Friday, September 30, 2011

Welcome SPONSOR: Novembrin *Hand Made Felt Objects of Desire*

SO, the whole reason November is a Flux Capacitor sponsor is because I saw her store on Etsy, and fell in love. Her skill is undeniable. She takes felt and makes it into objects- usually animals- that positively brim with personality and charm. The details are gorgeous. I traded a mama and baby elephant set and gave them to Lola, who adores and plays with them. They aren't meant to be man handled played, but Lola is nine, so she can gently play. I mean, look at these--

I mean, COME ON. Look at this hedgehog. So cute!!!
Pumpkins for Fall decor
...and this little pair that I want! She also takes requests

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Can I have a safe word? The weight too heavy. There are weights we carry that by their very existence hone and strengthen inside of us a place of resilience we never believed we possessed. I have always been resilient. I remember being Lola's age, in the back of the car as we drove, and my mother telling me I'd worry about Lura if I died, but not you. I know you'd be OK. Since then I have weathered many hardships, sometimes horribly gracelessly, but still- I did it- and found each one- Mr. Curry's bipolar, my horrific panic attacks, my medical ordeal and surgeries, subsequent bankrupt debt, Mr. Curry's loss of business- truly did strengthen me, teach me about navigating pain, fear, relationships. Life. With Dakota I feel only the weightlessness of a void below me. The whistling of air past my face. Having small, happy children apparently made up more of my self-esteem than I realized. Now that I have a tall, unhappy 17 year old, it feels as much about me as it does about him. I say feel. Because I don't know. I'm smart enough- at least- to know I don't know. Nothing else I've encountered- my marriage problems, financial hardships, physical pain- has undermined my sense of self so neatly and cleanly, so simply and swiftly, as my son's struggle. I keep thinking lately about how much shame is attached when we don't feel or think the way we think we should. I am ashamed that what is happening to my son feels so much like it's happening to me. That's not healthy. It may be motherhood, though. It's real. Maybe it's the exact reason why my son is now staying at his grandmother's house, 15 minutes from where we live.Flesh of my flesh.I have scribbled down and recorded many of the sweet and loving things my son has said to me as he grew up. I have loaded books of photos of the two of us, laughing, kissing, hugging. I wonder if I did something so crucially wrong for his temperment and needs that he could not keep his feet on ground. Perhaps another mother- one less loving, maybe, but more beautifully organized, more constant in routine- not! a writer- might have served him better. Kept him safe. When he was small, and then even not so small, and something was scaring him, he would come to me and tell me about it, and we would have a huddle. The two of us would sit and talk it out, and afterward he would tell me, with supreme confidence, Mommy nothing will ever be too much for me, because I have you. How can I let go of that? Where is the letting go door? How do I walk through it?

Sometimes I say as many as six impossible things before breakfast, and here is one: I will let go of this pain.
It's not supposed to be mine. It's not happening to me.

A door through a door. I step through his eyes and into him, a particularly female act, and believe I know how he feels, what he thinks, who he is. I do, I do know what I know, and I know it well. It's the rest, the landscape that has formed privately without me over the last few years, that I do not know that I must accept. This is a person now, completely separate from me, and were he safe, were he OK, I could let go perhaps, at a more timidly scheduled pace. But this thing he's struggling with is breaking up all the scheduled stops, and I am not damn well letting go of him while his legs dangle over this void. I am his mother. What that means when he is 17 and fighting something dark, I don't know. I'm learning it.
There is a whole family here. Two daughters, another son, a husband, a wife. All here too. I love them. I don't want to and will not allow myself to abandon joy in them; abdicate a 'normal life'. But what is our life then, carrying this with it? How do you make room for something so hard in the pace of a day: the teeth brushing, driving, homework, work, baths, dinnertime talk? Is there room for both pain, fear, hurt and the routine of family life? I don't know what that looks like. Now it seems this bleeds into the most unexpected moments, and suddenly I am crying, and there is the rest of the family, looking at me. Crying, again. In this way I am beginning to feel myself failing, flailing. My husband is tired of this. Cracks are forming in our marriage. The weight. When you don't know what to do, do nothing? I'm quiet now. Waiting for signs, a hand of God, the right book, the right person, the right article.

My husband....a note on him. Sometimes I stand back, and look at him through the years, the changes he's made, the progress, his steady, quiet way of changing, so different than my mad flailings, his introspection so slow and constant at times that it seems infuriatingly still- stagnant, I think meanly at times, when I'm hurt or scared- but it's not still. It is his way of moving forward in life, not mine, and at times when I can get the perspective to stand back and see how hard he's worked on bettering our family, our marriage, then I am deeply touched. I try hard to see what love looks like from the other people in my family, because it doesn't come out the same for each person. Seeing how each person expresses love can be the key to feeling deeply loved. For Ever, it's an open mouthed tongue thrust or a smile so large it looks like it's eating her face. Love!

One woman, telling the truth about my life.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

This Picture Makes Me Laugh

every time i see it
l to r: ever, evan, dakota and ian

Monday, September 26, 2011

A Dream Come True: Published on Amazon 'Welcome To My World'

A dream of mine has come true in one more step: I've been published on Amazon in this e-collection Welcome To My World, edited by Sarah Bryden-Brown, an extremely social media savvy writer, editor and curator. The collection is as its subtitle indicates: essays written by mothers about being stay at home moms or working moms, and despite the 'vs' in the title, this isn't a clash between us but an honest and interesting look at how 13 modern day mothers make their lives work.

For the price of a cup of coffee and a bagel, you can read this collection on Amazon's Kindle, Barnes and Noble Nook, or if you don't have this options, download a free application:

Kindle for PC
Kindle For Mac

It is because of this blog that I have been able to doggedly and persistently attempt to turn my writing into something more closely resembling a career, and I am thanking all of you most sincerely for coming here and reading what I write, and for (mostly:) keeping up your own blogs so I can continue to learn about your lives and read your writings.

A big shout out to the awesome GIGGLE, the book's sponsor. Their clothes and toys are really, really cute. One of my favorite baby shower gifts for Ever came from Giggle- a pink and orange striped footy sleeper.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Friday, September 23, 2011

The Things That Come Out of That Child's Mouth

Mom you can't be naked except for your bra in suburbia. And eating watermelon!

When I was doing my homework you guys would not stop talking. Married people!

The world can be a hard place. That's why we're so lucky to have our family.

When I nurse my baby, I'm going to get one of those bras that pops your boob open.

Sometimes I fart so hard my underwear bunches up in my butt.

love you Lola :)

Thursday, September 22, 2011


Dakota 17, Ever 8 months

I try to focus on the larger issues, and instead I see toes. Baby toes. His baby toes. The curse and blessing of a parent: we see the vulnerability, innocent core, love, the challenges and hardships that have landed their blows one by one, carved their place and carved the face of a child into a young adult- we struggle to squint and find the place where the soft skinned hand of a teenage boy comes to rest on the door handle of our house and say I'm going to Grandmas, and I'm not coming back for a while.

Some of you know what is going on with my oldest son. Some of you do not. But all of you, I'm sure, know what this agonizing feeling is: helplessness in the face of your child's suffering. We can fix, mend, comfort, argue, provide supports, guidance, there is so much we can do, and much of the time, I'm in that place. But sometimes, I look at Ever's little self, and I see Dakota's littlest self, and I am crushed with my love for him and all I cannot do- the letting go to do. It is a labor in it's own right.

The panicked worry that you, the centre of everything that happens to your child ( via society and your own secret beliefs ), are responsible for what is happening can be either completely reinforced ( by the angry teen, a scared loved one ) or quickly negated ( an emotionally detached therapist, a loving husband ) but ultimately you have to come to terms with yourself, not your child, the therapist, the loved ones.

Did I do the best I could? Can I do better?

Yes, and surely, life's work, yes.

The age old question that strangles me is that perhaps my best was not enough.

I have always been a fiercely felt believer that parenting is absolutely exhausting work that pushes you to the brink of your personal end zones, if done well. Perhaps this is a self flagellating American belief, but even if that is part of the truth, it's not the whole. A 'hands off' approach works well with a small particular of littles. Benign neglect is a concept that even if it is to work well, requires a smooth and humming engine of parenthood running underneath the nonchalance, one that still requires effort and thought and discipline. Nothing good comes easy. Even ease requires a graceful architecture.

I have done nothing since the day Dakota was born more than I have worked on myself as a human being and mother. And still I cannot say that I do not doubt myself deeply as he struggles so hard.

The beauty of "spacing" children many years apart lies in the fact that parents have time to learn the mistakes that were made with the older ones - which permits them to make exactly the opposite mistakes with the younger ones. ~Sydney J. Harris

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Published: Far Away Literary Magazine

Visit the beautifully rendered Far Away magazine and read the wonderful essays,
including our own Mary Moon
I'm happy to have my essay included!

Monday, September 19, 2011

If you have anything better to do, You probably should do it

Everything is just grunt work this year. Like the Army. Life is about Getting Through This and reminding myself This Won't Go On Forever or assuring myself You Will Figure This Out even though I have no idea if I will, or won't, or what. I knew that going to work after Ever was born was going to be hard. I had no idea what kind of hard. I though it would be ' the house is such a mess ' hard, and ' noodles for dinner again! ' hard. Hard like a funny movie where your hair is crazy and your husband lazy and lalala. It's not hard like a funny movie. It's just hard.

It's not about just working full time, it's the particular brew of ingredients- the particulars of our family life- that are making this so exhausting. I feel spiritually, mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. Even this screen: Mr. Curry pulled out this old computer screen and attached it because mine was blinking on and off at a rapid pace, and this new/old screen is huge and strange and makes me feel different when I write. See. I know my life is careening beyond my reach when so many things in my mind start with makes me feel.


I'm nursing my baby, and I'm sleeping with her, and I wake up and shuffle around and get everything done and we speed out of the house, just like a million other mothers in the world. I drop the kids off, and go to work- usually on my lunch break I'm taking Ever and picking up a kid or two and taking them home- and then at 5pm I'm home, and I have between 5 and about 7:30 which is when Ever goes to bed, ie gets nursed for fifteen minutes. But lately she won't go to bed at 7:30, it's more like 8. Usually Mr. Curry picks up ee from my work around 3pm, so I get home at 5pm and she wants to nurse, and Mr. Curry is making dinner. In this time between 5 and 7:30 I'm supposed to Look over Lola's homework, (even if Mr. Curry did xyz I need to stay in the loop, see what she is doing) Eat Dinner, Bathe Ever, Spend Time With Lola, Clean Up, Take Vitamins, Make Lunches, Go Through My Mail/Sign Shit, Answer Emails? And that isn't counting all the many things that pop up every day, uncatagorized, and demand to be attended to. It's those extras that especially push you over the brink. And the thing that I didn't count on

was that

I'm not and can't be the kind of mother I need and want to be doing what I'm doing.

I said it. Look at it, up there. Doesn't it make you want to cry? Me, I'm crying now.


I'm sucking at being a wife, a housekeeper, a friend, a relative, a mommy. I don't know what we're going to do, but something has to give. I'm not sucking at work, because that's where I get paid, and I walk in there with Ever and the attitude that I'm a professional. And the house is OK. Not great, we have a full sink of dishes usually but we do dishes every day and we have no dishwasher!

When I had the other kids, I didn't work when they were babies, AND I wasn't trying to forge a writing career.

I think my kids want a new mom, one who makes pancakes for breakfast every morning in cute shapes, one who is crafty and cooking and who keeps a pretty home, and I just want to crawl in a corner and cry because my dog Bodie has orange hair and he rubs his gigantic butt up against the walls all around the house and leaves big orange stains.

The thing that is happening is that most things are getting done, because life forces you into its mold, because you are an adult and that is what adults do. So what is giving? My relationship with my children. I'm distracted constantly. There is always something I have to be doing, there is simply not time for me to stop for forty five minutes and play with Lola on a school night. I can do it, sure. And then the things I didn't do will embarrass and upset me to the point where next time I won't do it. The teacher who never got an email. The sign up sheets for sports deadlines that were missed. The dog shit sitting in the kitchen. The laundry that has to be done so people can have underwear! Lola's school alone is like a fucking full time job. Please don't let me talk about the demands of school on a child and on the parents. Suffice to say, the paperwork, homework, computer work at home, MUST SIGN NOW sheets, and extra read these sheets just because eat up an enormous amount of time nightly. And it's not like the kids are going to stop having their problems and stages and difficulties because I'm overwhelmed. If anything, me being overwhelmed makes them worse.

I am at a point where I feel like I forgot how to do everything. I have no creative ideas how to deal with Lola's new penchant for being sassy/rude when she's the slightest bit frustrated, or what I used to talk to Mr. Curry about, or the more subtle things in life. Shades. I know the basics. I'm nursing my baby, I'm trying to pay attention to Lola when she talks (but she talks sooo much!!!) I'm smiling at the kids when I remember to (Maggie! Smile!) as they talk, I'm making lunches, I'm showered, I'm I'm I'm.... fake it till you make it?

Oh my God. This is the most boring, droning blog post I've ever written.

I can't even BLOG anymore.


especially anyone new to my blog, please don't worry about me. in any REAL way. i'm not losing my mind totally. i'm in the in between phase, where you know something is really wrong, have clearly spotted the problem, but have yet one clue what you are going to do about it. ok i'm lying. while writing this post/vent i actually came up with an idea about spending time with Lola.
that's one clue.

and while editing this post i came up with another idea. it's brilliant, and it goes like this:

(me, in response) but when my mom comes over she looks around like....
(me, yelling at myself) SO WHAT?!!!
(me, in response) have a point.. but what about when the neighbors come over?
(me, yelling at myself) FUCK THEM!!!
(me, in response) well, sometimes you do have to get more...assertive minded to accomplish a goal
(me, yelling at myself) DAMN SKIPPY!!!
(me, in response) well i guess as long as the floors are cleaned and we can find the scissors...
(me, in response) oh no. i really liked that pen.

Friday, September 16, 2011

I've Got A Crush On: Philip Roth

Philip Roth is one of my authors. I've been a passionate reader since I can remember being alive, and Philip Roth's deliciously novel-y smelling paperback Portnoy's Complaint was one of the first 'real live grown up' novels that I read. The audacious honesty absolutely blew my mind, impressed on to me that one of the most critical and crucial qualities of a serious novelist is the ability to detail the world in a way that resonates with resounding authenticity. Bullshit must be purposeful. The writing must be painfully true. Philip Roth's writing is intellectual, serious in tone and emotion, ( but not plodding ) even when describing the most perverted sexual act his tone remains- somehow he manages to import both the true life and feeling of the character while always keeping his authority as the conscious of the thing.

Now, the man who has reluctantly and reticently given interviews at only the request of his publishers has let himself become the subject of an hour long documentary. Although not yet released in America, I am thrilled with anticipation of watching and absorbing the words of one of my top ten favorite writers and one of the few American writers left alive with his depth of talent, influence and material.

If you haven't read any Roth, I highly recommend starting with Portnoy, or if you are scared off by novels that open ( and continue! ) with lots of masturbating, try The Human Stain or American Pastoral, both of which completely and totally absorbed my brain in that satisfying way only a great novel can.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Four By The Sea

We cannot destroy kindred: our chains stretch a little sometimes, but they never break.

-Marguise de Sevigne

Monday, September 12, 2011

My Life Is Totally Getting In the Way of My Enlightenment

Everything I want to know I might already have learned and forgotten over and over and over.

It's incredibly frustrating.

I remember reading once that Scorpios- me, I'm Nov. 10th- go through periods of intense withdraw and transformation throughout their lives. I do, I do, I do. I drink and drink and drink until I am so full of the world that my eyes are drunk and sick and I am spinning and miserable and then there is a volcanic shift, always painful, sometimes dangerous, and I am stepping fresh from the fire like a daisy never burnt. It's slightly romantic. It's definitely productive for my writings. It's hard on my relationships- my husband, my children. It's hard on me. It's childish.

The phrase Mr. Curry and I mock and yet use because of it's inevitability:
It is what it is. And what it is is when you take a Scorpio child, a writer by DNA and by sensibility, and then you add a terrifying Father and painful childhood, and you get The Pirate Queen. That's the name of my poem novel. It's all done. I'm waiting for a cover from someone wonderful. If he's reading, no pressure. Ha!!! I can't apply that to myself in the slightest. No pressure. No pressure. Like oxygen for me. I spend much of my life trying to relieve the constant pressure in my soul. Buddhism says that this is the path of the un-enlightened. That we experience only isolation, lonliness, worry, fear- interspersed with moments of joy or freedom. Enlightenment is when a person lives inside freedom.

Why don't we all spend all our time trying to be enlightened?

I can't answer, it's too embarrassing. The answer is I'm too busy trying to remember to take my vitamins. Or floss. Or sign Lola's homework sheet. You know. Life, or my version of it.

I spent a year of my life learning about Buddhism once, and practicing, and meditating, and I was the best version of myself I'd known in a long time- maybe ever- but I can't stay. I can't keep.

After a baby I am an
other for a year, maybe two. Yes, two. For two, I'm not of. I'm other.

This post has the most I's of any post I've written in a long time. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

I'm sick of I.

If there's anything else I want to say, I don't want to hear about it!
I'm going to dedicate myself for one entire more year to meditation and .. you know, other enlightening stuff.

I'm serious!!!

I mean it.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Crowds Cheered As Gloom Galloped Away

frances bean cobain

The Crowds Cheered as Gloom Galloped Away

By Matthea Harvey b. 1973 Matthea Harvey

Everyone was happier. But where did the sadness go? People wanted to know. They didn’t want it collecting in their elbows or knees then popping up later. The girl who thought of the ponies made a lot of money. Now a month’s supply of pills came in a hard blue case with a handle. You opened it & found the usual vial plus six tiny ponies of assorted shapes & sizes, softly breathing in the Styrofoam. Often they had to be pried out & would wobble a little when first put on the ground. In the beginning the children tried to play with them, but the sharp hooves nicked their fingers & the ponies refused to jump over pencil hurdles. The children stopped feeding them sugarwater & the ponies were left to break their legs on the gardens’ gravel paths or drown in the gutters. On the first day of the month, rats gathered on doorsteps & spat out only the bitter manes. Many a pony’s last sight was a bounding squirrel with its tail hovering over its head like a halo. Behind the movie theatre the hardier ponies gathered in packs amongst the cigarette butts, getting their hooves stuck in wads of gum. They lined the hills at funerals, huddled under folding chairs at weddings. It became a matter of pride if one of your ponies proved unusually sturdy. People would smile & say, “This would have been an awful month for me,” pointing to the glossy palomino trotting energetically around their ankles. Eventually, the ponies were no longer needed. People had learned to imagine their sadness trotting away. & when they wanted something more tangible, they could always go to the racetrack & study the larger horses’ faces. Gloom, #341, with those big black eyes, was almost sure to win.

“The Crowds Cheered as Gloom Galloped Away” © 2004 Matthea Harvey. Reprinted from Sad Little Breathing Machine with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Source: Sad Little Breathing Machine (Graywolf Press, 2004)

Poem Found @ Poetry Foundation

Collective Remembering 9-11

on Talia Carner


on New York, Lost and Found

on Rotten Mom

on Mommyhood Next Right

on Clarity in the Chaos

on The Moon, Worn As If It Had Been A Shell

on Jew Eat Yet

on Just Another Manic Mommy

Friday, September 9, 2011

Brown Out California

The power outed at 3:27pm on Thursday, the same day that had already been so hot we couldn't take the preschoolers outside for their afternoon play. I was cleaning in the infant room, Ever and other babies crawling around my feet, and Dakota had just left angrily. Things aren't good. If you pray, you can pray for my son. He came back in, his phone cracked and hot in his large 17 year old hand. I broke my phone Mom, he said. So you can't call me. I nodded, that's all. He left and the power shut off. Fans stopped the incessant whirring over our heads, the EXIT light came on and a loud, fat beeping noise began it's endless repetition. Once every three minutes.

Outside, I plugged Ever into the carseat and her forehead glistened already with drops of sweat.

I drove by Dakota, walking home, shirt off. He's so tall. He's 6 foot now.

At home I pulled Ever out and told Mr. Curry about the day. The power might stay out until tomorrow afternoon, he said. Are you sure? That's what they said? He was sure. That's what they said. Dakota came home. Things happened. Mr. Curry and I did the best we could. We did a good job, a much better job than we knew how to do two years ago. Dakota left. I called out I love you to his receding and unresponsive back. Because sometimes there is nothing else that you can say, and you want to be sure that you said it. Lola was in tears. I sat with her on the couch as she sobbed. It's OK, sweetie, we both told her, it's OK.

In the middle of the street, I took our neighbors cell, trying to call my Mom. The signal didn't go through. Lola stood next to me, Ever in Mr. Curry's arms. The air was yellow and thick. From our position in the cul de sac, looking down the street, you could see neighbors sitting in lawn chairs on their front yards, standing in the street talking, kids running around. Looking at the vaguely threatening sky, my eyes scanned for something. I realized I was feeling the absence of electricity. The absence of internet signals, cell phones, computers, televisions blaring, phones ringing, movies playing. I could hear my neighbors voices. Kids playing. I could hear the wind in the palm trees. And I could feel the resting of Nature into my body, without the strange skin of electrical noise between us and the elements.

The grocery store was crowded with people. The parking lot like a fish packed river, gleaming car tops. The water aisle half cleared completely, the other half picked through. Each register open, the lines of irritable, hot, worried people poking back into the food aisles. Mr. Curry was looking for a small alarm, worried how he would wake for work. We bought hot dogs, beans and water. Ever wore only her diaper and a tired, bleary interest in what was going on. I stayed quiet.

Mr. Curry made dinner on the grill and the darkness set completely. We lit candles and had our camping lantern on, plenty of light. We ate dinner out front. The moon was full, the stars beautiful, and a completely wonderful cool breeze had begun steadily blowing. I cried, until Mr. Curry reminded me my responsibility was to the girls. I stopped crying. I wondered where he was. I thought of how glad I was we lived in suburbia; no where for him to go to dangerous. Just 'little pink houses /for you and me'.

We all lay together in the bedroom. Mr. Curry had a battery powered radio working, and we four lay listening to it with a candle lit until we fell asleep.

The power went back on at 4am. I woke to the fan whirring and the the television that had never been turned off blaring in the living room. I turned it all off and lay back in bed. I tried not to think about my life. I thought of the women before me, the mothers, the centuries of women protecting their families in the face of disease, death, starvation, poverty, loss. Potato famines, crop failure, floods. All the mothers for hundreds and thousands of years. I thought of them, and I fell asleep.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

how cheerfully they sing

I'll tell you how things are for me right now: Mr. Curry, Ever Elizabeth, Lola Moon and I were shopping in Wal-Mart. The reason we were shopping in Wal-Mart is because our very nutty roomate moved out last weekend without any notice and without paying rent, so that we are $600 in the hole for rent this month, so that my mom gave us her Wal-Mart card and said we could buy some groceries and supplies with it. ThankyouMom. I was trudging in front of Mr. Curry, miserable because the night before we had the worst fight we've had in years, years, which ended with me walking around our neighborhood block in my pajamas and flip flops, in the rain, at 9pm at night. We fell asleep together after all of it, until around 3am when I woke and turned to nurse Ever and felt the soft deep tissue behind my chicken wing on the right side of my body softly tug and then with a big sucking snap, pop and fissure open. The pain went through my back up to grab my right ear and stake itself in my head. I slept sitting up and nursing Ever, and am sitting here only slightly better off. So back to Wal-Mart, and it's depressing lights and stacks and stacks of preserved Jello. I was trudging miserably, remember, in front of Mr. Curry, angry at him because he was telling me a joke, and I wasn't paying attention, and he was miffed/hurt and wouldn't finish the joke, and as I was brooding over this I felt someone coming up on my rear left. So I looked back as I went to move out of the way, and the old, white haired lady on her motorized scooter said loudly and in her best meanoldlady voice

That's right, you better move out the way.

I turned to look closer at her and said to her receding white old head, What a sweet lady, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. She sputtered without making eye contact. Then I instinctively went to put my hand on Mr. Curry's arm before he said or did something wildly inappropriate to the old lady, and did or did not stop him in time depending on what your opinion is of what he shot off at her.

Arriving home with our piles of stuff, I sat miserably on the couch and thought about what to do for Dakota. There is a problem. Those who coined the term loving detachment couldn't have meant parents. I dare you to be lovingly detached to your child. It's possible, but only in the smallest way possible, like in fragments of time, in moments, when you are meditating, laughing, being showered with support, having a strong moment, or are incredibly drunk. The rest of the time it's like trying to be lovingly detached toward your own hands while they are wedged inside of a door jam, broken and bleeding. I see you, but the fact that you are in distress cannot be my problem, I can help you, but I cannot feel your pain. Oh, laughter. You silly son of a bitch.

Meanwhile, our entire garage door handle broke off. Our bathroom door has a big sign on it that says DO NOT CLOSE ALL THE WAY which kind of defeats the entire purpose of a bathroom, and is placed there because if you shut the door from the outside, you can't open it again! Our air conditioner broke two weeks ago, right before this staggering heat wave and humidity. And this is my first preschool paycheck that will have Ever's tuition taken out of it!

Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it! Monty, where are you now. The best thing about that song is how cheerfully they sing of suffering.

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

oh, how cheerfully they sing

of suffering

maggie may

charcoal me

drawn by yolanda, dearling

Monday, September 5, 2011

101 Ways To Smile: Do Something Ridiculous

Yes, please.

Other ridiculously fun ideas:

take a shaving cream bath

paint your entire body

buy water soakers and get in a squirt gun fight

do nothing but bake all day, filling your kitchen and table with plated goodies, and then invite your friends over, your kids friends, your family

every family member in a costume, all day, everywhere you go. no explanations

dye everyone in your family's hair the same temporary color
(then take a picture!)

go on a mud-hike in the rain (we've done this, so fun!)

clear out your living room and have a dance contest


Saturday, September 3, 2011

all the world in a palm

i keep surfacing into the world, more real each time. further from bullshit. everything is exciting like this. when i am thinking and feeling all there is to learn and do i feel thrilled to be alive. the magic is fully in the moment but aware of all that lays untouched around me. somewhere between a grand adventure and the peace ms. moon talks about in the microcosm. we are the cell of a leaf and the entire breadth of the galaxy at once. i am full of swirling fluxing ideas and dreams and thoughts and emotions. here are some things on my mind.

tattoos i can't wait to get another. on my back, i have Lola and Dakota's name in a blue star. now i want to add Ian and Ever, and i'm thinking of getting something smallish on my upper left arm or maybe behind there. i feel like if i get a beautiful tattoo there, i will feel stronger and magical. like Wonder Woman's armband. Mr. Curry thinks it's sexy. bonus. also, picking what to get is the most fun thing in the world. i have an idea and it's thrilling me to my toes

ever's first birthday party i am planning it. i think the theme is Forest Animals. i just want some cute decorations and invitations, an owl shaped cake and close family and friends, and great music. Lola is helping me. :)

our roomate that just moved out, quite unplanned. i'll tell you that story, soon. wow. for those of you going 'you have a roomate!?' yes, we did! i've mentioned it here and there. it has really helped financially, but now it's over.

Lola is an Egyptian princess, Ever is a pink piggy. can't wait.

mr. curry's birthday
september 17th he'll be my age now. he always teases me about being younger than i. ( can you believe that's correct English? no one says that. i'm trying to make myself but i don't think i can. ) for his birthday i'll remind him why i need a younger man to keep up with me. :)

i feel ridiculously romantic lately. i keep hearing Peter Gabriel's song and thinking how it perfectly describes mr. curry and i. ' i get so lost sometimes / days pass / and this emptiness fills my heart / i get so tired / working so hard / for our survival / i look to the time with you / to keep me awake and alive ' yes, yes, yes. this story reminds me of Mr. Curry and i. i have told him the last thing i want to hear before i die is his voice.

mr. curry's new job after a long haul he's gotten a new job with better pay and a better, happier situation for him for various reasons. i'm SO happy for him, happy for our family, happy to see us moving forward as a couple and as a family. we are a good, hard working team and i'm proud of us for that. he starts this coming week! :)

recommitting to parenting
i feel like i forgot everything i knew. i don't know what happened. somehow getting Dakota through 15-17 almost killed me. ( gee. wonder why. he's doing AWESOME now, by the way :) and then having Ever and then and then and then. and somehow i ended up like this: what do i say when Lola won't stop talking again? that doesn't kill her self esteem? because she neeeeveeerrr stops talking. ever. and it's the age, the boys did it too. Nine is a hard age for me. they are just all over the place. boing! crash! boom! and they talk the whole time. and Lola, unlike the boys, realllly pays attention to see if we are carefully listening. with the boys, they were content to be allowed to ramble. but Lola is a girl. she must be HEARD. can't imagine where she gets it from. just stuff like that. i feel zapped of all creative parenting. i plan on reading a few old and true books that are amazing ( Dr. Sears, Becoming the Parent You Want To Be are two ) and maybe making a few signs to put up for myself. to remind myself, to refocus when i'm distracted...which right now is always.

my writing career is going along steadily and well. i'm making a small amount of money off Flux Capacitor which is awesome, and i have a huge blog redo ( long overdue ) in the works, and i've gotten hired for another freelance job. i can't reiterate how much we need this money, and how satisfying it is to see my hard work pay off.

planning our future life trips to take, what kind of area we want to move to, what our future house will look like, how i would decorate it, what we will do when Lola hits middle school, family travel, Dakota turning 18 next June (holy), Ever is crawling and thinking of her walking and hearing her sweet voice talking for the first time someday, where will Ian go to college and what kind of scholarships can he get, those kinds of thoughts.

giving back there is a woman i know who has metastasized breast cancer, a husband and two small children. i mentioned her here a year or two ago. she's almost on the last chemo she can use, and the cancer is in her brain, bones and lungs. she's still working full time. holy. i think about her all the time, and am at the moment trying to come up with an idea to raise money for her and her family in the next two months. last time i did this we just took donations. this time i'm thinking of trying something else. any ideas? links? experience?

What's on your mind these days?

Ever and The Orange: A Photo Series

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