i made this hat for you.

My Darling Girls.

I may not have marched today.
But I stitched.
And with every stitch, I held you in my heart.

Because you are amazing.

My Bug...

You tip-toe through this  life with the grace of ballerina, tracing the outline of the stars with your finger tips all while keeping your heels firmly planted in the dirt.  You absorb the pain of others, make it your own and feel it more deeply than a knife to the heart.  You drink in the light of the world around you, and then let it shoot from your fingers and toes until you have become a part of the tapestry.  You dream bigger and beyond the sky.  You relish in your aspirations and victories.

My Mimi...

You love fiercely.  You wrap your small arms around this big world and squeeze with a tenacity of a gladiator.  You watch life happen and see more color and laughter in what dances by you than any rose-colored glasses could ever allow me to see.  You hold tight to the people you love, but show such growth in your own solitude.  You laugh with your whole body.  You love with your whole heart.

Bug...you see the world through a telescope.
Mimi...you see the world through a kaleidoscope
Bug...you hold tight to your youth.
Mimi...you reach for years you cannot yet touch.
Bug...you explore this world with all of your senses.
Mimi...you experience this world with your whole being.

And it is for these reasons and for so many more beyond the click of these keys and the words in these wires that I stitched.

I stitched that you may always wander.
I stitched that you may always dream.
I stitched that you may always wonder.
I stitched that you may always grow.
I stitched that you may live in a world without boundaries or limitations or discouragement.
I stitched that you may never endure discrimination, disappointment or degradation.

I made this hat for you girls

In the hopes that you need never wear it or any like it. 

Be gracious. Be fierce. Be strong. Be resilient. 

Grow, learn, love. 

Go well, my girls. 

good enough.

I have been rolling this post around in my head for quite some time.  As I sit down to put words to my thoughts, I am struck by the fact that I have not run my finger over this corner of the wires for well over a year.

Hello.
Please excuse the dust.

***

I realize, with both sadness and disappointment, that in the past (almost) two years, any connection over the wires has been relatively limited to 140 characters, hashtags, and image filters.  It is especially concerning that I often find myself seeking out the "LIKE" button when replying to co-workers' e-mails.  And now, thanks to the advancement in cellular technology, I can merely send hyrogliphic text messages to all my friends 👭 and family 👨👩👧👧 in case they have become immune 😷 to the English language 📱.

The other realization I've noted in this plugged in lifestyle, is that my primary source of information input comes via my various newsfeeds.

The convergence of all of these realizations came to me the other day (in what was likely a 140 character thought) while I was putting on my mascara.  That thought was, "My lashes aren't plump enough."

And as quickly as that thought entered my head, I stepped back from the mirror, dropped my mascara and stared at my reflection with an expression I can only describe as one of unrecognition. 

Whoa.  Who the hell are you and how did you get inside my head?

Let's pause for some self-examination.

***

Like many women I know, I have always struggled with self-image in waves...

I'm too fluffy.
I'm too frumpy.
I'm too saggy.
I'm too wrinkly. 
I'm too freckly.
I'm too blotchy.

But what I have found, especially in the last ten years, is that the tide rolls in when my focus rolls out; when I allow the world to overtake me and pull me down, I try to stay afloat using things masked as flotation devices - alcohol, food, cigarettes, pain-killers...Netflix.  But these flotation devices have holes...and there are captains out there on big ships making millions of dollars by selling me patches for my leaky inner tubes.  Over time, these patches accumulate, placing one on top of another on top of another.  And they get heavy.  And if you passed elementary science, then you know what happens to heavy things in the water...they sink.

***

Every night, I alternate bedside watch between my two girls with my guy.  I typically use the time between good-night kisses and dreams to unlock my phone and peruse the day's events.  Last night I decided to conduct a little experiment in preparation for this post.  I reviewed an hours worth of my newsfeed which is comprised of posts from my friends, organizations I "LIKE" and suggested media based on my interactions on social media.  In that hour, I noted:

- 15+ posts on politics
- 15+ posts made by friends (or shared) about products guaranteed to cleanse my body, slim me down and tighten me up.
- 12 "personal" posts (posts of friends' kids, personal status updates or check-ins to local eateries)
- Six mindless quiz results about which movie character/color/presidential candidate/how many kids you will have/which celebrity you most look like
- Five posts about yoga
- Three posts from friends on make-up that won't smudge and will make my eyes look humongous
- Two posts about crochet patterns
- An article titled, "How Jennifer Lawrence Maintains a Svelte Figure While Eating Burgers and Fries..."
- A post from a natural living site titled "Three Empowering Attitudes that Make You Irresistibly Attractive"
...and finally...
- One meme that said, "It's called a catwalk, not a fatwalk". 

Yeah, that happened.

So let's analyze the information.

Of the posts I polled in an hours worth of newsfeed:

25% were political in nature.
35% basically told me I'm not good enough the way I am (85% of which had something that could help me with that).
20% were personal (pictures, statuses, check-ins).
~11% were based on interests (yoga, crochet)
~10% were based on quizzes my "friends" took and shared.

Thirty.  Five.  Per.  Cent.
If it weren't an election year, what would that percentage have looked like?
And this is just an hour in my personal newsfeed.  Never mind the ads that pop up on search engines or the commercials that my daughters are subjected to during the dinner hour or the number of scantly clad women that grace the dozens of magazine covers in the grocery store check out.

So what does this information tell me?

I pay way too much attention and devote far too much energy on the way other people look and the way I think I should look.  Why wasn't my newsfeed comprised of 35% yoga?  Or 35% yarn?  Or 35% coffee?  Hell, I would have preferred 35% stupid cat videos.  But 35% of what I saw had to do with me not being good enough. 

THAT is not good enough.

***

So why, after almost 17 months of silence, do I find myself here?

Because it's not good enough. 
It's not good enough for me. 
It is definitely not good enough for my daughters.

This winter, I was met with complete and utter resistance from my almost-8-year-old when it came to wearing her coat to school.  Because, she said, it made her look "fat".  I know that notion didn't (directly) come from words that have been spoken between our walls.  But as I reflect on 35%, I have to wonder if I have somehow projected that 35% onto my daughter by my own actions. 
Or perhaps it has stemmed from the Weight Watchers commercials that run right as we sit down to a meal. 
Or perhaps it's the skinny girl with the belly button cleavage that my near-tween fascinates over while I buy milk.

It's not good enough.

But she is.
Both of my girls are.
And I know that the only way I can guide them in that realization is to realize it myself.

So.
Untether yourself from your perceived flotation devices.
Rip off the patches
and you will float.

We are good enough.
Go well.

to be her mom.

Yesterday
I posted a picture to my Instagram account with the following:

'Car ride convo with my Bug as we drove by the scene of an accident today:
"Mom, when you crashed...when I was in your tummy...were you scared?"
"Yes.  Very."
"Did you cry?"
"No."
"But didn't it hurt when your leg got cut off?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you cry?"
"I had to be brave."
"Why?"
"For you."
Today, my Bug got to hear the story...her story...our story.  And I didn't cry then.  But I did today.'

True story. 
We got home and she asked to see the pictures.
Hear the story.
She stomached it all quite well
which was a bit of surprise given her propensity for being squirmy.
Her favorite part was when I told her about listening to her heartbeat in the trauma center.
Her steady
strong
heartbeat
that sounded like a horse
galloping across the plains.

"I bet that's why I love horses.  Because they're in my heart," she said.

I knew that this day would come
and there will be more like it
where we tell the story
over and over again
so that she knows just how
incredible
brave
strong
she really is.

And I sobbed
as I held her by the shoulders
and told her how lucky I was
to have a leg
to be alive
to be her mom.

34.

Today marks chapter 34 in this epic called life.
I considered walking through 34 life reflections.
I considered laying down 34 life lessons I have uncovered.
I considered attempting to assign titles to each of my 34 chapters.
Ultimately, I decided to mark this day
By revealing 34 truths
About me
Truths that are true today
The ninth day of October in the year of our Lord, two-thousand fourteen
That may not be the same truths tomorrow
So that some day
Another 34 years from now
I might creep back to the wires
Slither in between the pages
And remember what it was like
When there were only 34 chapters.

In no particular order...

1. At 34, I have come to terms with my mortality.
Two babies and one very gnarly broken leg has left me with fading cartilage in my knees
(I can get down, but getting back up is not nearly as graceful as it used to be);
not to mention the early stages of arthritis,
scoliosis
and now
the newly diagnosed anemia.
There are bags under my eyes that weren't there a year ago.
There are nearly as many silver strands as brunette.
I take supplements three times a day
(and IBProbfen nearly that much).

2. There is a part of me that still believes I can will myself healthy.
But the other part of me
the 'grown-up', 34-year old part of me
knows that it's going to take
extra veggies
lots of water
less coffee

more exercise

and fewer vices

to regain any of my 

former

pre-babies

mangled leg

low iron

creaky jointed 

self. 

3.  Despite my ailments

my whining

my creaking

my crackling

I love my yoga

and I fear a day

when my body no longer

folds with ease. 

4.  I drink way too much coffee. 

5. I love my girls.
I love the way their hair smells
fresh out of a bath.
I love the way they bolt in the door
and head straight for the backyard
instead of the television.
I love the way they fight
over who gets to sit on my lap before bedtime.
I love the way
they love
each other
my guy
our pups
and me.

6. Being a mother
is the most difficult thing
I have ever done.
Every day
is a work in progress
and a lesson.
Every day
I question my ability
to raise two women.
Every day
I question whether or not
I have given it my all.
Every day
I grapple with the guilt
and wondering
if I did not.

7. I still
love
Dave.
And on my darkest days
my loneliest days
my angriest days
my happiest days
he always knows
exactly what to say
coming through the driver's side speakers
full bore.

8. I swear.
A fucking lot.

9. I love my job.
This may not always come through
and the circumstances surrounding how it came to be
were not optimal.
But I secretly
(although not so secretly now)
thrive on putting out fires
advocating for kids unseen
digging through paperwork
and unraveling the mystery
that is each child.

10. My yarn
is my art.
I love taking string
and turning it into something beautiful
and purposeful
and long lasting.

11. I hate folding laundry.
I especially hate matching and folding socks.
Matching socks are not important
in the great scheme of life.

12. I hate cooking.
The dishes.
The mess.
The time.
The preparation.
I love food.
It's a conundrum.

13. My favorite foods
are still the ones
my mom makes.
bran muffins
chocolate cake
macaroni salad
even cinnamon toast.
It all tastes better
when it comes out
of Mom's oven.

14. I love driving my guy's Jeep
sans softtop
sans doors.
I love the way the breeze whips through the chassis.
I love Michael Franti pouring over me through the top speakers.
And despite the lack
of all the external protection
I feel untouchable
as I cruise down the road at 70 mph
with nothing but pavement
and scenery
to worry about.

15. I am quickly developing a love
for non-fiction books.
Currently, I have three books on my list;
one of them is all about data.

16. That said,
I am currently reading a book
intended for
fourteen-year old girls.

17. I have diagnosed myself
as having acute, spectrumy disorders.
I hate crowds
talking on the phone
meeting new people
and changes in my routine.
I also have an inability to focus on a task
for more than 30 minutes at any given time.
This would explain why,
at number 17,
I'm already thinking about my unfinished scarf
unfinished book
sink full of dirty dishes
and my pillow.

18.  I'm a grudge holder.
You've been warned.

19. I am affected by the seasons;
it's October
and I love all things pumpkin
pumpkin bagels
pumpkin yogurt
pumpkin lattes
pumpkin colored hats
Smashing Pumpkins.
But come December 1st
it will all lose it's luster
it's flavor
it's allure
and I'll be the biggest candy cane freak
you've ever encountered.

20.  I drink my fountain sodas with two straws.

21. I love my guy
his honesty
his work ethic
his drive
his commitment
his humor
his curiosity
his tenaciousness.
I especially love watching him
being a dad to our girls
and seeing our girls love him
makes me love him even more.

22. My house doesn't feel like a home
unless there's a mess
a candle burning softly
ukulele music floating gently on the air
pups spread across the floor
and the sound of giggles coming from the back room.

23. When there's 'nothing on TV'
my go-to's are reruns of Dr. Who
and Curious George.

24. I love holiday children's specials
quite possibly more
than my own children do.

25. There are thousands of places
I have never seen
places of magic
mystery
beauty
discovery.
But given the choice
I'd take Maui every time.

26. Given money
I will consider all the things I need
or want;
new clothes
new shoes
new bags.
Ultimately
every time
I will spend it on yarn
regardless of whether or not
I have a purpose in mind.
Books run a close second
along with trinkets for my girls
and coffee.

27. I have a weakness
for new school supplies.
Post-its
plastic covers
new binders
fine-tipped pens
notebooks
highlighters.
Fortunately for me
this year
the Post-it colors
matched up nicely
with the highlighter selection
at the local big box store.

28. I don't watch the news.
I am dependent upon my guy
who streams CNN all day at his shop
for worldly intel.
At times
this 'unknowing' of what is happening
in the world around me
makes me feel silly
unintelligent.
But then
after hearing about the most recent
beheading
bombing
death of a child
robbery
I decide maybe
my ignorance
is bliss.

29. I love my tattoos
and like me
I believe they are a work in progress.

30.  I struggle to give things up;
bad habits
possessions
time
because they are
for better or worse
ingrained into my daily order
and to give them up would mean change
and change is hard.

31. Destinations are great
but I relish the journey
both figuratively and literally.
I secretly look forward to long car rides
and airport layovers,
detours and reroutes
because it is in the course of these extended journeys
that we are afforded time.

32. I secretly love that my Mimi
still crawls into my bed every night
or that my Bug will tiptoe in
and request that I snuggle with her
until she falls asleep again.
I will grieve the day
the night
that both of my girls find slumber
without curling up under my arm
and wrapping my hair around their fingers.

33. I really thought
I'd have it all figured out by the time
I hit 30.
At 34
I'm finding
I'm still just beginning
to unravel
this thing called life.

34. My mantra.
It'll be fine.

and it will.

wonder what truths i will uncover
as i make my way to 35
and beyond...

go well.

drift.

those who know me best

know that i have not been the best me

in recent 

days

weeks

months.

disconnected.

disjointed.

discouraged.

disillusioned.

disappointed.

disappointing.

most days
many days
my body is merely a vessel
taking up physical space
my mind
my heart
my soul
my spirit
all seem to be drifting
having abandoned my floating limbs
bound for places unknown.

i throw out ropes
in the hope
of pulling the pieces back.

i pull in lyrics
melodies
words
dusty book jackets
forgotten dreams
faded photographs
and frantically lick them
hoping to make them stick.

sometimes they do
even if only for mere moments
but are usually pulled apart
by some unforeseen current again.

i dive

deep

into former lives

in the hope of collecting 

fragments

that can help me make sense

of this drifting. 

the uprooting. 

the anemia. 

the missing dirt under my fingernails. 

the minutes that tic and toc 

through my fingertips. 

the missed sunsets. 

the idle pages. 

the fraying yarn. 

too much caffeine. 

too little leafy greens. 

too much technology. 

too little creativity. 

i'm adrift. 

but the shore can't be far. 

so i continue to paddle

hopeful

that the horizon is just over the crest. 

****

and yes

sweet Bug. 

your mama writes. 

my words are not meant to be secret. 

it's just that sometimes

they sink to the bottom

and i forget to catch them

before they settle on the floor. 

i forget. 

but i hope you will remember

to hold onto your words 

always. 

through the waves

and the pools

for they may be the life preserver 

that keeps you afloat. 

go well. 

to write

My Bug has informed me that her favorite part of school is the writing. 

Not recess. 

Not library. 

Not boys. 

The writing. 

When she told my dad this, he smiled and said, "Just like your mama."

She looked at me, bewildered, and said, "You write?"

"Sometimes."

"But you just keep it a secret?"

And that. 

That broke my heart a little. 

brushing against the wires.

i'm over at our 'home' site today...