Freakless

Hey people, my peeps. It's about to get real thankful in this place. I could use a lot of looking onward, upward, and to the sky. The sun, the moon, the stars. The big space full of love.

October sucked the big one. November will not.

Obviously Thanksgiving is approaching. The holiday season always inspires me. Warms me. Makes me remember the good stuff. How bout I write about it. And how bout I stop whining over in this house, girl. Lets get some gratitude goin. This is gonna be good.

Twenty Five Days of Gratitude begins tomorrow. In the meanwhile, how do you like lists? I love'em. And I like reading your lists and your lists and their lists.

This month I have decided that I won't freak.

But...

I will indulge in all things fall. I will exercise my creativity by painting and putting together. I will play with my daughter. I will body pump it up. I will shop for gifts leisurely. I will blog. I will rest when I can't do more. I will be productive when I can. I will watch TV less and read more. I will enjoy Moonbugs and a bit of volunteering. I will celebrate birthdays and Thanksgiving with sweet family. I won't stress about any of it.

Happy Freakless November!

Wet Boots and Rain

I like old. I like the feel of nostalgia. I like remembering. I like rust and tattered. I think it all lovely. 

I appreciate fashion. I use to have time to be more fashionable. And even if I am wearing comfortable clothing half the time, I still get fashion. I see it and like it.

I like classic. I admire classy men and women. I definitely have my favorites. Mary-Kate and Ashley, Nicole Richie, and Michelle Williams fall into my girlie fashionista crushes. You might not know it looking at me - post baby, married, and trying to balance a budget. But, I like'em.

I also like the rugged men. I am not all into the prep and the clean cut as much as I am into the guy that looks like a lumber jack nooffenseprepandclean. I consider Tom Waits a mix between lumber man + classy lad. I enjoy his theatrical vibe. Creative, handsome, and careless.

 

And, I gravitate toward his choice of shoes. Usually boots. And I want to wear them.

And that, my readers, is what this blog post is about. My fashion fall endeavor. Black boots with a Waits'esque feel. 

I usually have some fall fashion want. Two years ago it was a burka and brown cute winter boots. Fashionable but good for logic. Getting a two month old around in complete comfort. Ding, ding, Merry Christmas.

This year, I want a black boot with edge. Kinda sexy, kinda strong, kinda durable. Something to wear with skinnies or dressies. Boots that can grow old and tattered and full of nostalgia. 

I'll let you know where Tom leads me around December 25th.

"Novembers cold chain made of wet boots and rain and shiny black ravens on chimney smoke lanes"

-Tom Waits

Just Sick

 

Does this girl look sick to you?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

What a hard Saturday. Guys, she threw up three times during the twilight zone hours. A fever. A horrid cough. All glassy eyed. And she has had three different sick symptoms over the last four weeks. I'm about to fall over from sympathy pains + general mother love.

I feel sick. Sick in my heart, sick to my stomach, and sick of wearing pj's all day. Being a mom is hard, hard, hard. And I take it in deep. I take her warm-sick-breath and her cold to hot body temps and her cute little voice to heart, to anxiety, to please shoot me. I wish I could have a neutral button or logic button or just an it's-gonna-be-okay button to press. Even keel, granted. Got it, granted. Peace, there ya go.

You feel me, you mudders? the girl in Once called her mom that and I loved it

And I am sorry, but dad's, you are tooooo easy going about all of this. Am I right? Or, am I wrong?

istillloveyoue

I am dreaming of November, when my girl is healthy. Yes? And she turns two and the holidays bring about some comfort and joy. I am ready for Moonbugs to not be canceled. I am ready to color my hair, loose the drink chub, and pull on my boots to get up and go.

Until then, I will watch my girl drink broth from a coffee cup while smiling gleefully as her fever spikes.

One Expectation

Expectations are predetermined resentments - Anne Lamott

I read this recently and of course laughed because I am guilty of expecting every single day. I never seem to learn my lesson.

I expect things to go smooth. I expect my toddler to behave. I expect to clean my house. I expect to work on creative projects. I expect to make dinner on time, every night. I expect to be consistently joyful and exercised. 

I don't know about you, but I am not a super mom. Nope. Not. I am not a super wife, or a super friend. I am not super organized or super "on it".

So my expectations clash with reality. Always. And this makes me, um, nuts.

Last week was hard. H-A-R-D. My little Ivy was sick all week. First of all, its hard to watch a sick two year old. Sad and heartbreaking because nothing can be done. The best part is the cuddles and the soup and the endless amounts of mindless TV but that last part becomes maddening.

Because my girl was sick, I had to cancel all of my Moonbugs classes. I thought, well, at least I will get some cleaning done. Maybe a creative project. Nope, that little sick girl became more like an endearing barnacle attached to my back. For five days.

As I write this, you should see me. Stank breath, insanely messy house, no productive project to speak of. I have a birthday party to plan, a kitchen to paint, presents to buy, and a bedroom to furnish. I also have Moonbugs to improve on and revamping of schedules to complete.

There is, of course, being a good mom, a good wife, and a healthy me.

After a long week it is hard to see clearly. After feeling like nothing was accomplished except eating lots of cookies and watching the cat hair accumulate, a victim mentality is very easy to accept. And that's gross. And it happened.

I became a snappy mom, grew a chubbier belly, a whiny third child to my tired husband. How attractive does that sound? Super, I know. Perfect. I present to you Super Psycho to ruin your day. 

No, no, no. This is sick. I think what needs to change is the way I view things. Ihearyoumomstoplaughing. And this post sounds ultra negative, and it is. But what I haven't said is that during the mundane, same, same, same I found those moments every parent talks about...

I rubbed Ivy's back and sang her songs as she fell asleep. I watched her giggle a lot. I tried to make her comfortable and cozy, like my mom did for me when I was sick. I enjoyed her facial expressions and studied the Eric in her, and the me. And the rest of our family. I realized how great it was to be just her and I. To take care of her. To be her warmth.

If I could just take hold of the moment rather than the go, go, go I would be much better off. To expect nothing but to love. How simple and easy. And even though it may feel hard, it really is easy. And better. And honest. And kind. For myself and for others.

So, as I expect hope to take a nap, exercise, clean, and prepare dinner I will also expect myself to love in each moment.