Farewell Facebook Friend

The internet is a place in which information is free to float where it may.  Tweet it, facebook it, put it on myspace (but no one will read it there). Pour every meandering thought down into the white rectangle and watch as it affixes itself to cyberspace, to be viewed and judged accordingly by all that see it.

Add to this the fact that friend requests are generally sent out to a plethora of people, including not only your close friends but old classmates, co-workers and distant relatives.  If you belong to one of these sites go take a gander at your friend list…I’ll wait.  I’m going to wager that there are people on it you haven’t seen in years.  There may be some people you don’t even remember.  Look there’s that girl from high school, she sat behind you in Chemistry.  Remember how it took you emailing your friend to even recall who she is before you accepted the request?

Now consider this fact.  Every single status update you have posted since becoming this person’s ”friend” has been broadcast across their main page. 

For some of us, this is no big deal.  So what?  Mindy Whosawhitz knows I like Rilke’s poetry, I got a great deal on a sweater at Target and that I recently celebrated my Grandmother’s birthday….big whoop.  Most people I know update their status with what they are doing at that moment, quotes they like, song lyrics, thoughts on sporting events, movies and books.  From reading these kinds of updates I get to keep up with people I can’t find the time to routinely connect with via another avenue (phone/email/in person) and often I am pointed in the direction of something I would enjoy ( like this).

Other people however….

Today I un-friended someone because they said something hateful about a belief that is not their own.  It is also not a belief that I ascribe to, in the strictest sense, I do not label myself in that way.

It was a short two sentence statement, but dense with hate and misinformation.  In those two lines she managed to completely mischaracterize the religion she was referring to as well as equate its followers with lazy, greedy murders.

It was vile.  I shot her a short message with a correction to her mistake (Humanists do not ”worship” humans) and a brief description of my disgust - clicked the small “X” next to her name thus banishing her to the outside of my circle.

This person wrote something completely hateful as her status, signing her name in big bold letters next to it, her smiling face beaming from her profile picture alongside.

Why would anyone do this?

Perhaps because she thought everyone would agree.

She was wrong.

 

Like the Fishies love the Seas

We love books. Our house is covered in them, we have so many that our bookshelves can’t hold them all. Regardless of the day, you will likely come across piles of tomes shattered about, both long and short, adult and children.  We have so many we are often searching for a book that becomes lost amongst its brothers, but there is one in particular that is always around.

Dog eared, tattered, torn and taped, it is easily located by the youngest of us, who then carries it awkwardly to the nearest reader.  Mommy Loves Her Baby/Daddy Loves His Baby (by T.J. Morrow) is a simple poem, with simple paintings accompanying it, describing the love of a parent for their child through smilies comparing it with the animal kingdom. (For example, one of E-Baby’s favorite lines: “like the squirrels love the trees”").  The book is divided between a “Mommy” and a “Daddy” part, it is flipped over and read for the second part. 

The book arrived at our house about six years ago as part of a promotion for a children’s book club we were suckered into (it turned out to be much more expensive than just buying the books) they would sometimes send “free” books that we didn’t order, which in this case turned out to be fortuitous.  The Bear was instantly taken by the rhythm of the words and the pictures.  It became the go-to book for fussy times. 

And then bedtime.

And then all the time

It was amazing to watch J, realizing that he was able to have a favorite anything.  This was his first favorite book, and it was well loved.  Many tears were wiped as scotch tape surgery was performed on accidental rips. 

Everything has it season, and in time the pages were no longer turned.  The book took its place on the back of the shelf and there it remained until Easy-E came along.

My second child is every bit as enchanted as the Bear had been.  He participates, saying “Roar”, “Whooo”, “Mooo” and “Doodle Doo” at the appropriate times.  He smiles in the middle of a melt down if you bring out this book.  In a pinch, just the words (recited from memory) will calm him more quickly than any song.

For my family, this little poem has been transformed into magic words.  It’s a code, a spell, a part of our language and our imaginations – and that is what makes it a great book.

How about you? Does your child have a favorite magical book?

About a Squirrel

Easy- E has decided that the best animal in the world abounds in our backyard.

 

He spends a good portion of each day gazing lovingly out of windows and doors, alerting us to every one of these bushy-tailed beasts he spies with his little eye.

 

 

He also has his own personal buddy, Earl, who accompanies him on every important outing.

 

 

What comes next should’ve been obvious….but hindsight is always 20/20.

 

My dear friend Amy called me in on some help for her darling daughter’s preferred Halloween costume. 

 

 

That’s right , a flying squirrel.

 

Half-way through this project, I asked my husband, “Do you want to see this squirrel so far?”

 

The next noise I heard was not an answer from my old man but the stomping of small feet.

“Worl?”, he asked.

So I displayed the hoodie with ears, and he demanded, “WORL!”

So I put it on him.

He stood happily, arms straight out to the sides, drowning in a sea of brown fabric.

 

“Okay buddy, time to take it off. Mama’s still got work to do.”

“UH!”, he cried, dodging me and skittering out of reach.

 

Three attempts later, I retrieved an outgrown brown hooded fleece pullover from J’s closet and presented it to him.

“Look.  Mama will make YOU a squirrel. This squirrel is for our friend.”

He finally allowed me to remove the half-finished costume.

 

Days later, I began removing a front pocket from the fleece.  E wandered up, put one little finger on the pullover and said softly, “Worl.”

 

The result:

 

 

 

 

Hanging out with The Penguin.

 

 

 

The elusive tail.

 

 

 

 

Memory of the Sun

This is my Bear, at around 17 months old, listening to music, hanging out with his mother, learning to talk and climb.

This is my son, when he was the sun, the true center of my world – the most important being in my universe.

Today he is approaching the halfway mark of his eighth year and there is a new 17 month old in our house.

Each milestone met, each word learned, I am simultaneously remembering and forgetting that first baby.  That baby that disapeared into the long limbs of childhood in a cloud of dirt and magic dust never to be seen again.  That baby that grew into a boy who reads bedtime stories to me, sings songs to his brother and recites poems.

What I wouldn’t give for one afternoon, chasing that chubby toddler through the leaves in Central Park, lifting him high above my head and kissing his plump cheeks with no thought of  possible embarrassment. No fleeting glimpses into how his teenaged years will look.  No fear that one day he will ignore my calls.

To hear his little voice and mispronounced words and feel his small body curled on my lap.  To be filled with the certainty that I know him as he was in 2003.

It’s a hard truth.  The mind is not limitless.  There is no Rolodex, no card catalog, no filing system to pull from.  It is ever changing and altering.  The more you recall something, the more likely you are to embellish it – the less true it becomes.

That’s why we need  journals and outgrown favorite t-shirts.  Scribbled crayon drawings and tiny handprints rendered in paint.  It’s why we need photographs.

They are our sign posts.  Solid proof that a baby who loved ducks and James and the Giant Peach and pretended his stuffed dog was a baby existed.  Reminders that he gave big slobbery kisses and woke us by smacking the bed next to our slumbering heads.

The sweetest things always pass too quickly.

Mediations on self destructive behavior.

I have been writing since I could speak in sentences, narrating my own existence, putting my day to day into a lyrical prose I could carry around in my head.  Before I could write, I would put my stories down on paper, filling pages with characters climbing up the walls of the page, desperate to extract every thought jumping inside my small head.

I have been called a “natural born” storyteller.  Which brings to mind this kind of inborn ease, a flow, a fountain of words just bursting forth. 

Sometimes it is like that.

Like I can’t contain all of the sentences.  I begin typing and once again I’m in pigtails, scribbling – frantic to set my phrases free.  The clicking of the keyboard rises up around me and it’s like floating.

But then

somebody notices.

My husband asks me “What do you want to do with your writing?”

My professor suggests submitting some pieces.

My friend emails me a list of magazines accepting freelance work.

And I freeze.

Solid.

Writers block takes hold.

I want to write a story about Appalachia, I say aloud. 

“That’s nice.” says my brain.

“Good luck.” says my imagination.

And the blank white space stares back.

 

 

 

 

 

plain old fear.

 

But of what? Success? Recognition?

Writing is like magic to me….somewhere deep down do I think that by saying these things out loud, by submitting, by even trying, the power will dissipate?

This is my battle.

This is why I’ve been absent from my blog.  This is why I’ve avoided sending anything in.

This is my dragon.

 

 

Instead of Blogging…

1) I have been working for the man.

2) Chillin’

3) writing poetry for class

Meet Me in St. Louis

If I live a hundred years,
I will still recall afternoon warmth
flowing through the window,
the sounds of bicycles
racing through suburban streets,
Judy Garland, with bangs,
belting her heart out.

Otherwise, all was quiet -
no noise above a whisper -
no touch above an inkling.

I have already forgotten
the way you smell,
the feel of my hand in yours
and the sound of your voice
over the telephone wire.

But I will never forget
these few moments
so easily recalled
when I was young,
wrapped in the sunshine with you.

4) making gifts

5) making plans

6) watching Eastwick on hulu

7) sleeping

Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life

 

All of the sudden, my baby is a toddler.  He’s been walking for a while, right around his birthday he started running and he hasn’t stopped since.

But just recently he’s been talking.  Wandering about the house, behind me saying words.  Asking for “cheese”, talking about the squirrels he sees outside (“worls”) and saying his favorite new phrase “Cool Tricks”.   He nods and shakes his head at appropriate times, he can point out his nose, eyes, mouth, ears, hair, toes and belly and he can imitate the sounds of a cow, a dog, a duck, an owl and a train.

He calls me “Mama” or “Mom” and he misses me when I am not around.

Last week, he called my name while I was at work.  His daddy held E in his arms, passing the mantle he spots my student ID. Spotting my picture, he pointed and grunted at it, repeating my name, “Mama!”

I am told he feel asleep clutching it in his little hand that night.

Soon he will be a year and a half old.  Then two, then three and before I know it, he will be reading me bedtime stories.  The quickness of the moments – days- weeks- seasons is a feeling that all parents know all too well.

This weekend we went through some long stored boxes and found pictures of little J.  His shining smile, his dimpled fists reaching into the air to catch up the Itsy Bitsy Spider.  It seems like forever.  It seems like yesterday.

He once held to my pants leg and hid his face in the bend of my knee.  He once looked to me for strength when scaling the slide.  

Now he leaps through the air.

Lightly landing on the earth, like he was always so brave.

This path of parenting is a treacherous one, prone to sentimentality.  Beware.

Something Campy This Way Comes

Every year our local zoo hosts trick or treating on the weekends in October.  We’ve been going every year since we moved to the area six years ago and it’s always a good time.  There’s nothing scary so the kids can relax and it is wonderful to see all the cute little ones in their costumes. 

We attended the zoo’s Halloween party on Sunday and it is number 1 thus far, and it’s all because of the costumes:

The Batman crew – 1960’s version of course.

 

Whenever you have adults dressed up at the zoo, you’ll attract some attention.  

 

 

But this was remarkable.

 

To avoid sitting in a line of cars, we parked a few blocks away and hoofed it.

 

 

This caused quit a stir.   Including but not limited to:

a) a car of people rolling down the windows to sing gleefully: “Da-na-na-na-nuh-na-na-nuh BATMAN!” as we passed.

b) an old lady giving each of us an enthusiastic thumbs up

c) several happy calls of “Hey, it’s Batman and Robin!” and “Awesome!”

 

Once inside a random man asked to take a picture of Batman and the Penguin, like they were employees of the zoo.

 

 

It was pretty gratifying, I must say.

 

My brother-in-law played the part of The Penguin (shown here with his young minion) and he stayed in character the whole time. Speaking in alliterative sentences and when he got stuck just saying “Wak!”

 

Robin the Boy Wonder was super excited.

 

Penguin Baby was a little confused but managed to have a good time anyway.

 

It was awesome. 

 

On our way out, I heard a little girl say, “Why is that man dressed like Batman?”

 

The answer of course is: Because J’s parents are just that cool.

 

 

Happy Halloween!  We can’t wait for the real deal.

A Series of Unfortunate Events…

In the past few days I have:

-lost my last left contact lenses – while driving to work.

- (may have) lost the chance for a promotion because of the hour I missed retrieving my glasses from home.

-spent an hour getting dressed and ready for an interview that I was not alerted had been canceled until I arrived at work.

-spent 4 hours at work on a Saturday due to mandatory overtime.

-got a big nasty virus on my sweet innocent netbook which will have to be taken care of.

-ran head first into a metal shelf in a bookstore (I was chasing the baby and looking down rather than where I was going) resulting in a small gash on my forehead.

-got into a fender bender….my the left back end got smashed into, with both of the kids in the car.

 

I’ve cried almost everyday.  Today I cried twice (the last two items listed are from today) –once from pain and once from fear and self-pity.

But I’m done whining.

DONE.

 

In the past few days I have:

- eaten fantastic food and more than enough of it.

-spent time with my family.

-finished costume making and attended our local zoo’s trick or treating party (which I will write on later).

-taken great photos.

-received many hugs and kisses.

-marked the ten year anniversary of the first kiss shared with my husband.

-been warm.

-had a beer or two.

 -and laughed a great deal.

 Even when I feel like the odds are stacked against me, at the end of the day I have to take time to look at how truly blessed I am.  I have two beautiful healthy children, a husband that I am in love with, who loves me, a place to lay my head and a job.  Too many people can’t check those things off their lists and I am truly grateful that I am one of the fortunate ones who can.

 And I have a baby who is forming sentences now.  Today E picked up a leaf and said, “Ook ah dis.” while showing it to me.

 

I said, “That’s a LEAF.”

And he said, “Leaf!”

I said it came from the trees and he replied, “Trees.” smiling and pointing a tiny finger at a tree in our yard.

Can one woman contain such joy?

No – which is why I share it with you.

Craftastic

Let’s Talk about Crafting.

Since I have several years of making costumes under my belt, I thought I’d share a little bit of the know-how I’ve picked up along the way.

1. Say howdy to the Hoodie

Hooded sweatshirts are the single greatest base for Halloween costumes. They are warm but not sweaty, guaranteed to be comfortable and very versatile.  I am a big fan of the child’s face inside the mouth of the costume look.  As seen here:

  

(Dragon from a few years ago modeled by the young master)

Teeth line the inside of the hood and plop a couple of googly eyes on top and viola!  Using this template you can create a wide variety of creatures: dog, cat, mouse, vampire bat, monster, unicorn, dragon, bear, elephant…this list could go on forever.

2. Felt is your Friend

Felt is cheap, forgiving, soft yet not without form and it doesn’t demand hemming – which saves you time and effort.  You can purchase it by the yard for tunics, dresses or jackets,  or by the square for small accessories.

3.  Keep it in Perspective.

If you don’t think it looks quite right, truck right on through. Sometimes what seemed to be a huge mistake when you did it, turns out miniscule when the project is finished.   Don’t forget:  it’s optional! You can always purchase a costume if it doesn’t work out.  In the meantime, allow yourself to have fun with it.

4. Don’t waste money on thread.

Unless I am doing some fancy stitch work, I only use one color of thread on my costumes: white.  Before you start imagining my every mistake showing up in brilliant contrast to the fabric, let me let you in on my little secret: markers.  Once I have finished sewing a piece, I color in the thread with a permanent marker that matches the cloth.  This way I am only purchasing one spool of thread for costumes that contain multiple colors.  Thread goes for about $2 a pop around here so I saved myself $16 dollars through this step alone this year.  (Our costumes contain green/black/blue/white/yellow/orange/red and purple)

5. Check out the thrift store first.

Sometimes a costume needs accessories that are not easily made.  A top hat, cane or some dapper shoes, for example.  Always check out your local thrift stores before heading to the Halloween shop.  It’s also a good place to look for the base of costumes that are not hoodie based – pants, dresses etc can be altered more easily than made from scratch.

That’s pretty much my guidelines each year. I will sketch out what I need to do ahead of time but generally I just jump into it.  I rarely measure other than hanging fabric off of my victim … errr, model, and cutting a bit. Remember this girl from Project Runway?

   I work like her – minus all the spit.

Happy Halloweening and remember to show off those costumes when you’re done!