New Photography

"Rays"

"Link"

"Studded"

"Only Takes A Spark"

The Way It Is

I started this blog with the intention of giving a realistic view of what being a single mom is about and to be a source of comfort (and humor) to other single moms. I wanted moms in general to read it knowing that we all have those days, moments, hell...weeks...months...

I think there are times I get off course. I need to get back on today. badly.

Dylan is six. I cannot count how many times in his life we have moved. I could not tell you how many jobs I have held down at once or how many random things I've done to scrape by. I couldn't tell you the number of times I sat across a table from him at McDonalds and watched him eat a happy meal, hoping he leaves some for me, how many times I have sat, staring at a blank sheet of paper with the word "PLAN" written across the top, in tears, without the ability to fathom where to begin.

This is what we do. This is my life. These are my days.

Making baby wipes, watering down juice, buying used, collecting jars of coins, hiding from knocking landlords, parking three houses away, driving to work without a cell phone, 5000 miles over an oil change with a quarter tank of gas in a rattling car.

Today I am painfully discouraged. I will find a moment of enlightenment by the end of the night and manage to sleep peacefully. I will try again tomorrow.

I want to preface the things I am about to say with this: While I try to have a purpose when I write these, it is still my blog, with my thoughts and feelings. Sometimes they might offend you and sometimes they may not be what you want to hear. Sometimes you may not see things as I do, but again...that is why it's mine. I can piss off whomever I want and still have a clear conscious the next day because of this paragraph right here.

I tend to feel deserted when things get hard. It is just the way it is. I used to be shocked when it got this way. Today, however, I was sitting at my desk at work on the phone and it rolled in. I realized that the most opinionated people in my life are the least concerned the moment things get unbearable. I realized that right when I truly need and want input, these outspoken characters who never know when to back off and shut the hell up are tight-lipped. The very moment a hand reaching out would drop me to my knees, thanking God Almighty...there are none to be found.

And I finally finally felt absolutely nothing.

Because I knew that was how it goes all along. Because I didn't allow hope to get in the way, rather let the truth take the reins. Because that is just the way it is.

I know it sounds utterly pitiful, but I'm ok with that sometimes because it's the truth, but if someone would talk about it with me, let me cry it out, ask me relevant questions, I would find things so much more bearable. There are a total of three people in my life that I can talk to about real, adult situations, and two of them are alarmingly aloof when I need them the most.

But that is just the way it is.

I haven't quite figured out what I am going to do about all these things that are making me a basketcase. My main concern is moving. I need to move because it is what is best for Dylan. The way I see it, I am working two jobs. Being homeless is not an option. Living somewhere where I don't feel Dylan is comfortable is not an option. Depending on anyone else is obviously not an option either, not even for a minute, not even when I need it badly.

And that is just the way it is.

This is the way I have made decisions for the past six years. I determine what is best for Dylan, who will/will not help me achieve that, the steps to get there, where I will fuck it up, what I can do to fix it, who will get hurt in the process, and who to thank once I get there.

Generally I have a pretty short 'Thank You' list, which is ok.

Because that is the way it is.

I think that during all of this, it is important that I remain brutally honest. A good friend of mine who I don't get to see enough is a sweet girl from a big family and she always says "You know what we say, if you don't ask you'll never know." So I always try to keep that in mind.

Today, I emailed my boss regarding the raise that I am due for next week. I emailed my roommate and explained that I will not be dishing out any additional money to him this month because I cannot and my rent is paid. I told my boss at my second job that I need a clear cut schedule. I also made a valiant attempt at explaining the situation I feel I am in to someone I love dearly and don't tell much to. I realized halfway through that she wasn't listening and really didn't give a shit, so I stopped. I talked briefly to a friend about my worries, which I also rarely do. It felt better momentarily.

I just know I should be more pro-active. That is what I'm trying to do. It's not easy when I feel like everything is about 40 steps more than necessary.

It's us against the world, kiddo.

Anyway, I'm almost done here. I had one more thing I wanted to say (if anyone is still reading.) and that is...

Dylan, if you're like 17 and you're reading this, hopefully you aren't in some third world country. Hopefully we are on speaking terms. Hopefully you're in your bedroom upstairs with a dog at your feet, listening to something awesome like CCR.

I just want you to know that although this is all very hard for me, you are worth it. You are so.totally.worth it. I wouldn't trade a moment of this for all the tea in China (it's something us old people say). And if this makes your life better somehow, if it makes your mornings easier, I will do it every day forever.

I want you to know that I was put on this earth to be your mother and I will try my hardest to give you all the things you need. I want you to know that you have already put me through hell and I know I have years more to endure, but I have never been so willing to go through hell. Every day with you is a blessing, every smile you flash in my direction is a song.

If you're 17 right now and you hate me, I'm sorry. I don't want you to hate me. No mother wants that. I love you. My whole life, every day of it, revolves entirely around you, and I hope you know that. You are the most important person in my world.

And that's just the way it is.

Love,
Momma


"Happy is the son whose faith in his mother remains unchallenged." -Louisa May Alcott

King Julius

About a week ago, we went to the park that is about three blocks away because we're getting tired of the park across the street. While we were there, Dylan came across a little boy who had the same shoes as him.


The little boy gasped "We're best FRIENDS!"

And so it is.

His name is Julius and his grandpa, Marco, lives a few houses down from us. He lives with his grandparents and he is the cutest kid. They threw mulch, buried GI Joes, and jumped off of high surfaces. Marco was exhausted and slept in the car. Poor grandpa.

Dylan calls him "King Julius" from a movie they both like, so I do too. Julius thinks it's awesome.


Anyway, that was about a week ago, and since then we have seen Julius every day. He has started coming to the park across the street from us now, but not before knocking on the door and asking: "Can dat boy come pway?" to which, I respond: "you mean Dylan?" Julius has a million-dollar smile as Dylan comes running to play.


Thankfully, I have plenty of reading to catch up on and Marco doesn't mind napping in the car. It works out.

Julius has great manners for a four year old. Every day that we have seen him, he asks Dylan "you still got the same shoes as me?" and Dylan shows him that he does. Then they high five and race up the rock wall.


"A fairly bright boy is far more intelligent and far better company than the average adult."
-- John B.S. Haldane

Happy Memorial Day

Love,
Us

Lifeline

Sometimes I'll hear a song at a moment and it will suddenly become relevant. I'm not trying to be cheesy, but the moment I heard this song was somewhat surreal. I'll spare you from the details, but will post the lyrics and a link here. Take some time and read through them.

You're watching everything you ever held on to
Slip away from you
And all you're running from well it's catching up to you

Got you looking for a lifeline
Swimming in the high tide
Waiting for the daylight
To bring you home

The world is too big to never ask why
The answers don't fall straight out of the sky
I'm fighting to live and feel alive
But I can't feel a thing without you by my side
Send me out a lifeline

You're watching everyone you ever belonged to
Walk away from you
Maybe all along you've been running from the truth

Got you looking for a lifeline
You're swimming in the high tide
Waiting for the daylight
To bring you home

There's nothing I would change, I'd give it all away
For you again and again and over again
Everything I own is in your control

I'm looking for a lifeline
Swimming in the high tide
Waiting for the daylight
To bring me home

75 and Sunny

"No, Dylan. That is not going to work."

"Whayyyyyyiiieeee?"

"Because it's a nice day out. Your poor feet will be so hot."


"Snow boots. are . not . just . for. snow, MudDER."

"Here are your flip flops. Put them on."

"I never get to do ANYTHING I want."

"ok...Let's go now."

Fidelity

Sometimes it's a hopeless feeling.

Other times it's a general feeling of a physical pressure, compressing on every square inch of my skin. It feels as if at any given moment, there is a chance all of my extremities will collapse into the walls of my heart and never unfurl.

There are moments it feels real. Just real and raw. It feels deserved, as if I am not living a real life without going through these motions.

For the most part, I appreciate the clarity it offers. Usually I feel blessed for the experience. I feel tough as nails.

This could, possibly, be the most difficult thing on the planet for me to describe.
This feeling.

It's this starvation deep inside my stomach, but deeper. A yank on the edges of my heart, a bubble trapping the tears from leaving my ducts, a tension encompassing my throat. It never subsides. I never forget it. I never ignore it. I will never escape it. I don't bother trying.

I feel a tremendous, misunderstood guilt.

It is not the kind of guilt that a person can be pep-talked out of. It is not the kind that makes me feel like a worthless person or a terrible mother or an unmotivated lump. I don't feel like I have done something awful and must be punished.

It's a weight, an unimaginable weight, to love a creature to the degree, with the depth, that I love my son. It is a burden to want so many things for this small person and to be so willing to do anything on the planet to obtain those things for him. It is a pained, disappointed feeling when - at the end of the day, you feel no better, no less defeated.

It is all-encompassing. And it's amazing how it takes things over.

I sit and ponder all the ways I can make things better for he and I. I try to forsee any obstacles, avoid them. I plan ways to protect him from ever knowing how truly painful it is to feel as if every bit of energy, directed at one place, is not enough. It is hard to see him wonder. I hate when he misses me. I want so entirely to provide a buffer between his heart and the realization that the world is huge.

I can work two jobs, I will work four. I will/have sleep at red lights in the car, on the toilet, in the shower. I will avoid people that I love. I will ignore people who love me. I will make a conscious effort to keep anyone from getting in. I will do all this and more to maintain focus and push, push in a direction that will eventually plateau.

I take criticism as a grain of salt. I search endlessly for comfort within my intentions, knowing this is not all for nothing. I latch on to Dylan, and he latches on to me, because we keep one another afloat. I would skip as many meals as necessary to give him one filling one, and I have, and I will every day forever if it gives him a peace in his heart and the stability that every tiny person deserves.

It amazes me how little I want.
How simple I have become.
How meaningless so many things are.

I'm amazed at how easy the truth is once you have solidified what is important in your life.
Once you have a true purpose.

How easy 'any means necessary' is when you know a part of you will suffer if you give any less than everything.

I am completely astounded at how easily I can overcome defeat. How quickly I dismiss it so that I can keep going and have what he needs, be who he needs, and make him realize that his needs are mine.

I never thought I would be the kind of person to walk away from a million things, a million different people. I never thought I would find myself in a place where I am completely unaffected by everyone around me, a place where no one can change a thing. A place where I cannot be touched.

But here I sit, in a place where I cannot be touched. And all of these emotions and all of the exhausting guilt that I wear like a backpack. All of the things I do without so he doesn't have to. We all sit in this place, quietly together, and always on alert. We cannot be touched, he and I.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.


"It is not what we take up, but what we give up, that makes us rich." -Henry Wars Beecher

The Cusp of Summer

June third is the last day of first grade. Dylan seems unaffected by this, not really understanding how truly monumental it is.

I remember various moments of first grade, although my memories are very unspecific and really just snips of time. I had terrible separation anxiety from my mother, (which she will totally attest to) a virtual nervous break-down daily. I had stomach aches that I now realize were most likely phantom and a result of reaching the realization that my mom was home, watching All My Children, without me at her feet. My teacher, Ms. Kaiser, wore long, itchy wool skirts that I buried my face in and sobbed...daily. I sat next to my best friend, Jennifer. Jennifer fell asleep frequently and it was my responsibility to keep her awake. My desk was so messy that I kept my pencil box on my lap. I refused to clean it out because I hated school. I hated the desks. I hated math. I hated every moment of the first grade. Hugh Sutton fell off the slide and cracked his noggin on the concrete and I swore I would never return. But I did, because I had to, and I hated it.

Times are different now. Dylan enjoys school. The kids have lockers, cubbies, little kidney-shaped tables with holes in the middle for a trash can so they don't have to get out of their seats. They have scented pencils, fluorescent crayons, and backpacks with wheels. Dylan has had a little bit of a tough time with friends, but it's obvious that it is because he is bossy and demanding in general. I'm sure he will learn quickly how the ebb and flow of friendships work. Until then, he'll continue returning home with pockets full of wood chips that one of the kids have thrown at him. Dylan's first grade teacher is a sweet lady. She is young, thin, and a firecracker. I don't believe she has any children, as any patience she could possibly have for them has been spent on Dylan and Dylan alone throughout the school day.

I'm sad to see the first grade ending for Dylan, because I know we will never get to go back. Every step of the way, I realize just how fascinating of a kid he really is. His reasoning skills have improved so much since the days of kindergarten. While he still throws fits like he used to, it's obvious now that he knows how irrational he's been once it's over. That - to me - is improvement.

I'm proud of Dylan for making it through something I, at the time, was certain I would die from. I'm happy he didn't have as hard of a time as I did in the first grade, he is so much more independant than I was at his age. I'm excited for the second grade, although I could do without the mandatory science project (Which I feel like I should start on NOW, just to get a head start. I'll resist.) And I can't wait for him to have good friendships with equally mischevious little boys.

I have high hopes for this summer. I'm hoping Dylan learns to leave the park without throwing himself on the ground in a plea for five more minutes. I'm hoping he learns to fold clothes, so the laundry couch becomes a thing of the past. I'm hoping he learns to appreciate things a little more, little things that he has thus far taken complete advantage of.

I've started taking more things away from him and taking him less places. This will be very hard for me, as I look forward to nothing more than exploring with him all weekend. However, this weekend, I turned down Cubs tickets for a variety of reasons, but one major one was because Dylan didn't deserve it. Once I explained it to him, that his behavior didn't facilitate an outing like that, he stared at me - dumbfounded - as if I killed his dog. "Yep." I said "You have to earn things like that."

I betrayed him.
And he didn't speak to me, acknowledge my presence, for about two hours.

But once he came back around, he asked "How do I earn it?"

Which brought me to tears, because he understood why I was being such a circumstantial mother. Again, improvement.

Right?

I realize that I didn't say anything about Mother's Day. It was a good day. We went to my parent's for a cook-out. My mom helped Dylan make a stepping stone for me, and he gave us all the things he made at school. Those little notes in their abrupt, precious handwriting that make me a basketcase every time I see them. Even when other people show me things their kids have written them, I lose it. I had a napkin in my purse, which I pulled out at work to blow my nose in. I unfolded it and saw "I Love You" scrawled across in red crayon. I lost it.

At work.

Like a crazy woman.

I also got to hang out with my neice for a little while. She is one of my favorite people on the face of the planet. I cannot explain why, but whenever we get to my parents and I know she will be there, she is the first person I want to see. I examine her stature, her eyes, her skin, her chipping nail polish. I am continuously amazed that she continues to grow into such a balanced combination of her mother and my sister, who are two obviously different people. They couldn't possibly be the same person.

Anyway, she's adorable, and I love her deeply. This is her, on the right, and my little sister, on the left. I find the photo pretty fitting of our personalities:


Anyway, I ordered flowers for my mom about three weeks in advance, the moment I realized Mother's Day was coming up and she got those the day before. Dylan woke me in the morning with a huge mixing bowl overflowing with Fruity Pebbles. He shoved it right up to my face and whispered "Happy Mudder's Day, Mum....Mum?" I said "Oh my gosh! Dylan!" because I had honestly completely forgotten. I said "help me eat all this!" He said "No, it's ok. I already ate some."

Because he's wonderful. And he really loves me. We just forget that part sometimes in the midst of all this growing up.

"Summer afternoon - Summer afternoon... the two most beautiful words in the English language."
-- Henry James

Reasoning

"No, Dylan. You can't go outside. Alone. At ten p.m. and bounce your basketball."

"Whyyyyyy?!"

"Because someone will steal you."

"It's fine, Mum. I'll wear shoes...and bring a hammer."

The Laundry Couch

"Mum! I brought my journal home from school for you to see!"
"Awesome! Let's see it."

"I had to draw a room of our house, so I drew the living room."

"Oh. What's this?"

"That's the TV, that's the rug, that's my toy box, that's the laundry couch, that's the other couch, that's-"

"wooooahhh. wait wait wait. what is THAT?"

"...the laundry couch."

Busted.

New Photography

"Line"

"Warm"

"Below"

"Rain Day"

"Hoop"

We Are Sick

And as hard as I try, I cannot find the motivation to do anything but lay under the covers in the same positions I have seen my cat in. Things around here change every day, sometimes good changes, sometimes bad, but keeping up with it is never easy.

We spent the weekend cooped in the house because Dylan was grounded. Don't ask me what for, I promise you don't have time for it all. I tried hard to keep from organizing any activities or planning anything for us to do. We literally sat around the house, me thinking of all the things we could be doing, all the places we could be seeing. Meanwhile, he...well....

Yes, those are band-aids. No, he is not injured. Yes, that is a sombrero. No, we are not at a fiesta.

It seemed like Dylan being grounded was more punishment for me than it was for him. He was so mischevious the entire weekend and every time I turned around I was scolding him for something. Needless to say, by the time Sunday rolled around, I was at my wit's end.

Soooo....me being the pushover mom that I am, took him for a walk Sunday to the park a few minutes from our house. Everything was going well. I was sure he had learned the lesson that freedom was much better than being grounded.

I was sure he knew, right about this moment, that being out of the house was better than being in. And then...it started to rain. I called to him that we had to leave, that it was time to go quickly because the rain had started and .... "Dylan?! Dyllllaaaannnn?!"

Nowhere
to
be
found

So...in the rain, I start climbing. Up ladders, down slides, around the building, and through tunnels, yelling for Dylan. Finally, after all the other children have run home, I stand in the center of the playground. I have tears pouring down my face. I am thinking of all of the miserable things the person who took my precious son will do to him. I am holding his bright red jacket and favorite plaid hat. I spin around, scan the grounds one more time. I'm panicking and my heart is beating hard, out of my chest. I feel as lost as he is.

I see the equipment. My eyes scan through them. swing. slide. bars. mulch. No faces. Nowhere. None.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them, wider this time. I start walking around the building again. The playground is wedged between a church and a school and I am walking around the church in the mud and the rain. I hear a shuffle, turn my head as quickly as I can. I see his foot behind the air conditioning unit.

"Dylan. I see your foot. Come out of there right now."

And so, he appears. Cobwebs in his hair, a smile and smudge of mud on his round, brilliant face. I don't say a word as we hold hands and slop through the rain home.

I know I should have been angry. I know I should have told Dylan long, tragic stories of children who never saw their parents again. I know there is a lesson for Dylan in this that I should have addressed....but my relief left me speechless. After getting home, I stripped his wet clothes off him and put him in the bath. I washed the mud off his face and the cobwebs from his hair and I explained how terrified I was.

"I'm sorry mum. I wasn't ready to leave."



"Children require guidance and sympathy far more than instruction." -Annie Sullivan

The Way Things Are

Dylan is my son and I marvel at his perfection. He is a teacher for me. We have a sacred trust, a holy connection, and a daily trip of surrender.

This is big love.

I used to enjoy the sunlight but now it is blocked by a swingset.

I take the threat of war personally now that i have a child.

I never thought I would've wished I had a c-section until I heard his precious voice say "Hey momma? How did you get me out of your belly?"

I never thought twice about silly things, such as petty theivery.

However, on a trip to Gap about 3 years ago, I got to the car and put my sleeping toddler in his car seat. I quietly walk to the back of the car and start to collapse the stroller to find a $6.95 rubber duck in the basket of the stroller, which I did not purchase, despite the fact that Dylan was enamored with him.
This incident still haunts me and I have not set foot in a Gap since...not even gap.com...not even a gap outlet store.

I sat there for about 24 seconds and drove right home.

I remember thinking "am I setting a bad example for my son for not paying for a $6.95 duck? am I single handedly causing inflation because i didn't want to wake a sleeping child?"

He was two. and I really don't think that kind of conversation would cause nothing but pain, agony, and torture. Who wants to put themself through that?

"Honey, do you see this duck here? Mommy took it. that's right. she stole it because she was too lazy to get you out of the car and stroll you back into the store to give back the duck. So I'm probably going to go to Hell for this, but I just wanted you to know that stealing is bad and wrong. Now go back to making pancakes out of playdoh and peeing on the floor."

I never thought i would have a clear conscious about stealing until i had a child.

I never thought i would count the number of sprinkles on a cupcake to make sure they were the same for dylan as everyone else in his class.

I never thought i would pray ketchup was a vegetable.

I never thought there were words as amazing as "wonderbelly" and "sillydelicious" until dylan, now they are commonplace for me and are used in serious and silly situations alike.

I never thought i would hear his tiny voice over a room of 300 talking people.
I never knew legos could be digested, but duplos could not.
I never knew to always check the oven before turning it on.

I never knew cats can get dizzy and vomit up twice their body weight before dylan.

I never knew the beauty of blanket on sundays, tiny fingernails, and hearing him need me. I never thought i would tell a patient to go potty.

I never thought I could love deeper than I ever have, even when I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as I can, I can't find the words.

I never thought just he and I would be enough, but it is plenty, and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.

I never knew hearing "happy birthday to you" sung to me while I pee would be so beautiful.

One day, dylan was spinning in circles.
"It's my gift!" he declared.
Dizzy, he fell with spectacular gracelessness.
Laying on his back on the tile floor, he began flapping his arms and legs
"Falling down is also a gift!" says he.

I've never scoffed at skinny jeans until i was a mother.

I never tried on a pair of jeans and felt a little piece of me die inside as I laughed at myself for even bothering trying to be cool.
...Partially because the only person who I really want to think I am cool is dylan...
and partially because he really is the only person who thinks I'm cool
and it's only because he doesn't know any better
yet.

I never knew gas stations sold cheez-its...
(anything to shut him up)
until Dylan

I never thought I would lose some of the friends I've had because of being a mom. Perhaps it isn't because i am a mom, but because of making them listen to the "fruit salad" wiggles song over and over in my car.

I never knew life could be so fulfilling. never in a million years. And I am abundantly blessed because of a 63 pound young man who loves me like no one else ever will.

Just Now...

"Hey Mum...."


"What?"


"you're hot."

Mommy Minimum Wage

I have these days with Dylan where we just can't get it right. He pouts all day and I scream all day and my jaw is jutted out like a drawer not quite shut. We are tense, stressed out. Dylan throws himself on the floor, kicks his shoes across the room, and tells me how terrible of a mother I am.

I pick his limp body up by the armpits, and carry him to his room and shut the door.

Not for punishment so much as for his own protection. He comes out making this face like there is simply no hope.

And, at a point, I agree. I know this is just a phase. I know these things pass, kids grow out of it, things get better and he learns the proper way to behave. I can remember being sent to my room for what felt like hours. I would lay in my room and swear my mother had forgotten about me entirely. I remember being sent outside to play, only to return to a locked back door and a glass of ice water on the porch. I remember being spanked, being screamed at, being yanked so hard out of a store I was certain I no longer had a functioning right arm. I was slapped in the mouth, flicked on the back of the head, and looked at just so...and I knew I was in for it.

But, kids these days, or at least my kid...it's not the same. I don't do a lot of the things my parents did because I remember how it made me feel inside. I don't want Dylan to feel that way inside. But there are some things that come out of my mouth that I have heard my parents say to me a million times. There are times I sit him down, look him in the eye, and explain just why his behavior is unacceptable. I feel like he finally understands what has happened and why.

Those are the victorious times, the times I know there is a meaning behind all my frustration and endless annoyances. I'm pretty sure that is what Mother's Day is about. To remind us moms of the times we have threatened to choke our kids and really felt like it reached them that one time.



"At work, you think of the children you have left at home. At home, you think of the work you've left unfinished. Such a struggle is unleashed within yourself. Your heart is rent." - Golda Meir

Galavanting, Chicago Style

The last week, I have packed Dylan's lunch every day. He seems to like it more than the school lunches because every day he comments on how good his lunch was. I wish I would have known this throughout the school year, as it would have saved me a small fortune, but at least I know now and will not subject him to salisbury steak and instant potatoes any longer.

The trick to a good brown bag is this: put lots of stuff in really small portions, and make sure you include a note. Thursday's lunch was: half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, 12 grapes, 4 baby carrots, a few pringles, a candy necklace, a cheese stick, and a juice box. The note said : "Dear Dylan, I hope you have a good day. If Camille bothers you, ask her nicely to stop. Love, Mommy"

He ate everything in his lunch except the pink pieces of the candy necklace, which he saved for me because he is the sweetest kid I know...

No, really...I swear he's sweet.

Last weekend, we took a trip to the city. We went to the art museum and galavanted around. Galavanting is one of our favorite things to do. Sometimes it feels like we've been everywhere around here. We are always trying to find new places to go, but always end up re-visiting the same places we did last time. Anyway, here are some of my favorites from our art museum visit:



I have no idea what made me choose those three as my favorites, but I really liked them and there they are. All the others I took at the art museum are here.

After the museum, we roamed around and found things to climb. I took a few pics around town too, and here are my favorites from then:








Unfortunately, this weekend is cold and rainy, so we'll most likely be spending a lot of time folding clothes, watching movies, and covering our lower extremities in band-aids, just for fun.

The rest of the photos we took around town are here.


The only thing money is good for is to buy your freedom. - Humphrey Bogart

At His Feet

One thing at a time is a disease.

That i cannot seem to catch.

And every moment, it becomes more and more clear to me that parenting was never meant for one.

We still need new shoes, 13 singles in an envelope for the tee-ball concession stand, and gas in the car.

He needs a haircut and the cat is almost out of cat food. mac and cheese isn't an appropriate dinner for a learning, growing boy. I am three months late for a cleaning at the dentist. He needs money for swimming.

D'oh and trunks for that too.

Oil change.
Spot of juice on the carpet to be shampooed.
Shampoo! d'oh! We need shampoo.

laundry. fold. assemble.
I have to raise money for the cistic fibrosis walk.


The tub needs a good scrubbing.

I should look into getting a new car.
and buying a house.

and saving the world, one Ethiopian at a time.

I could use a pedicure.
And an eye-doctor who doesn't charge an arm-and-a-leg.
I have 13 phone messages to return and 192 e-mails in my inbox.

And - how is it that this kid can find EVERY sharpie in the place? I swear to god, I could super glue the fuckers to the top of the fan blades and he would find them. It's ridiculous.

And why - WHY must he be so old? why is he six? why can't be tiny, wrinkly precious and pink again?

Why hasn't anyone prepared me for this, and why didn't anyone check with me BEFORE he got to age?

He is getting harder to hug. more wiggly and busy. he isn't as sticky as he used to be and i found a new freckle on his left shoulder that i swear wasn't there the last time i examined his perfection.

He wrote me a grammatically-correct, three sentence letter on his transformers stationary.
He colored 4 pages without going outside the lines.
Wipes his own ass.
Washed his own hair.
and chopped his own apple with his favorite blue, plastic butterknife.


...And i didn't even clean the juice stain in the carpet.

I don't know how much more of this I can handle. as hard as I try, I cannot slow time down. I wish I could sit with him like we used to. I wish he would just let me hold him, smell him, and whisper the things all mommies want their babies to know. i want to tell him how lucky i feel that he picked me to be his mommy.

I want to thank him for giving me a front row seat to the show of his life. I want him to know that I like him, I love him. I wish I could remind him that he is only six and that six is a tender age. I wish he understood that I want him to slow down, and stop being so tough.

But he is six now, and is - officially - tougher than anyone else. smarter, too. And basically knows everything. He feels no need to "compwimise" anymore. ..no need to discuss.

He just wants to go.

And so, I will follow. I've turned from a leader and a teacher to a follower and a student.

I just need him to slow down a little, so I can learn one thing at a time.

Just one thing at a time.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." -Pablo Picasso

New Photography

"You Need My Shoes"

"Meet me in Chicago"

"Institute"

"Abroad"

"Stay"

The Art of Losing

I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time – everything.

If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts, I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check. I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by loving you more.

My fear, in being so transparant, is in teaching my son to love fully, and to take loss with his head held high. Sometimes things don't work out. Sometimes we lose those we think will be there forever. Sometimes the things we fear the most are the ones that float over our heads all our lives.

I am not concerned about teaching Dylan how to love, as I will lead by example and hope he learns quickly that the proper way to love is with an honest, open heart while still maintaining self-respect and a spine. I am not worried about teaching Dylan to love fully, unabashadly, and whithout restraint.

What I fear is teaching him how to fall. How to ration his love so that, while it is tremendous inside him, some people can only accept in small increments. I fear teaching him how to absorb unrequited love, to put it away despite not having a good reason to, and how to keep it safe until it is ok to bring it back out again.

I wish I could make it clear to him that the heart is the center of the body, but it beats on the left and that maybe that is why it isn't always right. That sometimes you love the right person at the wrong time. Sometimes walking away is the best way to love someone. Sometimes self-preservation kicks in and running away is the best way to love them. I wish he understood-without me trying to fumble out the words - that relationships don't always fail because there is no love. Sometimes they fail because one person was loved to much, the other not enough.

I want him to let go when he is hurting too much.
I want him to give up when love isn't enough.
I want him to move on when things aren't the way they were before.

But, more than anything, I want him to understand the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. I want him to learn that love doesn't mean posession and company doesn't mean security. I want him to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises.

I want Dylan to know how to accept his defeats with his head up and his eyes ahead with the grace of an adult someday, not the grief of a child. I want him to learn to build his roads today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down mid-flight.

I want him to learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. That he really can endure, that he really is strong, and that he really does have worth. I want him to learn, and learn, and learn.


"Of course if you like your kids, if you love them from the moment they begin, you yourself begin all over again-in them-with them-and so there is something more to the world again." -William Sarayoan

The Friendly Confines

I finally went to a Cubs game yesterday, and while I did not bring Dylan, I still had a good time. It seems to me that I generally have the most fun going places with Dylan, and today I really put some thought into why. The reason is: he is the perfect travel companion.

"What makes Dylan a perfect travel companion?" you ask...well...for starters, he is compact, doesn't take up much space, and rarely brings along more than he can carry/fit in his pockets. Also, he doesn't talk too much. Nothing ruins an outing quite like someone who talks the entire time, rather than enjoying the scenery. Third, he is down for anything. This morning, we were trying to think of somewhere to go where we had never been. This is a regular thing for us. We bounce ideas back and forth, check online, and eventually come up with a plan.

I didn't want to go to Navy Pier, because we spend every other weekend there every summer. I didn't want to go to the Field Museum or the Museum of Science and Industry because we could walk through with our eyes closed, we've been there so many times. Anyway, as we sit quietly in the car discussing options, I couldn't help but thank my lucky stars he is so adventurous.

"How about Mexico?"
"No. Swine Flu."
"Texas?"
"Too far."
"But we could sleep in a hotel so you don't hafta drive."

Anyway, another thing that makes Dylan a good travel companion is that he doesn't eat too much. We can split anything. Keep it cheap. He is the kind of kid who considers gum, lunch. He is also hilarious, asks relevant questions, and hugs me periodically through the day. Put all that together...perfect.travel.companion.

So...the Cubs game was a great time. The weather was awful the first 4 innings, rainy and cold, but I wasn't affected by it. The food was exceptional, and so was the company. We had rooftop seats, so my immediate annoyance with groups of people was bypassed altogether.

I'll stop rambling about it. It was a ball game. You know how those work. Before I post photos, I want to say that I think the city of Chicago was built to be photographed in black & white. Wrigley Field exudes nostalgia, and has a moving air about it that I can't quite put my finger on. The day was overcast, and it seemed oddly fitting for the location. Now...here are some of my favorites from the day:










It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti

If you would like to see all the photos I took at the game, you can do that by clicking here.

Sometimes I Overflow

So I always tell people not to have kids... To keep your chic condo, 2 door car, and convenient travel.

Well, I forgot to warn you that you will never know True Love if you don't.

I know, I know--but you LOVE your husband! You LOVE your parents! You LOVE your dog, that dog is just like your baby...

Nope. I know it's hard to believe, but all of that is nothing compared to how you love your child.

True, when they've sloshed Iodine all over your bathroom or embarrassed you in front of a room full of strangers, that love isn't quite as close to the surface as usual.

But the rest of the time, I can't even describe. Just looking at photos of Dylan makes my eyes well up with tears. Seeing him walk away from my car in the morning, his big backpack bouncing up and down on his little frame, makes my heart pound with pride and fear and happiness. Just thinking about his chubby little smile before I go to bed fills me with warmth and contentment and the ability to do it all again tomorrow.



I can't tell you how many times I look at his sweet face and think, "I did that. I made that. That little person is a piece of me and my gift to the world. He is my legacy."

So, there is nothing wrong with choosing the 2 door car and the chic condo with glass tables because you'll never know what you're missing anyway, but I just wanted to try to explain what you would be missing out on because it's totally worth it, even if my house currently smells like pee and is covered in toys.

Sidenote: All over town today, there were old people on street corners holding political signs. They had their own little campaign going, standing there in the heat waving at passing traffic in their golf shorts and visors.

Has anyone in the history of democracy been influenced by people holding signs and waving from the side of the road?

If so, their voting rights should be revoked immediately.

What a waste of man power.