the odd i see

giving up the fight

Tue, 17 May 2011 12:35:00 -0500

Is buying suspenders conceding the fight against sag?

Honestly, I hate that draft you get when you sit down and just KNOW your crack is showing. I’ve never been the type to brazen it out. You know, the type that buys a thong with a cute, sequined something-or-other right there where the strings cross above your butt crack? Thereby giving reason to the gap at the back of your britches?

No, I wear a safety shirt at all times. And it’s hot during the summer and clingy during the winter.

And if I don’t wear a safety shirt, I find it necessary to warn people when I sit down not to laugh at my crack. Or I will beat them up.

Okay, I don’t do that second part, but I do do the first part.

Aside: I said “do do” in a post about butt cracks.

Anyway, I warn them. Or I sit against a wall. Walls don’t usually mind if your crack is showing, because they often have a few cracks of their own.

And then there are those rare moments when I - sans safety shirt - am forced to sit in a chair, and as my lower back brushes up against the cool, hard plastic, I find myself wondering how many other lower backs have brushed up against this same cool, hard plastic. And were they clean backs? Were they hairy? Were they clammy from being outside? Clammy from just BEING? Were they accentuated by a tiny, sequined thong? Were they simply the product of some really saggy jeans?

I do my best thinking about suspenders in those moments.

It’s astounding, the sheer volume of advice you carry...

Wed, 04 May 2011 12:39:00 -0500

It’s astounding, the sheer volume of advice you carry alongside your newborn infant as you leave the hospital. And as you pack her into the backseat, it’s almost as if that advice will work harder than all the seat belts and airbags in the world do to keep her safe.

At night, when it’s just you and her and your fears that she will never learn to latch on, your eyes sting as you recall the nurse saying, “Avoid cleaning your nipples with soap, because you will erase the scent your baby naturally associates with her mother.”

So, the next time you shower, you DON’T soap your nipples.

And when she spits up in her sleep after she finally learns to latch on, you prop her to that magic angle that will keep her from choking on it.

And when she’s teething, you use those teething tablets that are really awesome. Until the FDA recalls the tablets and sends you into a flurry to find something that works just as well.

And then she’s six months old and she has six teeth and you’re suddenly realizing that you could probably start washing your nipples again if you wanted to.

And you probably DO want to, what with all those teeth.

So, I brushed my teeth this morning, which is awesome, because...

Thu, 14 Oct 2010 12:43:26 -0500

So, I brushed my teeth this morning, which is awesome, because morning is the first best time for teeth brushing, and this brushing session was particularly exciting. Aside from the satisfaction of warding off cavities, I was high on knowing that my breath would be nice and minty for when I wished my boy a Happy Birthday today.

But, he wasn’t in his bedroom.

I was confused for a second, and then I remembered he’s been “breaking in” the baby’s room. You know, so she won’t be afraid to sleep there when she gets born.

I crooned softly in his ear, “Happy birthday, little boy.”

He woke with the same sleepy-slow smile that’s been charming me for the last seven years of mornings.

And said, “Mama. I was opening packages and packages of soaps. All kinds of soaps,” then rolled over and pressed his face back into his blankets.

I kinda like knowing his dreams are still squeaky clean. I’ll have to remember this when he’s a butt-scratching, grumpy, 17-year-old dreaming of who-knows-what*.

*It’d better still be soap.

It seems odd that I am able to have the slightest idea of what...

Thu, 23 Sep 2010 11:41:34 -0500

It seems odd that I am able to have the slightest idea of what she looks like. She wakes me up at odd hours, presses on my organs in ways that are most uncomfortable, and quakes my insides with her hiccups.

I keep her photos by my bed and thumb through them when it seems she’s being more alien than human.

This is Estella Hart.

So, this Christ of the Ozarks statue…It’s reputed to...

Thu, 16 Sep 2010 20:58:40 -0500

So, this Christ of the Ozarks statue…

It’s reputed to be one of the most frequently photographed statues in the world. People come from all over the place to see this thing. It’s treated with all the reverence you would expect a depiction of Christ to be treated. But, it plain gives me the creeps.

Where I would normally find offense at someone making a “zombie” Jesus crack, I didn’t argue with my son when he said, “Ewww, he looks like a zombie. Hey, come throw a frisbee, Mom!”

Christ of the Ozarks’ dead eyes do, indeed, speak to a certain absence of life. As do the crypts containing the corpses of his creators, which are planted at his feet.

I looked in to this guy, Gerald L.K. Smith. It’s really no wonder that his depiction of Christ would leave a body cold. I really wonder if there was a soul in his body at all: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerald_L._K._Smith?wasRedirected=true

sweet dreams

Sat, 14 Aug 2010 15:54:00 -0500

Last weekend, I spent three nights in the country with my six-year-old boy, Beaux (usually written “Bx” for short, since his name in sign language, as given to him by his grandpa, is a “B” and an “X” signed in quick succession). We arrived after dark and the coyotes were out, but I figured Bx was prepared for them. Well, at least for the lonely and sometimes haunting sound of them.

Living in the city, we don’t hear much from the coyotes. We also don’t see much of the stars that are beyond the reach of our glowing street lamps, either, so it’s always especially hair-raising to arrive at night. The darkness is absolute, but for the twinkling of a million stars, and the coyotes seem to pace just outside of the yellow circle of light provided by the single bulb above the shed.

As we unloaded the car, I heard Bx’s voice coming from the direction of my right elbow, “Mama?” and I was tired and cranky and my hands were full, so I just said, “Huh?”

“Mama?” he said again, and this time his breath was warm in my belly button. He’d worked his body into the tiny space between my gestating self and the now-empty car trunk.

“HUH,” I said, with a little force. More effort than that would have required the use of consonants, and I was just too tired for that nonsense. Aside from that, I still had to shut the trunk. Sheesh.

“Mama-“

“Whadyawant?” I interrupted.

“-will you show me a picture of a coyote?” he asked, and his voice was small and shaky, and I realized he’d just been too scared to formulate his thoughts quickly, like I’d been too tired to put my tongue to the roof of my mouth to form a coherent response.

I sighed with exasperation, more at myself and my own impatience than at his hesitant curiosity. “Oh, honey, of course I will. But, you know, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“There’s not?” he asked, his voice just a little louder than the disembodied howls and yips coming to us from the darkness, which must’ve made the coyotes seem larger than life and innumerable.

“Nope, not at all,” I stated firmly.

Well, when we were finally in our designated bed for the night, I Googled “coyote” on my iPhone (they FINALLY have service out there).

Those handy, dandy iPhones. Always thinking they’re so smart.

The first picture wasn’t so bad. The second one was alright. The third, however, was a picture of a coyote taking down a huge sheep in broad daylight. A sheep easily larger than the boy tucked securely into my armpit.

“We’ll just skip that one,” I said, and turned from the snapping jaws and dripping teeth to a picture of a coyote that had hopped onto a Portland light-rail train and was looking all cuddly for the commute. “That’s really how they look in real life. Isn’t that sweet?” I asked. And on that note, “Now, go to sleep.”

A few minutes later, when Bx said he was having a tough time going to sleep because of the coyotes, I snuggled him a little closer to me instead of suggesting he count sheep. Thataway, I wouldn’t have to account for a decline in their population should he run out of sheep before falling asleep.

first day of school, and he's worried...

Thu, 12 Aug 2010 08:29:45 -0500

…about the way I look. So, I brushed my hair today. At least he won’t be embarrassed to call me mom.

Or when I kiss him on the lips in front of all his potential friends and yell, “Have a beautiful day in first grade, my little snookums!” as he runs away from me.

observations: three-year-old twins edition

Mon, 09 Aug 2010 20:16:51 -0500

Twin 1: My daddy has hair under his arms.

Twin 2: And it don’t never come off.

Twin 1: Never.

rubbing sweaty elbows

Thu, 05 Aug 2010 12:37:29 -0500

So, we went out and rubbed sweaty elbows with some folks at Iguana last night. Cornered in Iguana’s lobby by the heat and humidity of the outdoors, I had no choice but to watch the following take place:

Loud Drunk Guy: Seriously! I STILL have my Nine Inch Nails shirt. And I WEAR it! HAAAAAAhahaha! Whoa… sorry about that. But, really, I love your wife SOOOO much.

Husband: Yeah… I love her too.

Loud Drunk Guy: Do you KNOW how much I love her? SOOOO much. I always said she was the NICEST… uh… the nicest… PERSON I ever knew! And she WAS!

Wife: (smiling politely) Why, thank you. And I remember the Nine Inch Nails shirt.

Unhappy Baby: Waaaah!

Loud Drunk Guy: Ohhh my GOODnesssss! Let me hold him! Babies LOVE me! I promise, they LOVE me!

Baby: (Cries harder at sheer loudness of Loud Drunk Guy)

Husband: Oh, he’s okay, just hot and-

LDG: HERE. (shoves beer at husband)

Husband: -tired. Umm’kay.

LDG: (lifts upset baby out of mother’s arms and into the air) See? Oh, my GOODNESS! Babies LOVE me! Watch - SO MUCH - I promise!

Baby: (lets go with a long wail and accompanying string of drool)

LDG: (catches drool in mouth mid-“OMG”) Well, I guess- Yeah, I guess he’s probably tired. But, normally! NORMALLY, babies love me! Here, little guy, here’s your mommy.

Wife: (soothes baby)

LDG: (grabs back beer) But, seriously! (yelling at baby) Do you KNOW how much I LOVE your mommy?!

batman underpants and internal bruising

Tue, 03 Aug 2010 21:19:42 -0500

Today, a friend waited four hours in the ER so her curious 11-month-old baby could receive nine staples to his head. And then she miscarried the baby in her womb.

Yeah.

I find myself being grateful for the child bouncing around my house in his batman underpants, and for the one bruising my innards as I type.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I’m glad for my today.

"Making the decision to have a child - it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your..."

Tue, 03 Aug 2010 20:47:57 -0500

“Making the decision to have a child - it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.”

- Elizabeth Stone

New Moon cradled in its impeccable story arc approximately one...

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:34:00 -0600

New Moon cradled in its impeccable story arc approximately one expression. And it was this one.

It wasn’t terrible, no. I was kinda impressed at how the music worked like a color code for emotion when paired with this astounding tribute to non-verbal communication. I mean, thanks to the film score I was immediately able to recognize the following moods: happiness, distress, arousal, ire, jocularity, horror, and moderate to heavy depression or elation.

If Music had two legs and could walk down a red carpet, I’d have a better idea of whom to thank for making New Moon the movie to see on the day after Thanksgiving.

Bx: “Could you try not to tell the wrong kid you love them...

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 08:54:43 -0500

Bx: “Could you try not to tell the wrong kid you love them today?”

Me: “Oh. That wasn’t you screaming ‘I love you mom!’ yesterday?”

Bx: “No, it wasn’t.”

Me: “Well, why weren’t you screaming that you loved me?”

Bx: “I said it once already.”

It starts young, people. Repeat after me: It’s okay to say “I love you” more than just the one time.

Happy Birthday Beaux

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 12:38:43 -0500

I’m dedicating today to my little boy, Beaux. Some of my FAVORITE pictures and moments.

This was Beaux’s first brush with death. I was eight months pregnant (yes, eight) and when the (probably rabid) chipmunk came and sat next to us, I couldn’t even open my eyes to witness our grizzly end.

Minutes old and beautiful. Six pounds and some-odd ounces (it’s been six years, y’all, give me a break!).

You don’t have to remind me that newborns are exhausting. I remember.

The longest year of my life. Kansas, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, this was taken in California, and then we were off to Canada. Exhaustion was my constant companion and Awkwardness was my best friend while I had to learn how to nurse stealthily in a 15 passenger van full of college boys. “Ummm, Beaux’s cranky and the beatboxing doesn’t work anymore so distraction is futile, can we pull over and crank some music to drown out the feeding noises? Thanks!” (You have to maintain a little dignity by using big words like “futile” sometimes.)

But, ohhhh the smiles!

They…

…make…

…everything…

…worthwhile! (And, this one will always be my personal favorite.)

He’s wild and rambunctious (like a boy SHOULD be, in my opinion).

He likes speed.

And living on the edge.

He gets in the way sometimes, but the x-rays we had to get after he was trampled at the basketball game that one time were AWESOME. Intriguing, yes? Don’t you just want to touch all those little bones? Do your fingers itch like mine do? I’ll settle for running my hands all over his face every chance I get.

When he’s tired, he’s TI-RED.

And he works as hard as he plays.

Thinks he’s bad to the bone.

Loves his daddy. Heck, he WALKED like his daddy when he hadn’t even earned the strut at a year old.

And he messes up my insides every time I turn my thoughts in his direction. He’s taught me about selflessness.

And about awesome underpants:

“Mom, what shirt should I wear to match my underwear?”

*sigh* “I don’t know. Something… Spiderman-y?”

“Ugh. No, I mean something BLACK? Or…”

“Oh. Something black, maybe?”

“That’s what I already said! Nevermind… I’ll find something on mine own.”

I love this kid. I’m so thankful for the chance to meet him and watch him grow, even if it does mean I have to find more fabric every year to keep him adequately and modestly covered. Forget about the fact that he’d prefer to spend every day of his life in underwear and little else.

Happy 6th, Beaux Bear! I love you with mine whole heart!

Crap-aaayyyyy diem! Have I been living under a rock? What a bit...

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 12:52:44 -0500

Crap-aaayyyyy diem!

Have I been living under a rock? What a bit of genius. When I’m having a crappy day, I generally seize it in the same way I seize upon a can of squirt cheese. When I still can’t get ahold of the thing, I’m gonna start asking myself, “What would Fonzie do?”

I bet it works every time. Better than squirt cheese? That I don’t know.

"delanie, where are your grandpa's keys?"

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 17:33:00 -0500

“I swear I put them on the Bible right inside his front door,” I respond with my hand at my forehead. Maybe if I compress all the information in my brain, I’ll be closer to finding the answer.

“Okay,” my Aunt Fran says, “We’ll look there, now that we can get to the keys on top of our fridge.”

“Oh!” I say, greatly relieved. “You made it into your house?” Maybe I hadn’t completely exiled them to the out-of-doors for the night.

“Yes. After we drilled the lock, we made it inside just fine.” She says sweetly.

I can tell she’s smiling, laughing more like, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “Your Uncle Wayne says you did exactly what you were supposed to do. No one was getting in this house.”

At least no one without a drill, that is.

You can find a certain satisfaction in looking through a...

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:10:21 -0500

You can find a certain satisfaction in looking through a peephole from inside a dead-bolted door.

You see them, but they can’t see you. You there, with your canned soda and bare feet, hold all the power between your thumb and forefinger. Will you un-throw the bolt, or won’t you? They’ll never know, because they can’t see you. Unless you do, you know, un-throw the bolt…

There’s no satisfaction to be found in locking someone else out of their own home with their own deadbolt and now you’re more than an hour away and couldn’t help them if you drove back up to Stroud and gave it your best shot, or your best flying leap through that back bedroom window you remember leaving unlocked the night that it rained and you were trying to find out if the coyotes were cuddling up under the eaves and you decided it was really, really cool that they weren’t, but then you found out the roosters were and you decided that really, really stunk, so you quickly shut the window and realized you needed to use the restroom really, really bad and FORGOT TO FLIP THE LOCKS.

But, you did remember to flush.

We held a Twitter festival last night to benefit a charity...

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 15:52:19 -0500

We held a Twitter festival last night to benefit a charity called White Fields. A lot of people pitched in and made it a success! We were able to bring in over $2,000 and all of it will help provide equine therapy for severely abused or neglected boys in permanent custody of DHS in Oklahoma City.

Okay, here’s where I become one of “those” mothers. I’m proud of my little boy. Of the two of us, he is the one with the most patience (as is best, since I could try the patience of a freaking SAINT).

This was our promotion video for Twestival. I fed Beaux the lines and he tried them over and over until he found the verbiage that worked best for him. “I’m going to cut that in half!” he’d say, and proceed to word the thing better than I had done.

I gave birth to this. I wish I could take credit for his sweet little (patient) heart, but it’s all him.

Thank you baby doll!

Ahem… honey, I know you hate it when I call you “baby doll.” I just can’t help it.

Now, come here so I can pinch those cheeks. Wait! Where are you going in such a hurry? Well, hey, can you bring me a soda when you come back?

Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna have a little lie...

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:58:36 -0500

Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna have a little lie down. I’ll be up and at ‘em in no time.

Hey, while you’re there, could you rub my roots? I’ve been on them ALL DAY.

I was standing quite confidently. I do that sometimes - stand...

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:53:09 -0500

I was standing quite confidently. I do that sometimes - stand confidently.

Next thing I knew, this gate had me face down in the gravel where it proceeded to destroy every bit of my standing confidence by eating my foot. There was nothing I could do about it, and that’s what hurts the most. If I could, I would apply ice to my “do something about it” instead of my foot.

Gates should not weigh more than people. Or more than me, anyway.