Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Jude, I thought this might inspire you . . .

You got Cancer? Yeah . . . But it doesn't have you. R has you, and we have you, and we are something fierce. I mean, Rocket is security for the love of God - She blew Ida away, you know.
So you just have to breathe. Don't forget to breathe.
I love you, Papa. Can you feel it all the way over there?

Monday, November 23, 2009


This was waiting for me in my inbox this morning. There was a little note that said, "Can't wait to get home." Me, either.
Jude, thanks for taking the yummiest picture of us ever.
Got Drool?

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Perchance to Dream . . .

Our electricity went off tonight. Dawn had been in bed for about 30 minutes. The kids had just settled down. I was enjoying a little solitude.

Not many of you know this, but I am panicky scared of the dark, especially of electricity-less dark. It's too quiet and WAY too dark, just as I imagine the opening moments of the apocalypse may be. Yikes and shivers.

I was immediately still as a statue can be in a swivel chair. With its eyes closed. I know that doesn't seem right, but here's my argument . . . When the lights are down, it very often is the shadows that freak me out and cause me to do things destructive like jump and run and knock over something that crashes something else or my toe. So for the last few years I've been closing my eyes in the dark so I'm not unnecessarily distracted from my goal - survival.

So there I was in my swivel chair, eyes closed, waiting for Dawn to get up and come and save me. Instead of her shuffling/stumbling pads, I heard a herd of elephants. It wanted a Mommy. And just when I was feeling my best.

I got my herd snuggled together on the couch and assured them I would be right back with a light. Turning to face my darkened path, I chanted something like "Ham Sa Brea Thing Is Good Ham Sa Ham Sa Damn It And Gulf Po Wer Brea Thing Brea Thing Please For The Love Of God Let Me Keep Brea Thing."

Wouldn't you have loved to see me, a completely un-blind woman stumbling around dining chairs in the dark with my eyes squeezed shut, all the time noiselessly mouthing monosyllabic babble?

As it turned out, I got to spend a complete hour with all of my children, all to myself. I read aloud, by candlelight one of the Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osbourne while they snuggled together near-silently. I can't remember the last time they did that, for that long. When the book was done, they all lay down together on a pallet; and the little boys fell asleep while I rubbed their foreheads.

And that's a true story - I'm not even making it up.

Clearly, the power is back on now and my heartrate has returned to something close to normal, and my breathing will soon mimic that of my sleeping angel-kids. But before my big slumber, I had to take a minute to appreciate the storm that brought the lightning that brought the thunder that brought down the lights that brought my children to my arms that held a story that rocked us all into calm that delivers us to dream . . .


Wednesday, November 18, 2009

We didn't win the lottery. . .

Or did We? (You all remember how I show respect with Capitalization, right?)

Literally, we did not win the Florida Powerball. Not on the 31st or the 7th or the 14th. We just recently started religiously buying lottery tickets. I was inspired by a little story within Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. (If you haven't read it. Do. Right now. For real. GO!) It involves a poor man who goes to the cathedral every day for years begging God to let him win the lottery. Finally, an exasperated God bellows back, "Would you please buy a ticket?!!" I giggled at my own folly and bought a fucking ticket and then another and then another. So far I've won more tickets that didn't win. Hey, it's a start.

Roulette (and Craps) of life - I didn't hit SuperMom when I was born or when I gave birth, I'm ashamed to admit. I did manage Survivor when I broke out of her cell and Tough as Nails when my own babies broke from mine. I figure that I'm beating the house odds which has to be remarkable at this old age of mine. (I turned 31 last weekend, and I'm still waiting for the lightning strike of epiphany that I usually get around my birthday. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Oh! Crap! Is that the epiphany? My fucking clock!?!)

On the other hand, a FLUSH! (We couldn't possibly qualify as a straight:) - I crack myself up, I swear I do. Like a flush, there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to our family and then Oh! Right!, they're all wearing the same suit! OK - clearly this has gone on too long.

Look, here it is. My life is great. I've been bitching and moaning and feeling pretty damn sorry for myself. It's total bullshit and I'm a whiny baby and I'm tired of feeling like a charity case that makes excuses after excuses after not doing a damn thing to make anything better.

So there! The lottery draws again on Saturday. What are the chances?


Monday, November 9, 2009

Sheer Goodness

Ida is blowing in, which is to say that the rain is coming in sideways. Maybe the water will seep in through the windows tonight instead of the foundation. A girl can dream, right? This is our first Hurricane. Whoo Hoo! I'm glad we're getting an easy one to break us in. The radio folks don't seem to think that we'll even lose power. Knock on driftwood.

Dawn surprised me with a trip to New Orleans. One could make a case that we fell in love there, so it's always a special trip. At this point, with Ida looming, a little baby (big boy) party to plan and a wife to snuggle, I'll leave it mostly to the pictures.

This is the drink that Dawn drank even after the leaves fell in her drink.

This is the tree from which the leaves that fell in Dawn's drink fell. Not exactly a straight shot.

Dawn's Swamp Fest Lunch - Jambalaya or "Jumba" as our Twins Call It

My Swamp Fest Lunch - Shrimp and Grits and Beer or "Sheer Deliciousness" as I Call It

And this is the baby that grew in my belly. And 3 years ago at just about this time, he like his cousin Ida made his intention to make an appearance known. Like he did this weekend, he danced, without regard for anyone else. He ate a bag of chips this weekend (just like his Momma did 3 years ago - same brand and everything - weird, right?) and squirmed and shook and tapped his feet and smiled his smile.

My last baby will be 3 years old at 3:41 in the morning. He had soft feet and yellow hair, and has smelly feet and red hair.

My Goodness.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Think love, love, love . . .please

Dawn's best friend's husband is stationed at Hood. It has of course, been a terrible day for their community. Please push your most loving vibes to them and their friends.

Love, love, love. We do it for love, love, love.

Love, love, love . . .

Monday, November 2, 2009

Me, Me, Me

I have some terrible news. I have some fabulous news. Cry with me, OK? Sing and Dance with me, will you?

Today, I walked away from mother. I sighed, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, looked at Dawn, put my shoes on and walked away. I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, walked across a parking lot, leaned on my van and smoked a forbidden cigarette. The last 20 years swam in my tears and I made a decision.

Me. Me. Me. I'm going to live for me now. I am all done with her cyclone of misery. I choose to live. I choose to spend my energy and love with Dawn, Storm, Faith, William, Ray, Mimi, our close friends - the family that we have built and nurtured despite never being taught how.

I decided to stop being her daughter - subject to her whims, abuse and even the dictations of her DNA that multiplies in my cells. I decided to be my children's mother, and mommy, and protector. I decided that enough is enough.

Laughter - I've missed it. I'm funny - I had almost forgotten. I am happy - who knew?

Even at this moment, when cobwebs rank with her decaying funk are still clinging to me, I have much love and great hope. I can see Dawn's halo again, and I can feel it's glow on my dried skin. My children are singing, not whining. Dancing with me, not tripping me. I adore them.

Please forgive my nauseating cliches. Please forgive my worn out metaphors. Please forgive my decidedly uncreative stabs at prose tonight. You'll give me a break - I know you will. I know you will because you have stuck with me through this game of family Chinese checkers. You have hugged me and dried my tears. You have been my friends.

I'm sure my writing will pick up. Give me a second, will you?