Saturday, December 31, 2011

Stop Tooting that Horn

Hi, it's me again. As I was reminiscing about old blog entries, I noticed I had 66 entries for 2011. The strange part - you know that one weird spot way off in the corner - of me wants to end on 67. I like seven.

Coincidentally, I had thought of getting on here (like it's a saddle or something) and writing more new years-y babble.

Eric and I decided last night to help our house out a little more. The house is not as peaceful as it can be. It's still in the middle of things. Boxes still remain scattered here and there. Pictures are off getting curled, yellow edges in those same boxes.

We also agreed that we don't even like our dining room. It isn't us at all. I mean, the chairs were a grand wedding present from different folks, but admittedly to my beloved family, we don't even feel comfortable with them. Let me add, we picked them out. We asked for those chairs. But, we saw them while walking through Crate and Barrel in some pre-wedding daze. You know, back when marriage looked pretty in catalogs. It did, didn't it?

Marriage was a pretty picture; it was an ideal dream. Not only were we getting married, but we could pick pretty things from shop display rooms and zap items on shelves at Target. Hey, that looks good! I'd never buy that for myself, so let's ask someone else to buy it! :)

In truth, I missed our old dining room set almost as soon as we got the new one. Somehow, in the midst of building our bridal nest we forgot ourselves a bit. We got lost on page seven in Bridal Paradise magazine.

So, let this coming year include settling comfortably into our space and letting down our hair when it suits the occasion. And less creating some false image of what married people's houses are supposed to look like. Of what a complete family is supposed to be.

Go blow your horns now. We'll be on the couch watching House.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

HAPPY

So, it's the end of another year, and everyone's writing about resolutions, right? Ba-humbug! Just kidding. Well, sort of.

Like many folks, I find myself reflecting on the year. However, this is not that unusual of a task for me. Reflecting on myself and my life is in my bones. I stir reflections of myself in my coffee each morning, and gaze upon reflections of me in my son's eyes while changing his diaper. Weird?

Shush up a minute, hear (unintended misspelling). Or, was it?

I've started two additional blogs this year, one of which has not seen the light of day. It's still buried in the recesses of my own mind, reflecting its loneliness back at me.

But seriously now, I end this year with relief, praise, aches, and tremendous love. My simple life this year has been made up of wiping snot, changing dirty socks, wiping endless tears, and when possible, kissing my honey and giving myself a ten-minute bubble bath. Not to mention, lots of "Twinkle, twinkle," which Asher calls "Up aba," and reading Goodnight Moon, which Ash calls Mouse, hundreds upon hundreds of times.

My love for my son makes my chest and tummy ache each day. I cannot think of him without scrunching up my face in a pout and saying "Aawwww..." He gives kisses freely; he says "oh well" when he drops something; he laughs at himself for falling down (most of the time), and he beams with pride when in his dad's arms. He's simply the most baffling, head-scratching, eyebrow-raising wonder of my life. I mean, so was Eric, but it's a little different when an actual person is living and breathing because of you.

So, I started really reading again this year thanks to Sun magazine, which kick-started me into reading books I actually enjoy, like The Help, as popular and mainstream as it is - two characteristics I tend to run from screaming.

I began sewing, for real yo. And have found a giddy, pin-popping artist inside of me.

Cooking has exploded for me this year. I can now improvise freely and make up an entire meal while walking through the produce section.

In short, I am....what's the word???? Ha...h....hap....happy, yes, HAPPY!!!!! Life just seems so much easier, despite the sourpuss I can be when I've been up all night nursing a small boy's fever. Despite the many blogs I've written about how difficult motherhood can be.

A friend of mine recently said she got up at six a.m. just because she was awake. In those early morning, blurry, sunless hours, she awoke to the miracle of HAPPY.

This coming year, I just want to expand and grow my own HAPPY. I want it to pull the covers off of me when getting up seems nightmarish or when a headache is imminent. I want it to stretch its arms around me when I dress, and smile on me when I'm judging myself in the mirror each day.

And, I want it for you (and yu and yu and yu and yu) this coming year.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Kneading Dough

I love December, for its solitude, its joy, its encouragement to snuggle, its excuses to drink more coffee, its silent nights. The year ends as seems fitting - with an acceptance by the world to slow down. An acceptance to take time for yourself and your loved ones.

How amazing it is to combine all of this grace and allowance with waffle iron incidents at Wal-Mart (where people get hit in the head with such objects) and any other silly, ludicrous holiday rage that exists. We trample; we pull hairs - ours and those of others; we knead too much dough; we over-commit to engagements; we overspend; and we end up wondering where in the hell Christmas went by New Year's.

If I could sit down in a monastery, a historic church pew, or a lotus position among smiling, tranquil faces for the entire month of December, I would. I would declare gift-making to be the only acceptable form of shopping. Insist that every person has two weeks off, to knit, read, sew, swim, bake in the sun, or what have you.


I would tell everyone to sing a song each night, to dance round the kitchen while baking, and to hold your babies like you'd never let go.

Peace, joy, and love to all this Christmas (as cheesy as that sounds).

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Here's Looking at You, Kid

Here I am. Sitting at my computer. On this day which marks by arrival into this world. Having more reverence for my mother and her postpartum days since I've been through my own version of them.

This is a bigger birthday for me than I realized. Like most moms, I don't have as much time to reflect on myself as I once did. Self-reflection has always been important and necessary for me. I spent many years pouring feelings, thoughts, and observations into journal after journal. Not so much anymore.

In truth, I've come upon a startling re-realization in the past 24 hours that what I know of myself now is mostly that I am a Mom-person. This is how it feels, at least. Like "Mom" is now an article of clothing I must wear each day, a second body sewn to me, a persona all of its own. And, I have become it, her, what have you.

She has her own personality, health regime, sleep needs, and lack of care for personal appearance. Contrarily, she has a great obsession with personal appearance. More so than I ever thought possible.

When considering the mom body, I feel older than time. Out of place in the universe. Like God is skipping stones across my pond of ucky-feelings with a whistle on his lips.

Contrarily, I feel great beauty. All about, around, and inside. Everywhere I look, whether at the park, in the car, in my shabby robe at my desk, slicing carrots on a cutting board, cracked and permanently smelling of garlic, or...you get the picture.

39 is glorious. It's back pain, necessary dental visits, and indigestion. But even more than all that, it's a settling into my skin, no matter what that skin looks like. It's calm but still freaking out sometimes. It's feeling experienced in life enough to walk the earth with feet that can touch the ground. That can claim their space on any sidewalk.

Here's looking at you, kid, and the wonderful year ahead!