All About the LOVE

Forgive me friends for I have sinned. It has been nearly 2 years since my last post. Much has changed. Much remains the same. Remembering how to even access my blogpost account brought me much surprise. Thought I'd give writing another try...

But first, a recap:

Went to Africa. Fell in love.

The twins grew up. Full of love.

Met a man. Fell in love.

Went to Africa again. Still in love.

Bought a house. Living in love.

Love has found me...love has been the way.

When You Just Know

Swaziland

42.6 % = HIV/AIDS rate

29 = Life expectancy age

200,000 = orphans

15,000 = orphan-headed households

I must go.

Been holding this secret for some time.

Finally, my stirring has a home.

Heart for Africa has called on me. He has called on me.

Please stop by my trip page...

I am so humbled to join this mission. Much more to share, but can't hold the secret any longer.

Endurance

When I squint, and look off into the distance, I just might be able to see it.

And then. It's gone.

If I hold my breath, close my eyes, pray, wish, daydream; I can almost reach it.

And then. I exhale.

I say it out loud. I say it to myself. I talk in my sleep.

And then. I awaken.

If I am honest with myself, I know that I want to live intimately. Need to live intimately. But in that honesty I realize that I may not know how. I long for closeness, and yet find paralysis in attention. I crave affection yet push away romance. I am alone, but not lonely. I am lonely, but not alone.

And perhaps only a woman can relate to the dissonance repeating in upending tones. Or maybe I shouldn't pull women into my madness. But why can't I make up my damn mind? Some days I feel so certain. Certain that I have made many mistakes. Certain that I will regret these mistakes. Certain that my longing will never cease. Other times I am equally certain that they are not mistakes, rather chapters which will ultimately lead to falling action and resolution.

I don't pretend there is a "happily ever after." I know better, and I dare not dream for such. However, there is a version, a version I can see...when my breathing slows and my mind clears, one that resembles the happy ending.

I don't fault myself for having optimism. Or even for living with doubt. It is through these questions that one day, I believe, I will find my truth.

Please...

***UPDATED LINK***

What can we do to help?

What can WE do...?

Children.

Need Us.

In.

Haiti.

We can help...

My Apologies to the East Coast

Ex Marks the Spot

It deserves to be said, that I pretty much have the best ex-husband ever. I mean this in all sincerity. Ex-spouse is a term we tend to avoid; as it carries such negativity in its perception. We are co-parenting partners, and better yet, friends.

While the details of our situation remain private, it can be said that I find tremendous comfort in knowing that our children are in loving and capable hands, in either home. For this, I am entirely grateful. The friendship that has developed from living separately is intense, honest, uplifting, and just down-right cool.

It is our hope, that when we marry, it is forever. And while our forever comes wrapped in a very unique package, I do truly know that it is a forever built on love and mutual respect. {This can be said with a smile in my heart, maybe because we can send each other's ass a mile down the road when we disagree. Heh} As we redefine our forever, I am filled with a gratitude that our children will always be our greatest privilege and priority.

So today, Patrick... it should be said... thank you for being my forever.

{And yes, I'll take the dog again so you can go on a date, but can you trade days while I go to Vegas for a night, and sure let's go to the so-and-so's party together, and make sure you make her your delicious salmon, and yes I went out with that guy, and can you remember to get Chase a haircut, and sure I'll cut their toenails because I know that's hard for you, and thank you for getting the teachers' a gift and...}

And So It Is...

Volume Control

For a girl who sets the timer on the dishwasher so as not to hear it, and a girl who keeps the television at mice-like-decibels; a girl who goes into a different part of the house when the washer/dryer are running, and a girl who thinks that taking a bath would be perfect if only the water didn't make so much noise... it has been a noisy year.

I've turned up the volume.

And then?

Bought new speakers so as to make it even louder.

And then?

Bought a mega bass to amplify the commotion.

2009 has been deafening.

A welcome sound in my new journey.

Noise.

Racket.

Clammer.

Turmolt.

Commotion.

Anything to keep me from...

Listening.

Feeling.

Healing.

Facing.

Owning.

So, 2010, here we are.

You and me.

Deejay's not playing the same song.

2010 -- Resolve.

Mute.

Time to mute the clamor. Say no. Disappoint.

Walk away. Let go. Close doors.

Disc Select.

Select you. Select one. Select calm. Select quiet. Select games, crafts, laughing, reading, cuddling, patience, joy.

Pause.

Pause. Be patient. Wonder. Pray. Reflect. Slow down... slow it down girl.

Repeat.

Then do it again. Slower. With more kindness. Kindness for the girl you once were, the woman you are yet to become.

Shuffle.

Have fun. Shake it up. Relax. Dance. Smile. Play.

Source.

Get to know your source. YOUR source. YOUR soul. YOUR God. YOUR strength. YOUR peace.

Praying for a quiet melody in 2010.

Why I'm Sitting on the Couch on a Beautiful Day

Dear Parents of Little Surf-Rat Toddler,

Do you have any idea just how cute I find your baby girl? With her 18-24 months skinny jeans, her checkered vans, and her silky, pink hoody? Clearly, you know she's cute. Clearly, she knows you know she's cute. And clearly this little peanut is winning battles at home. Her wispy bed-headed hair all tricked out with hints of, "No, dat my hay-er mama." "No bwush my hay-er." I just loved her instantly.

Which is why I scooped her up from the eight-kicking-legs of four-swinging-children at varying speeds and intervals. Twice. Her little diaper-padded, skinny jeaned bottom was toddling in a game of swing Frogger, and how she survived without getting cartoon-jettisoned over the monkey bars is beyond me. Which is why I toted her on my hip for a moment while I searched for the parent who must have been having a major emergency elsewhere with her other darling children.

Searching for the owner of the toddler, and pushing my own two kiddos on the swing, I carefully placed Little Miss Surfer Baby in a kinder spot on the playground. Until, she came back to the spider legs of the swings.

Scooping her up, again as her hair is grazed by a giant pumping of the feet, where is your mommy?, I ask?

Dat. Bah. La-lee-fing, she says (or something like that).

Dude, where is this kids' mommy? I wonder.

I begrudgingly place her down again near the slide, fearful of looking like some kidnapper. When sure enough a school-aged boy playing a game of I'm not watching where I'm running smacks straight into my new little surfer friend.

And...cue concerned parent. Here you come. Racing (well, trying to race in your Victoria's Secret lace-up ankle boots) to her rescue.

And cue...dirty look. To me. WTH?

And cue...me wondering if it was your Blackberry or your stilettos in the sand that impeded your graceful parenting.

And cue...school aged kids' mom getting a mouthful of why weren't you watching your kid as he bulldozed over my baby?

And cue...jaw-dropping of school aged kids' mom.

And cue...me convincing the kids that watching Sponge Bob, at home is way more fun than swinging.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like...CPS

This time of year can be very stressful for parents. We're shopping, and driving, and parking, and baking. We wrap, we clean, we eat, we gather, we plan, we host, we create. We keep the myth of Santa alive. We move elves from room-to-room. We forget to move elves from room-to-room. We send cards, take photos, hang cards, forget to take photos. We stand in line, entertain, buy stamps, buy wrapping paper, buy more wrapping paper, and remind children of the true nature of the season.

And all through it, we d-r-a-g our patient little ones from place to place so that we may better spread our Christmas cheer.

So when threats run out, and elves aren't watching, and you have to go back to the supermarket for the 15twentieth time...you might want to try a little trick involving, oh, say...shackling your children like the prisoners they are, and chaining their hineys to the cart.

Case in point:

Two Willing Participants

A little bit of (toy) chain.

One cart.

God only knows what they're doing here.

Voila: One happy mama (and a friendly neighbor in disgust admiration).

My mad parenting skillz worked tonight, yo.

My Grateful Heart

Part of the Journey

A loving person

lives in

a loving world.

A hostile person

lives in

a hostile world.

Everyone you meet

is your mirror.

-Ken Keyes Jr.

Handbook to Higher Consciousness

Success is a journey

not a destination -

half the fun is getting there.

-Gita Bellin

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2009:

My first holiday without the kids, teetering between sadness and aloof. I decided that I would do nothing. In my plan, I needed to lie to everyone so no one actually knew that I was alone.

"I'm going to my Mom's," I told friends.

"I'm going to my friend's," I told my mom.

"I'm going to Patrick's," I told my colleagues.

I just knew that I needed to feel the rawness of this divorce on this holiday. Although Patrick and I get along extremely well, this Thanksgiving did not include plans to co-mingle. I sincerely craved the calm the comes with being alone. Eating Chinese food from a paper box would have suited me just fine.

I was choosing an UnThanksgiving, but little did I know, Thanksgiving would still come, Charlie Brown.

Some of you know of my new friendship with Little Tommy. When my favorite radio show went off the air in August, I emailed the producer. Within 40 seconds, he wrote back. Within and hour, we were on the phone. Within days, I was watching his son skateboard. We've been hanging out ever since. A surprising friend and ally in my life, I decided to hang out with Tommy on Thanksgiving, but just for a little while, I told myself. After all, I wanted to be alone.

He took me to meet his 83 year old mom. If you've ever listened to the show, you know that meeting his mom is bigger than the Oscar's. It was an honor to be invited. However, we were just going to hang out for a little while. Dinner would be served at his sister's house, and surely I would be home, wearing sweatpants, and eating Chinese food by then.

And then, I was greeted warmly by a house full of relatives situated around the most angelic woman you could imagine. Attached to a feeding tube, but sitting strongly with love beaming from within, was Rosa.

[me, Rosa (83), Auntie Ding (94), Tommy]

And that's when it happened. I was at the mercy of the beautiful moment, and I was hanging on tightly. Being a quiet observer of Tommy tenderly lifting his mom into his car, watching he and his sister 'sneak' small bites of mashed potatoes to wet the palette of a woman fed by tube, and being lovingly included in a traditional family meal just about broke my heart. Or healed it.

I wasn't looking for Thanksgiving, but Thanksgiving found me.

(Another) Ego Boost

It's so worth it!

When Strength is all I Have, And Time is all I Need (Or Vice Versa)

I turn inward.

It is my my tendency.

My frequency.

My channel.

I question upward.

It is my destiny.

My gravity.

My journey.

I fumble forward.

Impatiently.

Searching.

For my certainty.

I glance backward.

It is my wondering.

My anxiety.

My clarity.

Predictably Predictable

When you get so forgetful that you even forget that you have forgotten things...perhaps you start to look a little like this.

First, you forget to pay your rent. Yes. Rent. That's what happens when you've had a husband pay the mortgage forever, and you forget that, like, it costs money to live places.

Then, when you're driving to meet your landlord to pay the rent, you realize that you forgot your friend's birthday. Yesterday.

That night, on your way to visit your out-of-town friend in a neighboring county, you see your gas light go on. On the one stretch of Interstate 5 that is dedicated to the military. For 19 miles. You drive faster because you're pretty sure that even though this uses gas less efficiently, the time saved on heart attack symptoms may just save your life.

And when things get reeeeally stressful, there's really just one more thing to do: rearrange the furniture. Then, put it back in exactly the same place. Because? It turns out that "L" shaped sofas really don't work out so well in creative juxtapositions with walls and tables.

Clearly, it is Report Card time. And clearly, I have not done them at all. Not one. How can you tell? Because I'm finally blogging again. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's procrastinating. And forgetting. If only I could forget to procrastinate.

Go Clean Your Room

...it did get awfully quiet in there...

...until the launching off Mount Headboard, that is...

(P.S. What the hell is wrong with my camera?)

What? A Girl's Got to Accessorize?

There are definitely some advantages to living without a man in the house. My own closet. My own stash of ice cream. Pink sheets. Violet sheets. Flowery sheets. Watching whateverthehellIwant on TV.

And then? There are those moments where I reeeeeaaaally could use a man.

Take for example the sweet and serene scene of a Mom gently tucking her little boy into bed. She lovingly pulls back the sheets, gathers all of his favorite stuffed creatures, plumps the pillows in just the right... HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT ON HIS PILLOW?

...

I'm pretty sure it looked more like this, actually:

What's a Mom to do...but scream? Duh. Then, ask children to hurrythefuckup and run and get a shoe. I figure I'm best suited to keep an eye on the thing (although I really couldn't have missed the dragon-sized-beast feverishly crawling on my son's pillow) while the youngins' run and fetch me a weapon.

"Hurry please. Go get me a shoe."

"Where?"

"In my closet. Hurry. Quick. Shoe."

....

...

"Hellooooo? Just get a shoe. Any shoe. Quickly."

"Tatum," (I think Chase spotted some legos or something far more interesting along the way) "Where are you?"

"Mommy, I'm tryyyyyying."

...

...

"Tatum, I can't take my eye off this thing. Just.Grab.A.Shoe.Right.Now."

About 40twentyhundred16 minutes later, she shows up with a lovely red ballet flat. One which I know damn well was not the most conveniently located shoe in the closet. In fact, it would have taken some perusing, reaching, tippy-toes, major yoga moves to find that shoe.

It's a shoe she has had a penchant for borrowing once before.

Apparently, a it's an innate sense that a girl must always choose exactly the right shoe for every event.

Dumbo

A certain little birthday girl and birthday boy just turned one whole hand's worth of 1-2-3-4-5! Holy Moly. Five?!

Maybe it's the nostalgia of creating family five years ago. Maybe it's spending the day at "The Happiest Place on Earth." And maybe I'm just all kinds of mixed up and wacky. Maybe.

Or maybe, maybe our divorce will save our marriage.

There's a certain comfort in being a family of four. There's a certain peace in being able to communicate better now, than in the past months...years. There's a certain insanity when an (ex) husband and wife share dating stories with one another.

Although there are no certain answers, we have found a way to continue to grow. As individuals. As a couple. For this, I am grateful. Grateful and entirely crazy. Who knows what will be ahead. But damn, I could really use a map right now...

...'cause I'm feeling kinda Dumbo.

My iPhone Broke My Heart

I dropped my phone once today in the parking lot outside of school. Thanks to the (new) case, it was just fine. Whew!

Then, I dropped it again on the hardwood floors at Patrick's while I was picking up the kids. This time, I wasn't so lucky. Dead. Nothin'.

Then, I brought it home to try and give it some love, and I dropped it again on the tile floor.

Now...it's so not responding. I tried CPR. I tried that AED thingie that you see on walls in public places. I tried putting it on my pillow and singing softly. All to no avail.

Shit.

I want my phone.

I neeeeeed my phone.

I hear it ringing.

I hear that cute little sound when I get a text.

But the damn screen won't light up.

So, until I get to the Apple store (Read: I'm going after school tomorrow to the Apple store), I think I'm out of luck.

Fortunately, I still have my laptop to keep me company. How is it that I went all the way through college without a cellphone? And now? I'm hyperventilating and making out with my computer for some techno-love.

Is there a such thing as iPhone armor?

Or should I just get some really great super glue?

Shit.

Come back to me my love...