running on couches

he runs on the couch and i panic. i see heads on hardwood floors and broken bones. i use my stern voice and he sits down quickly and then gets up and runs to the other side. as if i can't see him. this picture, in fact, was taken reflexively AS i was admonishing him to SITDOWNONYOURBOTTOM. but look at that photo. can you hear the laughter? cause i can.
there is so much i am afraid of. worries i stack up like cards and lay on my ribcage at night, folded. i sleep on my side and my arm falls asleep while my brain pretends. there are moments like this morning where i think i didn't sleep at all and that somehow i exited through the front door at two am and snuck back in hours later. i was everywhere and nowhere and it isn't until my daughter screams out in the middle of the night that i feel myself fall back into bed. the pillow soaked and the covers tangled.

my five year old has always cried out in her sleep. her dreams are vivid and sometimes downright terrifying. last night there was a fly and every time she tried to shoo it away, it bit her. i gave her a drink of water and covered her with blankets. her brother didn't even stir. i crawled back to my bed and thought of my own flies. my own bites. and i tried to will hers into my head. since i don't mind smashing them away. i tried to give her chocolate fountains and princess shoes and i like to convince myself that i have the power to sway her dreams when she doesn't wake again until morning.

last night was opening night for the show. my piece is heavy and pretty personal but it is something i feel very good about sharing. i always try to have a reason for sharing the real stuff, you know? not just a narcissistic need to be heard. i really believe that sharing our stories is something that matters. when it comes down to it, there are days when all that i am holding onto is the idea that i am not alone in this bullshit. and sometimes that means sharing our stories with each other, outside of our normal circles, and listening to each other. witnessing someone speaking their truth. perhaps it is because i grew up with secrets that i have a hard time living with them now. i like to air them out. give them fresh air. so that they don't multiply and decay and ruin the foundation of things.

this is my second round of this show. and i am unexpectedly emotional about the real and true feeling of community that has happened this time around. i can't really describe it just yet. it's scary. and liberating. and validating. and horribly vulnerable. basically, it is all the things that art really is. and it is always worth it. one end of the couch to the other.

*tickets for the show still available, fyi*

moments.

i am constantly on the lookout for the moment.
the laughter that sounds like metal bells, the smile you simply cannot stop.
it is the painting that makes you feel like changing your clothes, the song that sits like a breeze on your wrist.

there are a lot of failings in my day to day it seems. the menu that didn't get cooked, the budget spreadsheet that looks much more like a rainbow than a pasture.

i am always wishing for the pasture, it seems. sitting on top of a mountain of dirt, unsure how to plant.

...

i am having trouble reconciling this space with the words i want to write. see, my children are getting to the point (my daughter especially) where her experiences are not mine to share. and, in part, my reaction to them is not mine to share, either. i, of course, have things to say that don't immediately revolve around my children but those things are increasingly rare, it seems. perhaps this is normal with small children in the home. when my free time basically is taken up with work and tasks and mindless nothing. perhaps i really am one of those women who has nothing to speak of outside my children.

(this is not true, of course. but it feels so at times. and therefore, to me, sometimes it is.)

...

i used to take a lot of pride in things i really had no control over. things like great skin on my legs (no marks, perfectly smooth, even tone.) now, my legs are riddled with years, creased and worn like a well used map. there are roadways and railways and bodies of water hidden just under the surface and they no longer look like a young girl. you see where i'm going here. 
this is one of those moments when you cradle your legs between your shoulders and you thank them for the years they have provided you with vanity. you sit in the ditch on the side of the road between understanding the meaning of beauty and just plain not giving a fuck and you hold out your thumb to strangers thinking that maybe you will either be harmed or saved.

these are the moments i'm talking about.

miscellany.

you know what i don't like? pictures of kids crying or throwing temper tantrums. i don't think they are funny and just can't seem to get behind the idea that watching children under the influence of anesthesia or the after effects is somehow entertaining. and pets drunk or high? don't even get me started.

do you have regrets? or do you let them go? i would like to think that i live my life without worrying about the things i have or have not done and that the present is always what means most. but i would be lying to you. i have moments of regret. i suppose the silver lining is there is something of a lightbulb effect that happens during these moments. and i don't do them again.

we are all capable of ugly. we are all deeply flawed. and we all have the capacity for change.

my children spend a lot of time with their grandparents. and i wonder what they are going to remember about them, these versions of the people i know. i wonder about how my grandpa was my mom's dad and how there is no way we will ever know him in the same way. that we aren't supposed to. i think i am so lucky that the parents bryan and i have in our lives are who they are. that we have the friends we have. that we have each other.

words like pebbles. like clay.

it is grey this morning and i'm on pause. i rolled up my to do list like a relic and sealed it with wax. i mean, bills are paid. deadlines are still there. but today we have no school. no doctors appointments. no house repairs. today my biggest decision is whether or not to go to the botanical gardens or the zoo. i mean, i don't like the zoo. never have. but my kids love it. then i wonder what i am teaching them if i take them there and act like a day spent watching animals in cages is fun. so there is that.
botanical gardens it is.

one of the producers of the show i am doing in may interviewed me and i felt...important. i read the article and made a cup of coffee, stared at the grounds thinking there was purpose to everything and that i sounded intelligent and like i knew where i was going on life. i had three day dirty hair and slept in pajamas on my skin but i still stood straighter and thought today i'll drink my coffee black.

my writing has been neglected lately. i have even started dreaming in script form again. this happens to me when i stop writing. my mind screams at me while i'm sleeping, throwing words like pebbles on a glassy lake. no. more like potter's clay on a spinning wheel. only, i'm not aware enough to catch it so it melts in slow motion and dries in corners. one of these days i will shape them, glaze them, fire them. i just hope they still have enough shape to hold the space.

do you ever notice how there are people in your life who will offer you a drink of water when you didn't even realize yourself that you were thirsty? relyn wrote me an email asking if would guest post on her blog and i didn't hesitate. not for a second. i know a gift when i see one. my post is up today. much more like a pebble. much more like a glassy lake.

pure gold

yesterday was an afternoon/early evening with a friend we haven't seen in a long time. fancy cheese, crusty bread, chilled chardonnay. both kids running around, wreaking havoc and taking names. my 19 month old ate fistfuls of truffled gouda and i envisioned him a culinary genius, opening his own restaurant and saving a table in the kitchen for his parents. maybe he just likes to eat cheese, though.
for whatever reason, someone spelled out S-O-U-L in conversation. and the five year old, she piped in and said 'that spells soul!' we stopped and blinked. her first time figuring out a word without looking at the letters. she has been reading for weeks now but this? this was different. b was so excited her gave her a handful of chocolate chips. chocolate is gold in this household, folks. pure gold.

and the firsts? they just keep on coming.

you don't mind if i come and go from here, right? if i sometimes back away into a corner and let my words stack on top of each other, collecting dust and webs. i didn't think so.