Intangible

Today is a day for appreciating intangible things...

“I think she was afraid to love sometimes. I think it scared her.
She was the type to like things that were concrete, like the ocean.
Something you could point to and know what it is. I think that’s
why she always struggled with God. And I think that’s why she
also struggled with love. She couldn’t touch it. She couldn’t
hold on to it and make sure it never changed. But sometimes
it’s those things you can’t touch that you need to hold on to the most.”
~Carrie Ryan

via Soda O

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Will Do - TV on the Radio

An Easy Life - Broken Bells

blast from the past

bwahahahahahaha!

In keeping with the somewhat nostalgic kick I'm on this afternoon...

Look how pregnant I am in this picture!

About 8 or 8 1/2 months by my rough guesstimate.

That seems like a LIFETIME ago.

That's Isabelle on the step in front of me. And Mr. Man in utero.

 It looks like I freaking swallowed a basketball.

snapshot

i found the prayer card from grandma rossi's funeral in my purse yesterday. corners worn, patina dulled over the virgin's face from where i thumbed it throughout the funeral, and occassionally, from the confines of my change purse, when i was nervous throughout the work weeks to follow. soft shush of the paper against my calluses as i palmed the reminder stung the corners of my eyes as it hadn't since the burial. brought to mind spumoni in fluted glass dishes, stacking magazines under shoot-the-moon when my brothers weren't looking, threadbare dancing elves hiding behind the ornaments at the holidays. biting the side of my tongue sharply brought a small jolting cleansing pain and i replaced the card again again between layers of receipts and business cards and folded envelopes with shopping lists hastily scrawled on them.

The more I seek the more I'm sought...

I know that it's been said here before, but I marvel so often at the way that the right song can come along at just the right time... The way one can mirror the words my fingers itch to write, and that my lips long to form but worriedly swallow back.

"...I’ve come here to get high,  To do more than just get by. I've come to test the timbre of my Heart..."
what a gorgeous phrase.

Hymn #101
Yea I’ve come to know the wish list of my father
I’ve come to know the shipwrecks where he wished
I’ve come to wish aloud among the over dressed crowd
Come to witness now the sinking of the ship
Throwing pennies from the sea top next to it
And I’ve come to roam the forest past the village
With a dozen lazy horses in my cart
I’ve come here to get high,
To do more than just get by.
I’ve come to test the timber of my heart
Oh, I’ve come to test the timber of my heart
And I’ve come to be untroubled in my seeking
And I’ve come to see that nothing is for naught
I’ve come to reach out blind
to reach forward and behind
For the more I seek the more I’m sought
Yea, the more I seek the more I’m sought.

And I’ve come to meet the sheriff and his posse
To offer him the broadside of my jaw
I’ve come here to get broke
Then maybe bum a smoke
We’ll go drinking two towns over after all
Oh, we’ll go drinking two towns over after all.

And I’ve come to meet the legendary takers
I’ve only come to ask them for a lot
Oh they say I come with less
than I should rightfully posses
I say the more I buy the more I’m bought
And the more I’m bought the less I cost
And I’ve come to take their servants and their surplus
And I’ve come to take their raincoats and their speed
I’ve come to get my fill
To ransack and spill
I’ve come to take the harvest for the seed
I’ve come to take the harvest for the seed

And I’ve come to know the manger that you sleep in
I’ve come to be the stranger that you keep
I’ve come from down the road
And my footsteps never slowed
Before we met, I knew we’d meet
Before we met, I knew we’d meet

And I’ve come here to ignore your cries and heartaches
I’ve come to closely listen to you sing
I’ve come here to insist
That I leave here with a kiss
I've come to say exactly what I mean
and I mean so many things.

And you’ve come to know me stubborn as a butcher
and you’ve come to know me thankless as a guest
will you recognize my face when gods awful grace
strips me of my jacket and my vest
and reveals all the treasure in my chest

...makes me wonder if perhaps falling isn't so bad if it comes with such exquisite aching in the general vicinity of my chest...

The Plates they are a-Spinnin'

It's Friday and I have so much crafting goodness to wrap up this weekend that I can hardly stand it.

I've been hard at work, kitties. Hard. At. Work.

And some of this goodness I'll be able to show you Monday, but a lot of it I'll have to dole out, bit-by-bit, as baby showers & such arrive on the horizon.

Boy, I'll tell ya'...some days I feel as if I've got just a million plates spinning all at once.
And I'm starting to loose faith in my ability to keep them all at cruising speed.

My crafting plates are going full-speed-ahead the past week.
All 15 of 'em. Yep. 15 projects...er...plates in mid-air right now.

The sleep plates came crashing down in a clatter of shattered china and burnt melamine Monday and I haven't quite gotten them back up just yet.

The people plates are wobbling, due to my own insecurities, but I've managed to keep them up and moving through sheer dint of will.

I gave the gifting plate a good hard whirl...only to see that one come crashing down last night because I expected too much of it. I got overzealous on the spinning, I think, and forgot to take into account other people's plates in my orbit.

 

The Munchkin plates will be whirling dhirvishes this weekend...which means I probably won't get the sleep plates back into rotation any time soon, but I hold out hope for them nonetheless.

Have I confused you yet? Good. Welcome to My World.

T.G.I.F. gang.  T.G.I.F.

I want to be here. With you.

please?

Working Mother Guilt

As a full-time Working Mom, I feel a lot of guilt.

I mean A LOT of guilt.

DAILY.

There are the days where I'm ecstatic to drop the Munchkins off at the YMCA in the mornings, a full hour before their day actually should have started, so I can make it to work in time to fix a pot of coffee before answering the first phone call. Those are the days I feel guilt about leaving them after I drop them off...when I'm settling in to my morning routine of five cups of coffee and two fistfuls of pretzel M&Ms while fielding calls from cranky clients at 8:05am

Then, there are the days where the Munchkins have been so sweet and cuddly and helpful and loving that I'm loathe to drop them off at all. Those are the days I give them embarrassingly long double hugs at the door to the YMCA in the mornings and feel the sharp stab of mom-guilt pricking me immediately...before I can even leave them.

And then? There are days like today.

Days where we only had four or so major meltdown in the mornings, and where we were all glad to see the backs of each others heads at 7:55am as we're dashing in four different directions. These days it's not until around 11:50am, when I finally get to take my first glance at the NY Times for the day and see a sweet, sad, depressing photo of a six-year-old Palestinian girl clutching her baby brother in her arms, that the momguilt sets in. And suddenly, out of nowhere, I am stabbed with the force of a thousand guilt-knives all at once.

I want my babies. There is such tragedy and sadness in the world, and today I have been selfish enough to wish for "...one morning! just one morning! is that too much to ask you three?!" of peace and quiet. And the guilt is almost suffocating. 

Not only can I not stay home and spend every precious minute of my time with these little humans that I've created... Not only am I missing them developing each facet of their personality every day, but when I AM home, I'm doing it while cranky at least  50% of the time. And that's being generous, I think. Because I'm so completely and absolutely exhausted 24 hours a day, 7 days a week that I can barely see straight, let alone happily raise three children, guilt-free.

And, at the heart of things I know that parenthood, much like any road in life, is comprised out of necessity of a lesser-of-two-evils sort of approach to the day-to-day. I know that if I was home with the kids I'd have mom-guilt, same as I do away from them. I know that by 8:05 of these mornings I'd already be separating two of them for fighting and trying to fish some awkward Playskool toy out of the toilet, begging to go back to work just one day a week... 

I know this, intellectually. But it makes my heart ache no less to know that I'm missing out.
No matter how you slice it, life's a trade off.

And a very large chunk of me will wonder, every day, for the rest of their lives, if I'm doing things the wrong way.

And I'm not sure how to make peace with that.

Not yet anyway.