Monday, March 12, 2012

Baby Bubbles

Someone said that I never take photos of the two of us. Here is proof that I do.

Told you so, Baby Bubbles.

Breakfast with the Beatles

Someone decided to redeem herself on Sunday morning.

She decided she would make coffee.

Then, she would prepare pancakes.

She'd wash and slice strawberries; she'd pick through the blueberries.

And she did.

For me. And for her.

With just a little help.

And she wanted to listen to the Beatles.

And so we did.

Girl time is often the best time.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

So big, yet so little

I still consider my youngest squirrels to be, well, young. And although they both remain in the ages of single digits, they secretly long to be "10" because it has two numbers. Oh my! How exciting, I know!

Keni has a deep love for Lady Gaga, and i wish I could dissuade her. Today she asked if I could buy her Victoria Justice concert tickets, and if not, she'd take a Gaga show.

I vainly tried to explain why Gaga was not a good choice.

But why?

She's too old.

But you're old.

Why, yes. Yes, I am. Thanks for the reminder, dear.

But you let me listen to the Beatles. And they're old.

Yes, they're not only old. They're dead.

And so it went.

She already knows a handful of Gaga songs. She tries to wiggle her way as best as her still uncoordinated 6-year-old body will allow her. And she'll wear her hair ala Gaga, if allowed.

But the hope on to which I hold revealed itself last night as we sat in a diner where they were playing music. Four notes into the next song, both girls quickly responded: "The Beatles." They probably know at least 30 Beatles tunes, and that will pacify me for now. It has to.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

The last day of 8

Today we celebrate. It marks the end of 8.

In hours, you'll turn 9. Will life be just as fine?

No one knows, child, for there is no easy answer.

All I can tell you is that you will grow from this, although this will truly shape who you are as a girl, as a teen, as a woman. Success will not come easy, but I will continue to advocate for you in all of my capacity as your mother, to help empower you as I've done for the past 8 years.

Not many people realize how much your extended family has invested and sacrificed to get you where you are today as you sit among the the traditional learners, those who can better adapt, better comprehend, better understand the purpose of the unwritten charge to which all subscribe -- or are expected to.

You do not fit into society's prescribed formula of average or above average. You exceed exceptionally in some areas that shock the professionals. Yet you struggle in some that the white coats expect.

The PDD-NOS label they've attached to you falls far below the ones we all hold:










Dog lover.

Cookie monster.

You are unique, little bird, and the challenges that you face teach everyone around you about life -- that life is never fair, that we encounter troubles that may stumble us. But we just need to pick up and move on.

And as you move on, I will be there to watch you flourish into the independent, intense, and enthusiastic individual that you are meant to be.

HB, Gigi.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Ode to a Downer

My friend Jerry blogs poems about people, real and not. A recent entry made me think of a shrew who spends a great deal of time vainly trying to make others miserable. She continues to fail in her valiant efforts as we all roll our eyes for her misguided feats of defeat.
I feel sorry for her because jealousy consumes her being.

I feel sorry for her, for shallowness defines her humanity.

I feel sorry for her, for she lives as a desperate saboteur.

I feel sorry for her, for she suffers a pernicious soul that exudes black rot.

I feel sorry for her because success—a product derived from education, professionalism, and talent—will never knock on her door.

I feel sorry for her, for she exists in a world of non-existence, one that centers on ordering sheet cakes, making copies, and answering phones.

I feel sorry for her, as she cannot appreciate a child.

I feel sorry for her, for country music gives her the answer to what’s wrong in her world.

I feel sorry for her, for bitterness and acrimony wilt the petals of the frayed broad.

I feel sorry for her, for her delusions and manipulations reveal a desperate loon.

Maybe peace will come someday for her. Maybe she will decide to not be a downer.

Sadly, dignity, acuity, and common sense will not.

It's time to move on, old girl. Just move on.

“Those who love you
 will behold you 
across ten thousand worlds of birth and dying.”


What can I say? Nothing like spending a Saturday morning with a few of my biddies! I never laugh so heartily, so healthy as when I'm with these two. I actually had to stop during our pre-race warm-up because I literally was peeing my pants -- and that was after I had already stopped in the bushes across from the cattle farm.

Life is good when you're surrounded by good people.