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Archive for August, 2011

My sweet little baby bean turned the big 2 today (or, yesterday, depending on the hour in which I post this).

WEEEE!

Nom Nom Nom

Just a finger in the picture, nothing to see here, folks

We had a dinosaur themed party and all of his lovely family and friends came out to celebrate.  Obviously, the splash pad was a hit.

When we got home I assumed my initial, “haven’t finished homework” panic mode, and began scanning the room for distractions while I frantically skimmed over passe compose of pronomial verbs in French.  But then I looked at him, all 28 lbs of him, and I wanted to just stop it all and play.  So I did.

I climbed into the puppy tent with my little puppy and we screamed and rolled around.  The pup said, “We’re stuck!”, and we pretended to claw our way out.  He said, “How get out??” and we rolled around more and made the tent fly all across the family room and into feet, legs, and little cousins in our adventure.

When I look at the pictures of my just born baby bean, his tiny pudge cheeks and his little o mouth, and then at my walking talking genius toddler, I feel a surge of panic.  I can’t pinpoint where it comes from.  Me not being where I wanted to be when he turned two, not having accomplished what I set out to accomplish, not necessarily raising him the way that I had planned on raising him.

Some of it is that as he gets older the time between when sister was here, and the time I’ve had without her, grows longer.  And she doesn’t get to see him.  And I’m becoming more and more years older than she was.  I know that it doesn’t help anything by saying it, because it will never be true, but I wish she were here to help me with him.  I wish she were here to see what a beautiful and wonderful person the Babe is, I wish she could be proud of me for helping this sweet person to grow.

I guess that falls into the category of one of those things that I can’t help, so I have to move past.  I can be strong enough to raise this little person, and to help him to see a life that grows more bountiful and wonderful with each passing day.  I know a lot of it is him, but I like to think that his shining face and sweet spirit has been helped along just a little bit by me.

Two years ago this sweet face showed up at my doorstep 🙂

Happy Birthday my sweetie Jude, keep on growing and changing the world, you’ve changed mine fo’ sure.

 

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The kitten that I have been feeding gourmet cat food and canned salmon is still the finicky Ferrell thing it was one month ago when I found it.  My dad went out and got it a pet carrier so that I could ease it into the space and then capture it gently to take to the vet.  I put the food in his carrier, along with a soft towel, and still when I approach he darts out and glares at me until I’m at an acceptable distance so that he can return to his carefully mixed meal.  He won’t let me touch him.  He’s not mine.  He’s still a stray.

My entire life I’ve been collecting strays.  My parents used to joke about it when I was young.  The kid on the playground that swung alone would end up at our front door.  They would come in and take my barbies.  I would always be Ken.  They would claim me as best friend and then take my lunch.  I mean, I would give them my lunch.  It never occurred to me that relationships were give and take, and that when I gave them my cookies they should hand me an apple, or a hug, or a handwritten note with a Lisa Frank sticker.

But I like this part of who I am.  When I give out cookies, or catfood, or love it’s because I want the recipient to feel good.  I want them to feel full.  However, it’s my propensity for taking in the broken and helpless that begins to leave me feeling unfulfilled.

My fingers ache for this kitten.  I want scratch behind it’s ears.  I want to run my hand down his back and circle his tail.  I want him to rub his whiskers against my jeans.

My body aches for large warm hands to smooth it.  I want someone to lie down beside me and brush out my hair.

Did you know that I almost never have my hair this long?  I’ve kept it short since I was in middle school.  Now that it brushes across my shoulder blades, I don’t know how to keep the tangles out.

I may never pet this cat.  Most likely I’ll have to close the crate on him when he doesn’t expect it.  I’ll have to terrify him.  Take him to the vet to get his shots and some vital part of his reproductive history completely removed.  When I release him, he will hiss and bolt.  I may never see him again.

But I’ll still go out.  Night after night with the little babe following behind.  I’ll mix his food with the right proportions, and I’ll put it in the yellow and orange rooster bowl.  I’ll leave it out for him, even if it turns out that it’s only the ants that I’m feeding.

 

My picture of the day, taken just a few minutes ago.

Wha wha

Too many late nights with the baby bean and too much to do before the big party has left me feeling less than energetic.

Onward and upward!

 

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So, I’ve been neglecting this blogarooski for the past few days.  I apologize.  I’ve even been neglecting my photo project, but I do have a couple for you:

The other day

One of the little bean:

Yes, that is underpants on his head.  Who doesn’t have an awesome underwear head picture from their salad days??

And, one of myself and the baby bean together:

We both look ridiculous.

This little experiment has been shaping up to be more interesting than I once imagined.  I thought that I would grow to appreciate the photos that I snapped, accept them, maybe kind of like them.  I didn’t expect that I would start to like them more than pictures that I have deemed “good.”  I took this picture, posed, smoothed my hair, used the mirror as a guide, to see how I would look in one that I had control over:

The posed picture.

See?  I look pretty here.  I like it, but, see that one at the top?  I like it better.  I look happier, I look cleaner and brighter, and maybe it’s too closely cropped, but it looks more like me.  And that’s what I wanted.  I recognize that face more as me than this face that I’ve carefully watched and photographed to look like the me I wanted.  I’m starting to like the me I am without posing.  I’m starting to recognize the me I am as opposed to the me I have in my head.

I think I’ll keep on with this.  I’m developing it into a project that involves youth of a middle schooled age.  It’s a work in progress but it’s something I’m pretty excited about.

In other news- I stared back to the University this week.  That’s part of the reason for my absence here.  My classes are interesting.  I have a French professor who is sweet and short and has an accent that doesn’t sound quite french.  He’s maybe sixty and his face reminds me of a basset hound.  When he speaks I focus less on the french and more on his mouth.  I like to imagine his face when he was young.  I like to imagine his first kiss.  His lips are flat and rosy and dry looking, but at one time they were moist and red.  At one time his face was pulled tight and his mouth was moving against the parted lips of a black haired french girl.  I like to wonder where this girl is now.  I have a feeling this semester of French is going to be another one full of challenges.

I also have an internship at The Florida Review.  Our first meeting with the Editor in Chief was yesterday and the whole atmosphere was one of creative anticipation.  Our Chief also mentioned a certain disorder that goes on in the brain, in her brain, that affects ones ability to memorize a face.  She mentioned that some are so harshly afflicted that they can’t recognize their spouses.  Some can’t recognize themselves.  When she mentioned this I thought of my little project here, and how doing something so public was one of the only ways I could force myself to recognize me.  Or at least recognize me as someone I enjoy looking at.  Maybe my brain is affected by a similar malady, except I can recognize all but myself.

I’ve also not been here because my mind body person has been slowly stewing around all the death in my life, and the loss of my dog, and the loss of my sister.  I need some time to sit down and write it out.  Expect some blogs in the near future.

Baby bean turns two on Sunday!  Get excited!

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Today is a double dose of “todays picture”.  I didn’t post yesterday because there wasn’t a whole lot to say so I figured I would compile the two pictures.

So, remember that sexy mischievous lady that I’ve mentioned in the past?  The one that rips men to shreds?  The one who lurks in alley ways and lures in her prey with one coy smile?  This is her.

Me-12:00

This isn’t the Adriana Lima vixen that I like to imagine, but there’s something mysterious there.  Something innocent and dangerous.  This is the dirty and coy little smirk that I will now imagine when I’m in the presence of my male admirer.  This came out when I got up before the baby and took time to brush my hair.  I didn’t put on makeup, but I looked in the mirror and grinned at myself.  I was the me that I was before I was a mom, and maybe it was for just a few hours, and maybe I wouldn’t even want it to be fore longer than that, but it was refreshing all the same.

This next one better personifies my feelings for the day:

Me-12:00 today

Ohhh, hi, smiling face.  This cheesy grin was for my sweet little cousin, who I picked up from her house this afternoon to cart her off to her middle school for schedule pick up day.  She was wearing an outfit I had seen on her before; a black shirt with brightly colored robot aliens, with black pants, with a black jacket.  She had her hair done with blue extensions, her make-up done dark over her eyes.  She looked beautiful.  When we went to her school she didn’t look like most of the other girls.  I could tell that the glances she got from the little girls in short shorts and too old for them shirts, and maybe even some of the moms, made her feel a little self-conscious.  But she didn’t make excuses.  She likes how she looks, she’s proud of the clothes she wears and the way she wears her hair.  And for that, I’m so proud of her.  I’m proud that she stared right back when girls in Hollister shirts stared at her.  That she is shy, but it doesn’t stop her from liking the things she likes or wearing things that she feels comfortable in.  I’m proud that she is full of uniqueness and beauty and kindness. I’m proud that today at school she was more interested in helping me cart Baby-cakes and my huge stroller around than she was in not being embarrassed by her silly, clumsy cousin.

Today made me remember what it was like to be in middle-school.  I remembered trying to fit in, or at leasttrying hard not to stand out too much, getting picked on and made fun of.  I remember thinking I would never be good enough or cool enough.  I remember being told that I was unlikable because my skin was too fair, and because I was too short, and because my shorts were too long.  And mostly, I remember how hard it is to be yourself despite all of those things.

Here’s to you, little cousin, for kicking all those little insecure silly things in the teeth, and looking and being amazing by just being yourself!

I want to start a little project that involves this experiment and all those things that go into being in middle school.  It’s still boiling, I’ll let you know more when this broth gets a little more flavor.

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I don’t have to make any excuses for the picture for today.  I don’t have to tell you I’m tired or unbrushed or whatever.  All you have to know is that I look good.  I look dammmmnnnnnn goood.

Me-12:00

Alright, maybe I hyped it a little too much, it is possible that this picture looks a lot like my other pictures.  But, isn’t that the point?  In this one I immediately saw freckles, a sure sign of the days I’ve spent circling the pool with little bit.  I saw long hair that I’ve been growing out to donate to locks of love.  I saw pretty eyes and a nice crooked smile.

I was pleased when I first saw this picture.  It looked like the image of me that I have in my head.  I wondered if it was just because my picture taking and supah model skills have been steadily improving, or if this little experiment of mine is actually working.  So, I browsed through my facebook photos; most of which I’ve had the initial “oh my god, who is that??” reaction to, and found myself finding the pictures endearing, borderline beautiful.  They look like me.

More on this later, at rhe moment an angry little sprite is grabbing my legs and shouting, “puter, my turn!”.

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Me-12:00

So, I know this face.  This picture didn’t take me aback, I didn’t wonder at the unattractive stranger staring back at me from my parents kitchen.  This is my go to face when I know for sure that I’m not going to pull off cute or alluring or put together.  It’s my, “I’m goofy, love me for the goofy!”, face.  I told myself that I wouldn’t pull this charmer for this blog, but yesterday was a necessity.  Yesterday was the dawn of the aforementioned “Stay up till six in the A.M. just for fun baby and me no sleep ever night.”  I was sleep deprived and hungry and couldn’t find my toothbrush.  I think I deserved a goofy one.

I know I complain about the night of no sleep, but actually it was nice.  I’ve been a night owl most of my life, probably where the little dude gets it, and it was oddly calming to stay up and watch the outdoors brighten while snacking on popcorn and watching cartoons from my childhood, of course with the sweet baby face snuggled up beside me.  He was happy and having fun, so was I.  It made me think a lot about time and all the constraints that life is going to put on the babe, and all of the rules I’ve already had to make for myself.  I feel anxiety over the late hours that we stay up, embarrassed when I have to admit to other mothers how late we usually go to bed.  I even usually shave off a few hours, “Ohhh, he’s in bed by about 10-11, it’s hooorrriibbbllee, I can’t change his schedule.”.  When really this schedule fits us both.  Baby doesn’t follow along with the rules of time.  He sleeps when he’s tired and he plays when he’s not.  He doesn’t understand, “Do this tomorrow”, all he knows is he wants it right now.  The other night when we stayed up I put aside my worries that we would sleep in and miss Gymboree, or that the next day would be wasted.  Instead I just played and enjoyed rolling around in his puppy tent.

I wish it could stay like this.  I wish I could stay up every night without worrying that I’m a bad mom, or feeling anxiety riddled about all the work that I have yet to get done.  I wish I could hold on to little baby forever and giggle with him and curl up next to him when we are both too exhausted to rock out to The Talking heads anymore.  But I know the real world won’t allow it.  It tells us that we have to conform to it’s system, and that if we don’t, ample sleep medication can be dolled out in coma inducing doses.  I start classes next week, and I know the late night rendezvous full of snack and giggles will come to an anxiety, and tear-filled, stop.  I’ll have to get the babe to bed to do homework, study, write.  I’ll have to be an adult.  And I don’t wanna :(.

Here’s the little guy’s mug shot from the morning.  He looks almost as silly as me :p.

Oh Hai, I'm blurry baby.

 

 

 

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Zee picture of the day:

Me-12:00

So, I probably could have taken one where a little m ore of my neck was showing, but honestly, I feel like these pictures are getting better.  I’m not sure if it’s my little experiment taking hold and working (if not organically, by the power of persuasion at least), or if I’m just getting better at posing for the pictures.  The critic in me is still skeptical of this picture, “Couldn’t you put on a little mascara or something?  Those squinty, puffy eyes aren’t doing you justice!”, and the sex pot woman in me is telling me to give my hair a little volume, please.  But in all, I think this one actually looks lovely.  I like the sun on my face, I like how genuine my smile is.  Maybe these are looking better because I’m smiling.  Or possibly because i haven’t yet adorned my hipster spectacles.

Oh, and I snapped a shot of baby for posterity.  I figure he could join in the picture fun, even if every dang picture of him is perfect:

Sleeping baby will not be roused.

Haha, that’s his usual face around this time.  I know, it’s 12:45, I know I need to get him up.  But last night he woke at 1 am, and didn’t decide it was a proper time to retire back to bed until after a sink bath, playing in the puppy tent, reading one two three four of his books and one of mama’s, a hotdog, water from specified sippy cup, and many episodes of Little Bear and some other happy cartoon thing on Nick Jr.  Our little adventure ended at 6:00 this morning, just as the sun started to pass it’s gaze into our window.  Seem a little loopy do I?  Nah, I am Mama no sleep, I can function on…noo….sleeeppp….yaawn.

I’m considering posting on this little experiment only once a week, as opposed to every day.  I would still take the daily picture, but post a collection of them in the blog weekly, or bi-weekly.  I don’t know if that will be more interesting or not.  Also, I worry that I’m running out of things to say, erp.

Let me know what you think!

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