Waiting...

...for the wrappingpapergeddon to begin.

Merry Christmas Eve!

And Melt With You

On this day, December 21, 2012, on the last day of the world, and the longest night of the year...we were married.

We did this in our living room, with our kids in attendance and our moms as official witnesses.   We did this in front of our Christmas tree, with no officiant, just ourselves, self-uniting.

"We have been together for a while, choosing to be together every single day. We don't need anyone else to tell us that we belong together, or to give us permission.  We only need to know it ourselves-that we choose to love and be a family together."

"I can't imagine my life without her."

"I choose you."

"I choose you."

And then kissing, and signing, and eating cupcakes.

Oh my gosh! See my ring? I've been wearing it for six years.  Carl gave it to me for my birthday right before Wendy was born.  I love this ring.  It is pretty, it is special, and it wards off sticky advances from creepy guys with bad breath and chest stubble.

(But now that I'm a real wife, it's not a dirty, whorey lie!)

Why now?

because we are anyway, just not on paper

because my daughter desperately wants us to

because of totally unromantic tax reasons

because he asked me, and I said yes

because life is too damn short.

Obviously, mostly because of the potential for cake.

(chocolate chip red velvet with cream cheese frosting)

I even wore white. Cheers!

My Heart. It Hurts.

It hurts so much.

Human beings have such an amazing capacity to shut out the things that they'd rather not know. Horrible things going on far away, scary things that happen to people right next door, totally unexpected things that could happen to them at any moment, anywhere, at any time.  You have to shut it out, because otherwise, you'd never be able to get on with your day. You have to get dressed and feed the dog and put gas in the car and get milk on your way home...you have to live your life, even though in the back of your mind you know that there are all these...things.

And then you become a parent. 

Wendy started Kindergarten this year. She is totally in love with it. She has a great teacher, and new friends, and this week, she started a "Pony Club," for people who love playing ponies (still unclear if they are pretending to be ponies or pretending that they have ponies).  We made certificates for the sustaining members of Pony Club, and everything, so it's totally official.

And today, the day after the elementary school shooting in Connecticut, I watch her pushing her static-y hair out of her face while she colors her official Pony Club certificates with sparkly crayons...and I want to lock the door, unplug the TV, and shut out the world for real.  I want to tell the world to Go Eff Itself, it cannot have these kids, thank you very much, I prefer to keep them.  I will join the Pony Club myself, and we will have lots and lots of fun by ourselves.

Once upon a time, I didn't have kids.  I distinctly remember having feelings.  At least a few.   But once I did have kids, every foul and corrupted thing on the news suddenly became very... personal. 

You can grow this cynical shell of self preservation all your life, and go around saying things like "yeah, life's a bitch, right? oh well, let's get a drink."  You can paste together your favorite fortune cookie fortunes into philosophies that help you rationalize and believe and maintain basic sanity.  Then, you have kids who are so beautiful and perfect, and you find that those carefully established blinders and defenses and fail safe platitudes against the griminess of human existence...those things may protect you from reality enough to get through your day, but they will not protect your children from reality itself.

Days like today, I question how I could have ever, even for a moment, tricked myself into believing in a rational world.  I do not want to have this fear. 

I am sorry that this is dark.  I know that I was able to tuck my kids in last night, and eat breakfast with them this morning, and there are twenty families in Connecticut who cannot say the same. In light of what happened yesterday, I should focus on loving them and being present with them, and I am (see: making Pony Club certificates)  But in the pit of my stomach, right where it feels like I was punched, I cannot rid myself of this hurt.  I don't know any of the people involved, but it still feels personal.

I do not have a good way to end this post.  I have a six year old.  On Monday, I must take her to school and drop her off at the curb and drive away.   There is no fortune cookie to help me do that.   But maybe...maybe she will.

Gross. But in a Nice Way.

NPR: ...which is why a conversation about being gay, say, when I was 12 or so, might have been a positive thing...

Wendy: Whats gay?

Mo: Gay is when women love other women or men love other men. Like how Mommy and Daddy love each other.  With grown up kisses and hugs.

Wendy: Well thats gross. But in a nice way.

...so...wait. Could there be two Mommies, then?

Mo: yes, sometimes. Sometimes two ladies or two guys will get married, even.

Wendy: But what if they change thier minds?

Mo: Well, people dont usually change thier minds about being gay.

Wendy: *scoff* No Mom. I mean about getting married.

Mo: Oh. Um. Well then they get divorced. Like unmarried.

Wendy: Well, maybe I will marry a girl and a boy. So that way, there can be two mommies and I dont have to get divorced.  That would be nice.

...What if you and Daddy get divorced?

Mo: we cant get divorced, because we're not married.

Wendy: Oh. Well thats nice. Its nice when your mom and dad aren't divorced.

Mo: *proud that I have thusfar avoided a world that combines divorce and my children* Yes. Yes it is.

Updates-For Those Who Wait Like Starving Chicks for my Words to Drop Into Their Open Hungry Mouths Like Worms of Deliciousness

Liam and Wendy

Still Doing This To My Life:

 (Also still cute.)

Erin

Graduated from High School!

She is also still cute.   She is now doing THIS to her dad's life:

Me:

Now a famous model and hugely successful small business owner, blowing the doors off of the fantasy costuming niche market with my stunning vision and hottness. (Note: actual fame and glory may just be in writer's head. Which is crazy. Crazyhead.)

And yet, I can't stop making the duck lips in pictures.  I even "smize" like a duck.  Very sad.

More to come, soon. I hope I just downloaded the Blogger Ap to my phone, and I can't wait to see how it works! *Waves to Jaimie, who misses me and has demanded Blogging, from the land of TooBusyToThink*

Fairies-It's This Year's Harry Potter, Yo

This one time, I was having a conversation with Steph, and said something offhand like, "I don't know...things are kind of crazy for me right now." She replied, just as offhand, "Yeah, but things are always crazy with you."

And it really stopped me in my tracks.

I didn't know it, but it's true. It's not the bad kind of crazy, where you are living out of a car with your two cats because you didn't renew your lease and you have to go ask your friend Steph for $200 to pay to get the boot off of your car/home again so you can go to work and pay to get your phone turned back on....no. Not that kind. None of that stuff is me. My crazy is more like the kind that tenth graders have when they are so used to having straight A's, then they join field hockey, color guard, drama club and lit. mag, and are suddenly getting B's instead of A's, and wonder why they are totally crazy and their friend Steph is standing there like, yeah, duh, you are the one who wanted to do all of this stuff. Does it have to totally take over your soul and eat your face, though? Crazy head.

Except you know. Now with grown-up stuff. Mostly. Point being-

Here is my current chaos tornado.
I told you that last year I made moves toward making "real" money with my "business," which is how I ended up making 87 custom Harry Potter robes in 2011. I should probably actually start calling it a business and not "that thing I do for fun on the side-you know costumes and stuff-not really that big of a deal-is that a squirrel over there, or do the bunnies around here bury nuts?"

A couple of months ago, I decided to really do this thing, which means to take it on the road. I hesitantly and nervously applied to the Sproutwood May Day Fairy Festival, fully expecting mean and jerkish rejection. The kind where Tinkerbell shoots you out of the sky with poisoned arrows, and Rufio totally humiliates you on the skateboardball court. Then the Fairies told me I could come, and I have paid the vendor fees and now...I am consumed with plans and ideas and the Fairy Festival is kind of taking over my soul and eating my face.

I am going around sketching bad cartoonish pictures of these AMAZING visions that I have in my head, sketches that look to me like magic flying elf princesses, but to others look like elephants farting on doghouses. I am writing lists entitled "Oh My God. Get This Done or You Suck," and "Stuff I need to be a Real Business Girl." (Items include a sign for my booth/show space, a business checking account, and six or seven bags of Milano cookies to shove into my head because they make my head feel calm inside.)

I am making stuff like this:

and like this:

And all kinds of other stuff that is leaking out of my brain. I am doing my best to not let the anxiety get the best of me.

I am not succeeding. However, the 15 year-old Assistant Editor of Traces of the Mind/junior varsity mid-fielder/stage hand/flag girl/A+ student in me is making it happen. MAKING IT HAPPEN, PEOPLE.

2012 is totally the year of the fairies (eating my face).

Awake; Quiet

Inexplicably, awake and up at 3:30AM.
Awake and right back to sleep is more my style, but right at this moment? I am enjoying the quiet. The complete lack of "CanIhave CanYouGetMe INEED CanI CanI CanI??"

I miss writing. Starting last May, I decided to take a real crack at making some money via Etsy, and I did it. Not huge money, but enough to make some small difference, and it felt great. Other things suffered-sleep, the frequency of dog fur tumbleweed sweeping, this blog, sleep-but it did feel great.

Being a mom is like this. I add one thing in, and another thing gets edged out. Maybe in another five years, I will not remember what it was like to be able to fit everything in. That time in my life when I could work two part time jobs, have friends, have time to drop everything to help someone move, have sleep, have hobbies, have sex, have EVERYTHING all at the same time...with some energy left over for...oh, I don't know. I really don't. What did I used to DO with all of that excess that I had? Maybe I am forgetting. God I hope so.

With a child in the picture? Most of those things were swept away, but I could still keep a few balls in the air. Add another child? Forget it. Balls down.

That before-time - being 21 with two shit jobs, running around from place to place with nowhere really to go - I am willing to let that fade into the foggy distance behind me. But I miss writing about the good stuff-the stuff I always want to have. I want to write about Liam's first birthday cupcakes, and how instead of going to a party on New year's Eve, we watched an insanely lame/awesome show about kittens called Too Cute! (for realz, cause we are bad ass like that), and how Carl did The. Most. Amazing. Thing. for Christmas, and on and on.

...but right now, I am just enjoying this quiet moment (soon to be shattered when the baby realizes that the parent in the bed with him does not have the "boo"s)
...and my fingers are getting stiff with cold because I live in a drafty old Pennsylvania farmhouse, where it is 13 degrees outside and about three degrees warmer here in Carl's office
...and it is 6:03AM and I am finally tired enough to go grab another 30 minutes of sleep, or at least 30 minutes of warm snuggling.

...so hopefully, I'll be able to add this thing back into my life soon. Because I do miss it.

I Have Arrived

Today I am 30. Here are my ruminations.

I was actually WAY more heartbroken when I turned 20 than I am at this moment, which makes no sense at all, because when I was 20, so was my ass. Seriously. What can you possibly be so devastating when you have the ass of a 20-year old?

Most of my friends (including my guy and my mom) are older than me, so I already know by observation that 30 (or 40 or 50) does not come with revelations, an extra shot of knowing everything (like I need it), or even magically having your shit together. Neither-thank god that I have fun people in my life-does it seem to mean that things stop happening to you and your life is suddenly a suck-crap-borefest.

In the shower this morning (by myself-my birthday present from Wendy, who says that yes, grown up women should be allowed to take showers by themselves on their birthdays if they want to), I couldn't help speculate, and I do feel it- I have arrived.

It isn't what I thought it would be. I thought there would be more suits. I thought it would take more expensive cocktails and important looking shoes and networking to get me to 30. But this is what I mean-I have very recently let go of a lot of "supposed to"s about myself, and I am living more in my truth, just like Oprah tells me I should. I am learning to get out of my own way. I am acknowledging what I actually want, and as it turns out, these things do not involve uncomfortable name-brand shoe shopping. I should have known.

I am letting myself be more creative. I am giving myself permission to evolve, and be happy. These are things that I did not know how to do when I was 20.

In addition, I have inspected my ass, and it is still decent. It is not quite as perky as that of a teenager, but the mirror didn't break, and I did not run screaming. I think I will be okay.

These are my birthday wishes:

1. That my life will always be as full as it is right now. The kids, the projects, the needs, the wants, the pets, the drive to create, the love. Bring it.

2. That I will spend more time with my friends.

3. That there will be cake. And possibly a tropical flavored drink with much booze and maybe a ridiculous garnish. (Where I have arrived, there are still cocktails.)

My Juice Glass is Getting a Workout this Week

Life is what happens while you are trying to pay the bills. You get very focused on hunting for nickels and dimes in the couch cushions, your brain gets all muddled with complicated math (custom cedar doors + eBay + Etsy = electric + car insurance + groceries, but is < mortgage), and before you know it, big things get by you.

For example, my four year-old is out there learning things that I didn’t teach her. Singing songs from story hour that I don’t know, wanting to look up the michelinoceras on the internet, and explaining that jarred baby food does not have as many “helpful antioxidants” as baby food made at home using the Baby Bullet!

She hasn’t gone anywhere….

…but it seems as though suddenly, she is worldlier.

She goes around making her own decisions. Decisions about making her own bed without being asked, and picking out books with chapters and books about Pluto. Decisions about getting a haircut. (A haircut?? REALLY? Let's think this over for a couple of days. Maybe a couple of days more. I don't know why. Because. Because...Yes I know hair grows back Wendy. I know. You are right. I do have butterflies about it. Thank you for holding my hand through your haircut.)

It is like she turned a corner, and there is now...this kid living in my house. Not a baby. Good thing I have a spare one of those. Behold! MY KID! Who, despite her suspicions regarding the dubious and anti-oxidant devoid nature of jarred baby food, decided that helping to feed the baby would be a good way to help me out. On her own. Today, she is calling him her "Little Mini-Wheat." ("much better than those disgusting pink ones. What a disappointment.")

I don't want to get to maudlin about it. Time flies. Life changes. It's a good thing.

(Read: I have already had a good cry into my juice glass of Paisano, and I'm fine now, thank you.)

How Harry Potter Stole my June...but at Least He Brought Beef Jerky

I blame this all on J.K. Rowling and my baby*.

I decided in May sometime to post a couple of Harry Potter robes in my Etsy shop. I figured I would sell them sometime near the premier of the final movie, make a few bucks, and that would be that. And I did sell those two. But apparently, everyone wants to dress up like wizard students at a fictional school of magic (as opposed to the real schools of magic) and go see a movie. So I sold a few more. Then a few more and a few more...until I somehow spent all of June and the first half of July staying up until 11 or 12 every night, making wizard robes in all of the house colors.

For those of you who have never been poor, this is what happens when someone is broke for a very long time, and then suddenly gets beaten with a small money stick:
1. Mo makes stuff.

2. Mo makes money.

3. Mo bids on a bunch of things on ebay. Like a better baby carrier. And pirate fabric. And food dehydrators. You know-stuff that I NEED.

4. Mo neglects many things like her blog, the cat boxes, and the growing laundry piles. Mo even feeds her kid a Kid Cuisine (Hippie Foul!)

5. Mo ends up with two food dehydrators arriving in the mail in the same day because she got all excited about the thought of making her own dried fruit and beef jerkey, so she bid on two at the same time. Mo did not expect to win both. But then again, I think Mo was having a celebratory glass of wine while eBaying. Let this be a lesson.

It's all good, because our garden? It totally went ape-shit, and I hear that when you grow your own herbs and stuff, you can also preserve it. Plus, we planted four tomato plants, and all of them are doing well. (by doing well, I mean that they are busting down our door at night and demanding to be fed raw flesh so that they might soon take over our planet.) We already have a ton of basil and zucchinis.

I'm thinking...herbed "sun" dried tomatoes? Does anyone know how to effectively preserve cilantro aside from drying it? Is that Wendy riding her bike in her PJs? Did she get a haircut? When will I stop yammering and post another picture of a cute baby?!? (now)

So, um...hey Mollie! Do you want a food dehydrator? I'm pretty sure that I only need one.

*I would like to take a moment to give a shout-out to my homeboy, Liam. None of this could have happened without your willingness to sleep. Though you have finally sprouted a fang (yay!) and dislike sleep this week, I (and our now-paid Comcast bill) remain thankful. Also, to J.K.: thank you for writing books that made good movies that made geeks want to dress up.

Liam and J.K., I love you both.