both love Barack Obama. It is the way we both hone in on the character of people quickly. It is the kind of people we both agree are our kind and the fact that that kind has nothing to do with religion, color, race, accent, sexual preferences or political association. It is how no matter where we have gone, how strange or how wonderful, surrounded by filth or beauty, safety is next to each other. No matter what problems or arguments or hurts, we never abandon protecting and loving one anther.
There are the children, their love and smell and voices and needs and struggles, and Mr. Curry. Always he is the constant, the traveling companion, the sanctuary...at times, from myself. When I was half insane with grief after the loss of our 13 week pregnancy and the physical trauma of two blood transfusions and that tiny body sliding out of me, Mr. Curry stayed in that current with me, sheltering me as he grieved himself. What I remember most from the hospital is the loss, and then Mr. Curry- his hand on my arm as I went in and out of consciousness, his voice talking to the nurses, his eyes meeting mine and his body sheltering me from the eyes of nurses and doctors, how he was there for two days, every single time I fell asleep, and every single time I woke.
At the end of the day I cannot wait to tell him everything and to hear his everything. At the end of the night I cannot wait for the ten, twenty minutes we might eek out alone before he falls asleep, to feel his heavy strong fingers in my hair. He rises at 5am and works all day. We meet in the in between spaces of our family life and those spaces are more than enough to cultivate the deepest intimacy I have ever known. To be seen clearly and still loved and wanted...to see clearly and still love, still want- still choose. Thunder rolls and nothing can be better than these atmospheric disturbances with his companionship, our mutual appreciation of Nature and it's glorious Religion we both embrace. To lose yourself in another's heart and body rolling with you as the skies roll over must be what God thought of as passion, as love, when made man and woman. If we both believed in God we would say thank you. I believe in not knowing, and say thank you even more reverently. For every day is a complete mystery and blessing both.
The miserable times must be carved away at-
This is the therapy. The man who sits before us, and we sit on his soft colored couch, looking back and forth between him and ourselves, revealing our gross inadequacies and failures before a perfect stranger we are paying to make us stronger, more loving, more knowing. Here, I am an abuse survivor, at times ridden with anxiety and panic. Here, I come from a deeply troubled home, struggling with Bipolar. For the intellectual non believer, perhaps therapy is a facet of faith. Heal us. Help us heal. Love is not enough but it is essential, and we have it. Help us not to damage this gift beyond repair.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Welcome SPONSOR: Elizabeth Norton's ♡Vintage Graphic Tees♡
Dear Readers, Please take the time to support my blog and visit Flux Capacitor's newest sponsor! Elizabeth's charming: Vintage Graphic Tee Etsy Shop.
I want this darling gown for Ever:
I want this darling gown for Ever:
Elizabeth's simple and lovely designs of childhood have been featured round the blogsphere ( including my favorite, CJane ) and are very reasonably priced.
Every visit from Flux, and of course any purchases, help me continue to have and accept paying sponsors, so thank you so much for your support.
(This sweater donates proceeds to a cancer charity)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
➺fat man with a little shirt: my version, 20 weeks pregnant
no makeup, lots of can't take my crazy pills exhausted anxiety, but still madly thrilled to be pregnant
heading toward the local pool with Mr. Curry
Saturday, July 2010
Saturday, July 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
