Not here anymore

It's true. I've moved. Thanks to my dear (amazing, creative, fantastic, awesome, patient, generous) friend Beth K., this little ol' blog has an official new home. Come visit? I'll be waiting (and, um, hopefully writing as well).

From now on, find me using my time permanently here.
See you there!

You know who you are

So I recently went to a concert, a show, we lovingly call it. A Grateful Dead cover band called Dark Star Orchestra. It's not the first time I've seen them, and certainly won't be the last, but it was most definitely their best yet. It was such a celebration -- of music (obviously), of fun, of love, of life, of happiness and joy, but most of all of good memories (summers in Old Blue) and good friends (my husband most of all).

Close to the same time last week (coincidence? you know the answer), I stumbled upon a comment from an old friend, and realized how much I missed him, missed laughing with him, missed just talking and getting the latest on how his three girls were, how happy he was in general. Before any of my other friends, this friend was the one who really got it when I first told him about Jim -- he's a pilot? No way!! And plays the drums? You're kidding!! Is sooo into music? He's perfect for you.... I will never forget that feeling of overwhelming love for this old friend as I heard his enthusiasm and sheer, untarnished, unprompted happiness blast its way over the phone. He just knew. He could feel my happiness and love. And not only did he celebrate with me about it (about Jim), he told me, with his words and honesty and heart.

Which brings me back to the show last weekend. I never grew up a huge GD fan, but I did grow up as a huge music fan, influenced and open to whatever, wherever by my close-knit circle of music-obsessed friends. It started with the Fixx and Rush. The Replacements and the Alarm followed in college, then Pearl Jam and DMB in the years after that. Along came Jim, and with him, my love and appreciation for all things Phish, Grateful Dead and giant, joyful music festivals. Music has been such a part of my life -- a way of life, really -- and no surprise that at least in that realm of things, nothing has changed yet.

So, the show. It was about good times. It was about love. It was about throwing your arms in the air cuz you just couldn't help it you were so filled with happiness -- for those immediately around you as well as those who live in your heart. It was about breaking out in song (come on, who can resist belting out Hey Jude from the bottom of their lungs/heart/soul?). It was about the uncontrollable smile that you just couldn't keep off your face -- and the same one you saw on everyone else's. It was about this amazing life Jim and I have together, forged in music, supported by love, fueled by fun and light and laughter. And it reminded me of all the friends in my life. The ones who have come and gone. The ones who helped shape me and grow with me and move with me. The ones who celebrated with me when Jim came into my life, and the ones who celebrate with me still. The new ones that I fell in love with as part of Jim's extended family, and the ones I had to let go as they grew extended families of their own. The ones I still dream about when I hear The Spirit of '76. The ones I thought of when DSO played Franklin's Tower. The ones I miss. The ones I still get to see and have fun with even though so many years have passed. The ones that made me cry and laugh and smile and live and become this version of me -- they entered my heart as the band closed the show with Brokedown Palace... Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell...

So here's to all of you, my friends. You know who you are, and why I love you so.

Creative break, creative refresh

Not so long ago, at a completely different workplace, I used to blog occasionally during business hours. (Gasp!) Of course, I no longer do this -- mostly because of the fact that I am only working part-time, and am slammed from morning to afternoon trying to cram in all the work I have to do in a shortened work week. I'm not complaining -- it just strikes me as odd that I've made less time to blog here (minus my marathon New Year's beginning), and I attribute that to being so busy and focused at work that I no longer need/have/can afford that 10-minute creative break I used to take advantage of pretty often. Really often. Ok, a lot.

Until now. It's September 11, and I'm taking just a bit of my lunch to refresh my writing here, refresh my soul, if you will. It's a heavy day in our history, filled with so much weight whether we fully recognize it or not. It's hard to concentrate on writing for a client when my heart simply wishes to revel in and remember how truly good my life is, and celebrate it with the boy and my pilot.

So, in tribute to those hearts that were broken, and friends who were lost, and lives that were freely given, I pause and give thanks, once again, for this crazy world and all I have and love in it. I give thanks for my strength and beauty and health. For the love of my life, my pilot, and the center of my universe, the boy. I would be so lost without them, for they are the source of so much of what is good and joyful and right in my life. Grif standing at the open window yelling, Bye, Mommy! I love you! at the top of his lungs. Jim reaching over to encircle me in a hug when I'm cooking or lying in bed or simply standing still. My friends, my family, who understand me and love me, even when I'm ungrateful or mean or absent. For my talent, which sometimes pulls words from the air and forms them into something meaningful, whether for an agency client or this simple little blog or a little boy bedtime story.

It's always a hard start to get back here after I've been away for so long -- the apathy, the guilt set in from my silence and laziness and busyness -- but it seemed important to take the time today. It seemed appropriate to take a chance and make a little jump back here where things are so familiar, even after all this time in silence. It seemed...right. Thanks and love, universe. Always.

The Shape of Things

Ok, so I'm going to gloss RIGHT over the inordinate, unbelievable, crazy amount of time it's been since my last post (glossing, too, right over the fact that I had vowed to do this every every every day), and get straight to the point. I've missed this. Had tons (and tons) of thoughts I wanted to share, record, post, send out into the bright universe, but have not risen to the occasion to get off my duff and actually do. There's the rub, I think, of being a writer. Millions upon millions of stories, lines, thoughts, words float around and by me, compel me, interest me, inspire me, but if I don't actually write them down somewhere, they remain just that. Ideas. Forever imprisoned in my head instead of out there for all the world to see.

So here's one that's at least two months old, but cycles to the front of my head nearly every day in one way or another. The boy and my hubby and I were reading a "shapes" book, pointing to a shape, and Grif responding with the (usually) correct name. What follows is a perfectly perfect example of my child's loving heart, open mind and glorious, glorious soul. What follows is a reminder that life is good. What follows is a reminder to be thankful and present in how truly good it is.

Jim: What shape is this? [pointing]
Grif: A yellow star!
Jim: And this?
Grif: A diamond!
Me: Good job, honey!
Jim: What's this?
Grif: That's a heart. For mommy. Mommy is my whole heart.
[Jim and I look at each other over his head, stunned, immediately tear-filled, happy.]
Grif: And Daddy, you're my sun. My sun in the sky.

The shape of things indeed, no? 

Hide and Seek

So, obviously, my goal to post every day this year has seriously fallen by the wayside. Vacation, colds, now the flu -- life, if you will -- have gotten in the way. And I'm ok with letting them get in the way. I don't feel like I've broken a promise, or a vow (and no resolutions!) to either you, reader, or me (or Grif). I'm still trying to capture a shot of Grif every day, and if I occasionally skip that, I more than make it up with doubles. Either way, I'm still proud of my efforts here, even if I haven't totally stuck to my original intent. Either way, at the end of this year, I'm going to have a huge catalog of family pictures, family fun, and words and memories to remember it all by.

A few days ago, Jim and I were lounging in bed watching TV with Grif in the early morn. Winnie the Pooh came on -- which Grif has never seen or heard of -- and he laughed so hard. Pooh, he said, then paused. And then he chuckled loud and hard, before following it with, That's funny. And then laughed some more.  It was one of those silly, unexpected moments of actually hearing Grif grow up. We laughed for so long.

Today, Grif and I played hide and seek for the first time -- I really wasn't aware he even knew how to play. But I hid, and so did he, and then we would peak out at each other or "find" each other every few minutes. One of these days, I'll post his laugh here -- it truly is magical. We also went for a walk before lunch, taking the dog and getting out into the sunshine. I had to coax him into it, but once we got going, there was no stopping him. He had to run ahead, skip-running down the hills and then running back up the other side as we walked along our neighborhood sidewalks. It melted my heart to see him so happy and active and agile and funny. He turned around at one point to tell me, Mommy, this is so fun!

It's days like this that make me miss Jim the most -- regardless of the fact that it's those first days of any of his trips that are the hardest anyway (he left yesterday). I always feel like I've rushed around to get things done and catch up and take advantage of being able to get those things done cuz he is home. And then inevitably, I'm done erranding and cleaning and doing, and that's exactly when he has to leave. It didn't help that we were both still recovering from the flu alllll week, and now that we are both on the mend, we must part. Still, I can't wait to tell him about hide and seek. And the new park we found today. And the fun we had on our walk. And that I miss him. We miss him.

Loud and clear

So, oddly enough (for me anyway), I've been sick again. This time worse -- this time with what appears to be the flu. Which means I'm achy, headachy, dizzy, weak, tired, cranky, weepy, sore throaty (it's a word), feverish and all the rest. On top of which it's that time of the month for me, and Jim has been out of town (and sick as well) through it all. Poor Grif -- he never stood a chance.

Which is not to say I haven't had some bright moments -- Friday was good and Grif was a shining example of angelic good-boyness at a crazy overcrowded Panera. Then it was too beautiful, and I was feeling a small window of respite from my what I then thought was just a bad cold or sinus infection, so we went to the park... where I was once again amazed at his ability to latch on to another child and form an immediate friendship in laughter and play. It was a beautiful day, and we stayed through nap just because it was too tragic to think about taking him inside and fighting with him to go to sleep.

The next morning, I somehow rallied to take Grif to a birthday party we had been talking about all week, and again, felt better for the interim even though it was near-imposible to get myself moving (and presentable) for the 10:00 am party time. But here's the bonus, the payoff, if you will, even though the combined events (park and party) are probably what pushed me over (way over) the edge into full-blown flu and down and out misery.

At the party, and the park, Girf developed a new habit -- one that he repeated over and over and over. In the midst of loud, excited children, in the midst of all other cacophony and noise, in the midst of his focus and joy on playing or sliding or simply having sheer, innocent, good fun, Grif will call out to me, in his loudest, happiest, smile-filled voice:

MOMMY!!! MOMMY! He'll keep calling, until I answer, Yes, Grif (I answer with a smile on my face). And then the payoff, even louder:
I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!!!!!

Worth every nyquil, zycam, emergen-c, advil and excedrin migraine, don't you think? I hear you, honey, loud and clear.

Nothing and everything.

Nothing special happened today. It was just as hard to get up this morning as yesterday. Work was just as crazy as usual. Lunch with an old friend and working out after work were a little different, but nothing to write home (here) about. It rained a little, it was sunny for awhile, Grif and I had a good dinner, we played trains, read a book, tucked in, and fell asleep. It was a normal, simple, uneventful day.

Which is not to say it wasn't worth celebrating. Grif asked me in the car, how was your day, mommy? I laughed out loud -- how many times have I asked him that? And just today, he asked me for the first time -- and sounded so sincere, so interested in the answer that my heart was filled to overflowing. It was good, honey, how was yours? His answer -- it was good, mommy, thank you for asking. My cup runneth over.

So, thanks. Big, huge, full, full thanks. For my little boy, my husband, my health, my strength, my talent, my beauty, my life. Thanks for this wonderful, lovely, normal day. Nothing special happened and that's what made it so special. This day was everything. How was yours?

Reminders

I was going to blog about yoga. And the boy. (I know, strange and crazy topics.) I was going to blog about life, my thoughts, my worries, my crazy mind that wouldn't settle down this afternoon, my knee (which is strangely hurting me a ton all of a sudden), my blah, blah and gobbledegook.

But then I ran across this video. And I decided to blog about it instead.

Today is Valentine's Day. And my day started waking up to a wonderful, generous, funny, caring, intelligent man who is also my husband. And getting to wake up a sweet, hilarious, funky-haired, scared-of-sharks, grey-eyed little boy who is also my son. And it was filled with crazy work, procrastination, more crazy work (more procrastination), some writing, some indulging, some yoga, some mind wandering, some thanks, some celebrating, some realizing, some worrying, some hoping, some happiness, some fun.... and this. I posted it on Facebook as well, so if you ignored it there, I urge you to watch it here. And if you are too lazy or busy or disinterested to watch it, you can read it instead (but you'd miss the music -- the sweet Italian music -- that is so well chosen, and so perfect for conveying this message that I think you should skip to the good stuff and just push play below): 

Be happy
Show up
Follow your heart
Find a new perspective
Have a sense of wonder...
Find people you love...
Set goals
Help Others
Dance
Pamper yourself...
Face your fears...
Go to a museum
Exercise
Limit television
Get in touch with nature
Lighten up
Get a good night's sleep
Read books
Buy yourself flowers
Don't compare yourself with others
Don't beat yourself up
Be open to new ideas
Don't focus on negative thoughts...
...Focus on creating what you desire
Make time just to have fun
Keep the romance in your life
Make a gratitude list
Love your Mother Earth
Want what you have
Be true to yourself

My day ended with this. And I think yours should too.

Plus and minus

The beauty of vowing to both capture an image of Grif every day AND post about it here has its pluses and minuses. The beauty and the tragedy of sticking to one part of it and not the other. The good side is that I have pictures, great ones, silly ones, truly Grif ones from nearly every day this year (minus a few days from our vacation). The not-so-great side is that I do not have a corresponding post -- I was trying to catch up, then I was sick, then I was just lazy. Not excuses really, just reasons.

But again, the beauty of capturing shots every day is that when I don't have a post to go with it, it seems like a wasted image. A wasted opportunity. A chance missed. Extra incentive, I guess. So, because I was catching up, sick and then lazy, here are a few posts (images) in one. And a few thoughts as well...

He's growing up so fast. He talks clearer. Says new words and phrases every day that I've never heard him say before. He's taller. Faster. More agile. Smarter. More dexterous, more receptive, more open. More loving, more caring, more affectionate. He's changing so quickly, and I love to see how he grows to become more of the person he will (hopefully always) be. It's interesting, this motherhood thing. Barbed with trials and sorrows, blessed with all-encompassing love and joy. It's something I didn't expect. Couldn't expect. But is so very true, every minute. Its own brand of beauty and tragedy, I guess.

We've all been taking it easy this week -- I think we all needed it. Getting back to being a family. Getting back to "we three." Back to our schedules and routines. Back to normal, with just the right amount of naptime, TV-time, and playtime indulgence. It's been good. It is good. And that's worth celebrating here as well.

Now off to be lazy for just a bit longer. We've (I've)(you've) earned it.

Resilient

Resilient. It means to recover or adjust easily. What's interesting (and frustrating, and heartbreaking, and puzzling, and relieving) is that Grif is both totally un-resilient and resilient at the same time. We've been away, and he obvious did not adjust well to that. He's still not adjusting well, I think, and we're feeling the backlash of that even these fews days later as we settle once again into our normal, everyday routine.

But totally, 100%, fully, completely resilient? That's Grif too. And perhaps true of all three-year-olds. Crying one minute, fine the next. Upset and concerned at once, then completely joyous and happy and laughing a moment later.

We talked tonight about the dentist (our first appointment tomorrow, fingers crossed) and he seems open to that (if there are presents, which I suspect there will be, given the reports of this dentist). And we talked about swimming -- which last year he could not get enough of, but when I talked to him about learning to swim soon, he was resistant, worried that he if goes in the water, he will just "go down and disappear forever." He actually said those words... and my heart started to hurt with the thought that he was actually worried about (and could coherently picture) disappearing forever. But then the very next moment, his toy snake fell into the water... and was swimming. And he saw it. And he got it. And he was so very excited about his snake's tail just swimming in the water, back and forth.

Resiliency. I think it's what makes 3-year-olds so totally, utterly loveable. It makes us forget (and forgive) the tantrums and fits and innocent meanness. It's what makes us better parents, better people, knowing that if you can just wait out the storm one more minute, the smile on his face and the laughter from his heart will melt, melt, melt you.