I’d like to think that the truck full of young males headed to a landscaping job, sitting idle next to me at a stoplight, were cracking up at my dance moves because they were wowed by them and impressed by this forty-something’s swagger.
But I’m pretty sure they thought I looked like Elaine from Seinfeld.
“Mom, this is why I ask you not to dance.” Thanks a lot, peanut gallery!
Yes, that’s right, I’ve begun penning my note to Marco Rubio. I’ve got lots to say.
What’s this all about you ask?
I make art and I decided I wanted to give it away AND help shine light on the horrific child separation policy. Here is my plan: I’ll send you five free cards in the mail in return that you use them to advocate to end the child separation policy. Send a note to an elected official, the media, friends, whomever. We will nudge each other to raise our voices and send disillusionment to the curb. AND if you are still on the fence about doing this–when you sign up you will be entered to win a tote bag or a print too!!! Because why not spread even more love?
It’s that easy!
Here’s the tote. Oooo! Ahhhh!
Here is the full print (pardon the shadowy picture, better picture to come soon):
You can sign up for your free postcards here. Whaddya say. Let’s shine some light into the darkness.
That’s what my five-year old wanted to get my hubby for Father’s Day. Sadly no such thing exists (that I’m aware of) BUT if one gift ever summed up her dear-dad’s personality that would be it!
He settled for a sentimental photo gift and a book about octopuses but who knows. Maybe by the time his birthday rolls around we can pull together a custom sea-chantey-swan-float.
Yo ho ho, I raise a glass of grog in honor of all ye dads out there! Happy Father’s Day, mateys!
It’s been almost five years since I lost my mom and just when I think, mother’s day – it’s all good, I’m cool! Totally got this!…well, you can probably guess where this is going.
Let me walk you through all the feels this weekend, assisted with the imagery of Leslie Knope of Parks and Rec. (Gosh I miss that show!)
Me at 8pm Saturday, Mother’s Day Eve, if you will:
Me at 9pm on Saturday (after seeing the first sprinklings of mother’s day posts on social media)
Me Sunday Morning:
Happy and grateful that my mom was my mom. Tears of joy at the love she gave and continues to give me. Tears of sadness that she isn’t with me other than in spirit. Tears of gratitude for my daughter and for being a mom. Tears for losing a pregnancy and struggling with infertility. Like I said, ALL THE FEELS.
Sunday progressed and was good. It turns out that once you face the 5,000 pound grieving elephant in the room you feel much better.
Sunday night arrived. Was I ready to look at social media?
You guys, I did okay. It was all good.
Like I said, no big deal!
(Yeah this one doesn’t have to do with anything…just couldn’t resist some awesome Leslie Knope wisdom.)
Hope the day landed gently for those who were struggling with loss. (Also hope all you moms were able to treat yo’self! Literally treat yo’self. Okay I’ll stop now.)
Before there were synced calendars and day planners and even before there were trapper keepers, there was a little girl who sat in trees. She sat in the trees for what felt like hours, though it might have been mere minutes. She dreamed, journal-ed and sketched. She transported to a place of joy and bliss, cradled in the crooks of maples and oaks, conversing with imaginary beings.
Eventually the little girl grew up and as happens, she stopped sitting in trees. She loved her art and writing and singing, but she was so very good at accomplishing what was asked of her –grades, scores certificates and awards–that little by little the doing and achieving overtook the being and dreaming. Sure, there were times she held on tightly; she traded calculus for art class, she filled nearly three dozen personal journals, and she took an art class here or there even as an adult. But no doubt, over time she shifted. She was a girl with goals and one day even the art was remembered as the silly musings of a child; the dreaming became purely the intellectual kind.
Nobody told her to put down the paint brush. They didn’t need to. She was a good rule-follower and she understood the unspoken rules of a world that stood in direct opposition to the place in the trees.
And so it was that decades later she found herself at the finish line all burned out and dried up. Even then she didn’t understand why. She was doing her very best to practice self-care and find balance within the system. She followed her heart within this system. She defied norms within this very system! So why wasn’t it working? What she didn’t know then is that no system–even this artificial world dominated by deadlines, goals and outputs, where rest was seen as a means to at some point get more done–did not exist outside the laws of nature. As far removed as she was from those trees of her childhood, the moon still waxed and waned above her. The seasons turned. The oak rested in winter and sprouted leaves in spring. Try as she might to will herself to make it work–to power through as she had always done–simply no longer worked because the answers would never be found in the wasteland.
1. Stay up late ranking the names of Kim Kardashian’s children, from least awful to most awful. (In case you are curious: North (but go by Nori, obv), Saint, and poor lil’ Chicago is last.)
2. Sleep in late and eat kettle corn and coffee for breakfast. (Doubles as a colon cleanse?! Lol)
3. Chuckle to yourself every time your spouse calls to say how much he appreciates you.
4. Buy four kinds of chocolate candy and share amongst yourselves.
5. Wear your new silk pajama pants you got on clearance from Target.com and slide around the bed laughing so hard you nearly pee yourself while your sister jokes about your Bangkok-inspired sleepwear choices. (They were a steal at TEN DOLLARS and worth every silky penny!)
This is definitely the first annual sister-getaway of many many more to come. So gimme the scoop ladies—any fun sister getaway traditions you can share?
. . .Oh, and we MIGHT go parasailing. We’ll see.
“Sometimes the bee stings, and sometimes it makes honey.” Z, age 4, tiny Buddha (and recently stung by a bee for the first time.)
Watercolor pencil, pen and water
In not-at-all-surprising news, I got sick with a bad cold. (My last post was literally about how I need to practice more self-care.) Sigh.
I’m working on more rest, less doing in my daily life, so I figured practicing this while sick would be a good place to start. In fact, what better way to demand rest than to treat my cold like it’s a man-cold.
- Lie down in the bed under the covers and don’t move all night.
- Demand others tend to dinner. Preferably making your favorite comfort food.
- Declare yourself off-limits for childcare duty.
It’s that simple and here’s the crazy thing: it basically worked! Childcare tasks were the hardest to shake because the child finds me wildly entertaining and demands me as her playmate. (#onlychildproblems.) I fixed that by suggesting she and daddy play “science” which they both love because they make volcanoes explode and get messy, so win-win.
At bedtime my husband did get a tad snippy: “you WILL be helping with bedtime routine right?!” I said yes, assuming that’s how it goes the next time he gets sick.
Who knew it was that easy? Ask and ye shall receive!