Vintage Supahmama

March 10th, 2011

I once convinced the entire Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta Airport to let me board a plane to Denver. Later that morning as I walked through the Denver International Airport I passed a gate and saw the date on the departures screen. I was 24 hours early. I dropped everything I'd brought with me for my 9 weeks of training and whipped my business itinerary out, unfolded it and lo and behold there it was in black and white. For WEEKS I had told everyone and even managed to convince myself that my flight left on a Saturday when in fact it was a Sunday flight. Sobbing at the hotel/taxi pick-up I called the hotel I was supposed to live at for the next 9 weeks and attempted to convince them as well. Go figure that a sobbing 21 year old girl wouldn't convince them... at all. They were kind enough, however, to come pick me up in hopes we could figure something out in the meantime. I can still smell, of all things, my life at 21. I can remember the brand new luggage I received, the food I survived on (I'm cheap, HELLO bagged oranges and cans of tuna!), and the insane amount of jet fumes I inhaled throughout the duration of my training. I only just recently donated (SHOULD have trashed) the banana yellow snow jacket stained by "plane dust" just from that training alone. No amount of cleaning could get the black out of my sleeves... I just told people years later that I was well ripened when really I looked as if I'd been rolling around on the highway. I loved that jacket.

It's funny how I can remember the smells and textures of things long after the events in my life have passed. Yet I look back at that same time frame and feel a hole where my children should be. Like it's crazy to think that I existed without them. Have they always been there? Were they just tucked like secrets inside my ear? Did I tote them around in my pocket like a stone? I can feel the weight of them in these memories just as I can feel the weight of a lifetime of depression. We both are and aren't comparing my children to my depressive episodes, bear with me people! Sometimes I look back and wonder whether or not I was on or off medication, was there depression present but I just didn't know it? Was I panicking and unaware of what was happening? How on God's green Earth did anyone put up with me? Why do they put up with me NOW?

I have an idea of how I am when I'm tucked into that dark place, but the hand around me won't let me out into the open. I disassociate from myself and others when I'm depressed, it's as if I step back into the shadows and watch others carry on with life around me. I remember being in Middle School and trying to explain to my parents, my friends, that I literally felt like I was outside the window watching everyone around me exist. I worry that the Husband won't always be patient with me when I'm on a downward swing. And I am so very very grateful that up to now he has been supportive. Unfortunately for him, I know that I am impatient and selfish when it comes to other adults. I am trying so hard to OOZE support when my Hyde is screaming from the nosebleed seats to hand him his resume and shut and lock the door. I want to speak up, but I keep my mouth shut tight. I'm constantly afraid that I'll say the wrong thing and make matters worse. I can't make excuses for Hyde because she says everything I wish I could say without being afraid of the outcome. I know we have survived many things and that we will survive this as well, but it's so very hard to be the one who's not being held up. I am grateful that he's held me up for so long.

I hate setbacks about as much as I hate having ADD. OOH, SHINY!

Let's talk about carpet!

Let's talk about MESSY carpet! Or how about, let's talk about my long running issue with vacuum cleaners breaking down right at tax time... or how about we talk about the fact that this one particular vacuum cleaner keeps getting clogged in a critical area in the tubing that has me taking the whole thing apart just so I can shake it violently and stab it with a fondue fork into it's inner workings twice in the past 3 months (please, God, say I didn't just hit the motor or anything that will cause it to blow up!)

Yes. Let's talk. In the meantime, bringing the dog inside to Hoover the carpet sounds like a GRAND idea (oh yes, ALL PUNS INTENDED) until I can muster up the motivation to hold my cleaner up over my head and shake it on the front porch like I'm offering it up as a sacrifice to the vacuum cleaner Gods.

Because to be honest, I'd much rather disassemble my POS than use this:

Because of COURSE my Grandfather has a 20+ year old pull along Electrolux vacuum cleaner. It's not as savvy as the one pictured above, but it's still a POS nonetheless. He refers to my cleaner as "that thrashing machine" if that tells you anything. Well, at least Grandpa, when it's WORKING it actually cleans the carpet! Unlike the good old 'lux.

You know what, I'm all of a sudden in a screwdriver wielding kind of mood. Time to go curse and break (finger) nails on the front porch.

Vintage Supahmama

January 24th, 2011

My baby? My Princess? She is 2...

Going on 20.

We had a bit of a celebration "week." Starting with the actual celebration of her birthday on Thursday with birthday brownies and OMGMYBFFBILL all.day.long. over her hand me down Dora the Explorer play kitchen. A friend of mine has a daughter just slightly older than Lo who'd outgrown hers and they were moving in such a fashion that there was only time to pack.... SOOOOOOO... Lillie now has a place for Mommy/Daughter dance parties (thanks to the radio on Dora's kitchen shelf.) Sunday was the real celebration though, we had a fantasmic party here at home with all of our close family and a handful of friends. It was freaking NUTS to be honest. The place was a madhouse. Oddly enough? The house got dirtier today with only two kids running amok than it did yesterday with 10+ kids. And I cleaned up BOTH DAYS. I couldn't be more over my worthless POS vacuum cleaner than I am today... then again, it would help if all her presents didn't come caked in about an inch of glitter. Because, HELLO, it WAS a princess "tea party" after all, MOM. She is now the proud owner of about 5,000 tiaras, 200 deadly jewel encrusted scepters, and I can't tell you how many pairs of dress up heels she now has but I do know I'm totally jealous. I've been wearing the same damn shoes for 4 years now, kids. When does Mommy get to go on a shoe spree? NEVAH, that's when!

On an only slightly different note... she managed to wear a hair clip for 2+ hours without bothering it. Baby steps, people... it's not like I make hair bows or anything... And yes... I *am* aware that there's nothing in the store right now. I'm busy, people! The Princess has been teething now for, I don't know, about 2 years... and I'm pretty sure we're working on 3 of her 4 molars. In other words? Kill me or send booze. Either will be effective. Serious brain collapse right about now, enjoy the pictures!

Bling bling, y'all!

Her little cankles are so delicious in these wittle tiny heels I could DIE.

The end.

Vintage Supahmama

October 11th, 2010

...and then I realized it was all a dream.

The first time I stepped into my house, I was not yet married. My future Husband and I walked the hallways of this fallen down, century old, neglected house and I could barely breathe. Not from the must or even from the thick, hot, Georgia humidity. I just didn't want to wake up. This was MY house.

From it's white picket fence...


To the black and white tiled kitchen...


To the built in bookshelves in every room...


To the window planters on EVERY window...

To the rocking chair front porch...


Down to the cozy porch off the back with the trellis ALREADY thick with ivy and God knows what else hanging overhead...


I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to give up what was rightfully mine (or at least, in my head it was rightfully mine.) We very cautiously walked over sunken spots in the kitchen floor from having held appliances that were much heavier than those 100 years ago, contemplated living arrangements between the dozen children we were going to have (I am snorting I'm laughing so hard since I'M the only one who still wants a dozen children now and I've only got two under my belt at this point.) This was my house.

Unfortunately, we were just beginning to take care of all the damage we'd done to our credit scores many years before. Nobody wanted to give us a loan or take a chance on even renting to own with us. We had nothing to our names aside from each other. The house sold, we got married, we got... pregnant. You know what's hard to do when you're pregnant? Be a breadwinner and put your now Husband through school. We ended up moving into my Grandparent's "In-law suite", which is just a nice way of saying, "fully finished basement with kitchen." Three and a half years later, we're still here.

In those three and a half years, every time I start pining for MY house, it goes back on the market. And every time it goes back on the market? Something horrible happens in our lives. I know this house wants me to be it's owner. I KNOW that it's waiting for me. I know that it's patience is wearing thin, much like my own... but good things come to those who wait. Right? I sure hope so.

All I know is I want to wake up one day and be in MY house. Till then, I'm still only dreaming.

Vintage Supahmama

June 27, 2010

I look around and as far as the eye can see, I see that we are no longer self sufficient. That we are adults, but only on paper. I make $13 at a yard sale over 6 hours and as I'm putting it in my wallet want to know just how far it can take us. I get a demand for a refund on a product that I can't legally give the person, but I want to refund them and I can't because after ordering, shipping and restocking I made a measly $50 and that already went to gas. I see that my Husband is still my Husband and I love him down to his bare bones, but I am so angry at the repeat offender in him that I can barely breathe. I see that after putting resumes and applications in to over 2 dozen companies that nobody wants to hire a woman who has been at home for 3 years raising babies, who doesn't have a degree in ANYTHING, and who couldn't even graduate High School and waited a year and a half to get her GED. My favorite word these days is "useless." My Husband's department was useless. My husband's work ethic and lack of concern for changing his attitude was useless. I'm useless for not being good at anything but being a good mother. My anti-depressant is useless because I've been crying for the past week and a half and I'm back to wanting to crawl in bed with the covers over my head to block out all the "useless." Useless. It's a great GREAT word. You should try it some time.

I know that I'm starting to slip not only because of the nagging sensation that "SUPAHMAMA OPERATION DEPRESSION HIBERNATION 2010" is about to be in full force, but also because I've been holding one sided arguments in my head a lot lately and then being really REALLY upset when people don't change their behaviors therefore making me lose my shit on them inside my head. This is happening more and more... and this is going to cause me to, well, lose my shit like two bullet trains headed straight for each other during rush hour. If you knew me, you'd know that I am NOT an angry or confrontational person in real life. If you knew me, you'd know something was up and not just because I'm in constant hyperventilate mode. If you knew me, you'd probably take one look at me and want to either a.) hug me or b.) back away as quickly and silently as possible in hopes my brain matter (you know, from when my head blows clear off my neck) doesn't reach you from your new location.

I don't want to be this angry anymore, I want this angry to go away. I want to not lose my Husband or people I love because I completely give them a piece of my mind immediately before ripping them new assholes among other new orifices. I want to sleep for days and days and days and wake up in Oz. I want to preserve my babies in this stage of their lives where they can't really grasp the chaos swirling around them. I don't want them to remember their mother FIGHTING the local DCFS because she's scared shitless that in a week and a half she's going to have to ask for help from her family and it's a help that comes at a huge and unobtainable price.

I want to be things likes grateful and thankful, or even better yet happy. I want to feel protected and safe. I want to feel relief that we weren't able to get a house because of our current financial circumstances. I want to feel lucky to have a car with a great engine and air conditioner that works almost TOO well, instead of embarrassed that I have to climb through the passenger door to open the driver's side door JUST TO GET IN THE CAR. I want to be glad that I have a roof over my head instead of ashamed that we live in a basement. I want so many things, so many simple and yet stupid things KNOWING that my needs will be met regardless of either of us having a job.

Looking to the past has been something I have tried really, REALLY hard not to do as I've learned that it does nothing but slow down any progress I've made since then. It's hard not to though. 10 years ago my requirements for my life were simple, that my needs were met and I was happy and in loooove. At that time I was engaged and, to my knowledge, all those needs were met... and then he pulled the rug out from under me and I felt like I no longer even knew what trust and love were. So I got tough on love and looked love right in the face and gave it a big "FUCK YOU..." I told myself that I didn't need love so long as I could take care of myself. I could far surpass any needs I had for myself BY myself... and then my best friend came home to me... and I loved him... and he made me feel safe. I changed my requirements for my life so that love would make things work, and so far it has. Things have always worked out, even when they've had to work their way through devastation first. But sometimes? Sometimes my old requirements niggle their way through my brain waves. Sometimes I want more for my kids, my Husband, and myself as well. I get green eyed with envy and hatred that we can't have a stable family income, that we can't have a house of our own, that we can't take vacations, that we can never seem to make it to the next pay day without owing the bank more and more.

I have to stop here, I can't write anymore and I think maybe I need to sleep this cloud off of me.

Vintage Supahmama

May 6th, 2010

It's funny what time does...

10 years ago, I never knew I could melt at the site of the curls on the napes of their necks. I never knew them. I never knew their scents or their laughs or that I could create two little beings who love each other more than I even knew I could love THEM. It's funny, that old man, that Father Time.

We tend to take for granted the little things, the things we don't even know we would miss.

10 years ago, I held the secrets of the way their lips curl when they smile at me deep in the recesses of my body. I held their future whispers, their happiness and pain. All of these things I couldn't even fathom that my body in time would give to me.

I started this blog in the hopes that I'd be some great Blogger who was followed by thousands. I started it hoping to give this adult a voice in a world of Dora, Diego, juice, snacks and naps... did I mention tantrums and time outs? I didn't, oh... those too.

This blog won't be missed by the millions of rss feeds my address is missing from. But I know it exists and that is all that matters in the grand scheme of things.

Vintage Supahmama

March 31st, 2010

First of all, I'm really REALLY trying to start blogging more than once a week about REAL things and not what I've been up to aside from being elbow deep in diapers or wiping snot off kids faces or kissing booboos or giving the Husband the evil eye. So I was wandering around blog-land and twitter and found a Blogger that (sadly) is no longer Blogging and she has begun posting writing prompts about, get this, real life situations. They can be funny and/or horrifying, dramatic and/or romantic... Whatever floats yo' boat, y'all. So join in on her fun and check her out! Maybe you too can find some inspiration in her writing. (Editor's note, since the Blogger I was using for prompts no longer writes, I highly suggest you check out Mama Kat. And now, back to our story.)

I was a slave for Blockbuster Video. Seriously... a SLAVE for nearly 5 years of my young adult life. I literally applied for the position a week before my 17th birthday (the youngest age they could hire at) and they hired me (on paper at least) the day of my birthday. I walked into orientation hungover (underage, much?) and hungry. I won't state WHY I was hungry, but I was 17... and in High School... and seriously? I was 17 and in high school and it was a loooooong drive to some backwards location north of Atlanta. Have you ever driven through Atlanta? Typical of a 17 year old blonde girl blaring 311 and sublime and smoking. We'll leave it at that. ANYWAYS. back to the discovery of my Husband.

Fast forward two years... My High School sweetheart had joined the Air Force and was bouncing around between bases and there was always talk between us of one day getting married, he constantly taunted me with picking out rings and furnishings and deciding on what I wanted to major in (because, HOLLA! Hey there spousal GI bill benefits!) Everything was AAAAWESOME and THEN my future husband came to work for the BBV. There I was, in "the shrink wrapping station and new customer information entry hell" when my boss walked up to me and introduced the (then future) Husband to me. I stopped typing, looked up at him and nearly choked on my bubble-yum. Heart pounding and head swimming, I thought to myself, "THIS is the man I am going to marry." fo shiz, ya'll.

Needless to say, being 19 and in looooove with my high school sweetheart didn't end pretty and it started to become more off again than on again. My circle of friends were not quite down with Mr. Military Sweetheart and were constantly trying to pick my brain to find who caught my eye. One of them was my new co-worker because, hellooooooo hottie! One night, drunk as all get out, my married friends had gone to bed and left me with the eligible bachelor's of the evening. Two of the three were making me squirm in my seat and I'd never felt more like a Goddess than knowing that one of them wanted to take me back to his place, the other i had major googly eyes over and the other? Not so much interested in, but it was fun knowing he wanted me at the time however, I? had never owned a pair of beer goggles in my life, so there wasn't a fat chance in hell that that was EVER happening. Anyways... 19 year old blonde girl and three guys in a garage all drunk beyond their wildest imaginations at 2 a.m., one would think that this could get very very interesting, VERY quickly. Instead we just got more drunk and decided to play poker. I TOTALLY had the advantage even though I was the biggest loser. I chose someone else... not knowing that my future Husband and the kid I constantly reminded that we were ONLY going to be friends, seriously... JUST FRIENDS STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT were walking out the door. I still totally bit my lip and wondered if I'd made the wrong decision as I saw them back down the driveway (What? They weren't drunk... just tired. Very very tired.) And I wondered it again as i woke up in a strange man's bed the next morning.

I became super close to my future Husband in the months that followed and then during an on again period in my life with Mr. High School sweetheart, future Husband found out that his littlest brother was in some big trouble. We both had to leave each other, and I was super sad at the thought of losing my new friend who I couldn't stop thinking about. We agreed to meet up at a coffee shop before we both went our separate ways and discovered that there was more to our friendship than just being work and post-work drinking buddies. We both shared that this one time meeting at starbucks shouldn't have been our first or last solo outing together, but unfortunately we both knew we had other things in life that we needed to accomplish and those things greatly outweighed hanging out with "just" a friend. I was sad to see him go, but made him promise to keep in contact and as I found out later from him, I was the only person he kept in contact with over the nearly three years he was gone.

And THAT, my dears, is how this insanity all began. The next chapter in our story will come some day in your near future.

Never gonna live this down...

Mama Kat's prompts for the week included this little gem: You know the stories that are retold a million times at family gatherings? I call them Life Stories that you just never live down. List your Top 10 Life Stories.

Are you guys ready for this? Oh yes... these are good...

1. In Kindergarten, I refused to talk. Instead, I strictly spoke as a cat and crawled around on the floor much like a cat would. I did my best to completely embody all that is feline. Outside, of course, of cleaning my nether regions in front of my classmates. Because of my fantastic imagination, I was sent to secondary Kindergarten, "K-2." I still won't let it go that my parents didn't speak up for my active imagination and just agreed that I was batshit crazy.
2. I liked to throw things in High School. I took out my teenage angst on my Mother, A LOT. Whenever we got into heated arguments, I would throw whatever was closest to me at her in an attempt to shut her up. ((Please tell me we've all gotten to that point with our parents as teenagers, most just don't act on it, right?)) The most memorable item we lost to my anger? An enormous Tupperware container filled with sugar. Let's just say that when it hit the floor, the lid flew off and sugar went E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. I was sweeping up sugar for hours.
3. My Sister would eat ANYTHING, so I gave her hot mustard at my Grandparent's house. Mammaw LOST IT on me... it was probably the only time I'd seen her completely infuriated at any of her Grandkids.
4. We spent a lot of time at my Grandparent's house (yes, the one I live in now). My youngest Uncle is only 16 years older than I am and lived in the basement when I was growing up. My cousins also lived here during this time period. Being the eldest of the cousins, it was super easy to convince them to do pretty much anything. Like sticking a bunch of raw eggs into my Uncle's pillow case. If I didn't commit the act myself, I didn't technically do it, right?
5. There was this one time in High School that I managed to hot glue my hands together. I was working on a personal art project and found out very quickly that hot glue runs like water when applied to Styrofoam. My initial reaction was to rub it off like Elmer's glue and ended up with my skin melting under the glue. On both hands. I locked myself in the bathroom with my hands under the faucet in shock. I remember my Mom standing outside the door in an attempt to find out why I was sobbing and repeating to myself that I could peel it off myself. She took me to the Emergency Room where I got myself stuck in the bathroom (both my hands were submerged in a large travel cup filled with ice water). I don't know how long it took for my Mom to find me. I left the ER with my hands bandaged like mittens as the only alternative to letting the skin heal on its own with the glue still attached was to take the melted layer of skin off. We opted for "Tiffany Mitten Hands" instead. Imagine explaining that one in class the next day while you're all screwed up on codeine.
6. I'm going to throw my Dad under the bus on this one. Sorry in advance, Dad! I was studying in my room one night when I dozed off at the foot of my bed. When I woke up I decided to just go to bed and when I went to turn the light off saw a spider the size of my fist crawling across my carpet. I screamed bloody murder and my Dad ran in. Dad screamed bloody murder and my Mom came in and beat the shit out of it. Dad and I are pretty useless around big scary bugs still to this day. I'd rather my skin fall off than have to kill one myself.
7. My little sister is 6 years younger than I am, and by the time I became a "tween" I guess, I stopped playing with her and her friends (who were all boys for the most part). Some of the boys came over and asked if she could come out to the little BMX trail they'd all made. Something felt off and I ended up following them out there to find them pushing her around. Lets just say I lost it on some little boys who knew better and they left her alone after that. 
8. The poor poor Husband fell victim to my inappropriate laughter fits many times in the past. He's not super graceful (then again, neither am I) and when we lived in the loft, I had asked him to see if he could put something under the bed for me. I'm not really sure how he came to the conclusion that he could slide himself under the bed, but he ended up pulling himself headfirst into the bed frame and gouging his head open. I laughed so hard I had to cross my legs. He still won't let it go that I'm completely heartless.
9. Before the Husband and I started dating, I worked for a regional airline that flew short little 1 hour flights. One particular day we did something close to 10 flights in one day. The Captain I was with bought us all drinks once we got back to the hotel. Since there was no bar he picked up a couple of cases and we got ridiculously drunk. Since we had over 24 hours on our layover, we were totally legal to party that night. I remember waking up in the middle of the night in my hotel room and having to pee, unfortunately, I'd forgotten where I was and left my room. In my underwear and a t-shirt. Without my key card. Thank God nobody was in the lobby at 3 in the morning when I had to explain myself to the front desk.
10. (I'm starting to stretch for stories at this point, so you may or may not have heard this one before in a previous post.) My Mom and Sister were both in the labor and delivery room when I was in active labor with Lo. Because I was anti needles in my spine, I opted instead for the narcotics route (later choosing an epidural, because HOLY SHIT, contractions suck, man!) While heavily doped up, apparently my Mom caught me rubbing my belly and got concerned. She asked me what I was doing and I told her I was going to have kittens. "SO MANY KITTENS," to be exact.

So you see, it all comes full circle. I have a cat problem apparently. You're welcome, now let's never talk of these things again, ok?

My Peanut.

My sweet sweet baby face.

Oh, what a wild thing you are. So wild, and untamed and unabashedly gorgeous. You are your Daddy's "Mini Me" but with my little ears and feet. You are this tiny little peanut of a thing, but your personality can't be contained in this house alone. You are a hurricane, both a natural disaster at times and a stubborn force to be reckoned with. Regardless, you are my sweet sweet baby.

You love art, whether it's glitter, paints, stamps, crayons, chalks, you don't care. You just want it out there for all to see. You don't lean towards any one color or medium, every color of the rainbow is useful through your eyes.

You love to dress up and pretend. One minute you're Dr. Lillie and the next you're a bug. Sometimes you're the Princess and other times the dragon. I love every inch of whoever you are at the moment, more so each day.

You love to read and (attempt) to write. Your Christmas and Birthday gifts were all educational for a reason. You swallow up facts whole like you're starving to death. We were lectured yesterday at your 3 year check up for flipping through the informational illustrative books the Doctors keep on hand in the rooms. You were fascinated by the ear and that there is a tiny "drum" inside that receives noise like a hand thumping a real drum. You sat saucer eyed in my lap while we compared Mommy's purse to the illustration of the brain. "Mommy's purse is like your head and skull and Mommy's wallet is like your brain. All of this important information inside the wallet (like your brain) is stored inside the purse (like your head and skull.) When you learn how to walk - I placed an insurance card into the wallet - you store it in your brain to remember later. Everything you learn goes into your brain so that you'll always remember how to speak, run, dance..." And then the Doctor came in and ruined everything. He told Mommy that some of the images were frightening (rashes, which oddly enough, you pointed out and said it was like your rash - you have Mommy's finicky skin) and that I should use caution when exposing you to images such as this. If it hadn't been for the fact that we don't have a real choice who we see in this Pediatrics practice, we wouldn't have had him for our Doctor. Your regular Doctor at this practice would have been elated that you were so interested. He also made a liar out of Mommy. I promise you, Peanut, I never would have told you that you weren't getting shots if I'd known about the finger prick. I wouldn't have allowed you to look so betrayed when they had me "bear hug" you to test your anemia. Of course, we wouldn't HAVE to test if you'd actually eat real food, but that's neither here nor there at this point.

There is a part of Mommy that guiltily wants you to always stay 29 pounds and small enough to fit in my jackets like "Mama's Joey." I don't want you to tell me to stop singing to you or not to dance with you before bed. I don't want you to stop holding my hand as I whisper my love to you each night. Even though I complain at times, I don't want you to ever NOT want to come sleep with me... even though it means kicking Daddy out of bed.

Three is hard. Three is hard for Mommy. This is when you become more "Me do it myself," and throwing tantrums. This is when I have to start counting to ten more often under my breath because you need to do these things on your own, and I can't get angry at you for your attempts at independence. I can only attempt myself, to talk you down after you fail or applaud wildly when you succeed.

Oh, my goober girl. I'm so lucky to be your Mommy. How did I ever get so lucky in my life? Between you and Brother, I couldn't have asked to be so blessed.

She got caught sneaking donut holes from Grandpa's stash and then proceeded to pitch a fit at the dinner table which ended with her spitting her dinner out at me. To time out she went. "Deep breath... 10, 9, 8, 7..."

Vintage Supahmama

January 21st, 2010

A year ago today my family came home as a family of 4 and we were never the same. You know what? I would never go back to the days before her. My heart ached for her, and I never knew it.

January 20th, 2009
8 lb 13 oz
21"

January 20th, 2010
19 lb 6 oz
30"

What can I say? We don't call her Sleeping Beauty for nothing. You don't interrupt the Princess when she's getting her beauty sleep on, you'll pull back nubs if you do.

We got the princess this activity cube (found here at Target.) To be honest? We should have bought this for the boy, like, 2 years ago as it's held his attention pretty much since his sister opened it YESTERDAY. The absolute BEST thing about the zany zoo cube? NOTHING TO PICK UP. Mess free. Mommy likey.

Ok, back to organizing her first year of photos so I can clear them off my computer. Meaning I'm really crying into my coffee and wishing I could squish that fat baby neck all up in my nose just one. more. time.

Vintage Supahmama

December 16th, 2009 (original titled, "But wait, it's only Wednesday!!!")

Mere technicality, people... mere technicality. It's more like a TMI meets 7 quick takes, but there will probably be more than 7 takes and I don't do quick. Nor do I do things on a suggested schedule. Take that, schedule! I'll do my TMI when I want to!

So here goes nothing. This is my TMI thursday post numero uno. On Wednesday. Because that's how I ROLL, ya'll.

• I am SCARED SHITLESS of aliens. For real. Like, the first and only time I willingly sat through "Signs" I thought I was going to throw up when that alien walked past the alley during that Mexican kid's birthday party. It remains my NUMBER ONE scariest movie moment ever. I couldn't go outside to smoke at night to save my life for over a month. So I just didn't smoke at night, unless I ran to my car, drove around the neighborhood (I could easily run over an alien... duh...) and smoke my pretty little blonde brains out. Those were the good old days... when my Mother still paid for my gas and I lived in her house and she pretty much paid for everything. THOSE WERE THE DAYS.
• In 12 hours my husband will be undergoing surgery for some shoulder repair and I will likely be sitting here gnawing my fingernails off because he'll be ONE COUNTY AWAY, 20 MINUTES DRIVE AND WHAT IF THEY SLIP UP AND SEVER HIS ARM??!?!? That scenario is really NOT likely to happen, but seriously? What kind of wife doesn't sit diligently in the waiting room for her husband to be wheeled into recovery all in one piece? This one apparently. But only because he insisted that I oversee that the kids diapers are actually changed when they crap themselves. Maybe it's just more because my kids that get serious diaper rash after .05 seconds of pooping.
• I've woken up three days in a row to a bedroom without kids in it and I have to admit, I wallowed in the baby-free silence. It was WONDERFUL. And then the baby monitors lit up like a man on fire... and I missed my kids... and my ovaries screamed, "MOAR BABBY PLZ!" Fucking ovaries.
• Also? I'm totally having my Mirena removed. Why? BECAUSE THE PAST 8 MONTHS HAVE SUCKED ASS. Ridiculous acne (and I have that awesome cystic acne that causes some serious scarring), NO drive for anything, panic attacks every 2-3 days, insomnia coupled with exhaustion, 40 pound weight gain... FORTY POUNDS. fml. F-M-L. When I called to ask my midwife if any/all of these symptoms could be related to my Mirena she called back and the first thing she asked was when do I want to schedule to have it removed. Seriously? Is this THAT COMMON? Because FORTY POUNDS, PEOPLE. It's funny that I think back over the past year and it was almost like an on/off switch was flipped when I had it placed. Before April I was doing yoga every day and religiously entering in my food intake on livestrong.com's daily plate journal. I was also on top of my fucking game (well, as much as i could be with two kids in diapers.) I had asked some friends on Facebook to contact me if they had the Mirena and all but ONE PERSON contacted me with negative things to say about it. Four out of five Facebook friends AGREE that Mirena blows. One friend is so determined to keep hers in despite the side effects that she's on a sleep aid for the insomnia, adderol for the drive and energy issue, and an anti-depressant to battle the well, depression. Here's my issue with this, I am not about to take 3 extra pills just because my birth control is screwing me up. SPECIFICALLY when I chose this method to ensure my I was covered seeing as I have problems remembering to take my medication and I'm already on medication for generalized anxiety and depression disorders. On that note, anybody got bad things to say about a cervical cap or diaphragm? I'm all ears at this point so long as it doesn't involve hormones of any kind.
• Thinking of quitting smoking with the aid of Green Smoke. All of the reviews appear to be positive reviews more than likely paid for by Green Smoke themself. HOWEVER, I've been following "Ex-hot Girl" and her little vlogs on the subject have given me hope. If I don't blow my Christmas cash, I might quite possibly invest in a starter kit.

The Husband has suggested I finish this NOW so he can read it before bed. I'm pretty sure I could have kept going for an hour or more seeing as I haven't posted anything of real value in quite some time. Enjoy my one reader (i.e. husband)... oh, and Sam might be reading too... if so? HI, SAM!

Um...

It's MESSY MONDAY, you guys!!!

In my defense... we DID have a long week that ended with a Birthday Party on Saturday and a rainy day Sunday which kept us indoors with the cabin fever. Outside of that, I have no excuses. I'm gonna get right onto that whole cleaning thing in about an hour... er... two hours. You know, after I take the girl for her THREE! YEAR! CHECKUP!

Vintage Supahmama

November 19th, 2009 (originally titled, "An Update of Sorts")

Lillie Rae:

1. Has six teeth.
2. Weighs 20 pounds.
3. Just now moved into her 6-9/6-12 month clothes and size 4 shoes.
4. Can say: mama, dada, boppaw (Pappaw/my grandfather), juice, cookie, wow, uh-oh, kee-kee cat... I'm sure there are more as she parrots everything you say.
5. Climbs two steps to go upstairs before realizing you're not carrying her, and the Princess must be carried EVERYWHERE.
6. Stands alone for a few seconds at a time.
7. No longer has a bald spot on the back of her head, but her hair doesn't seem to be getting any longer... which of course annoys me because of this.
8. She says "dickle dickle" which is not nearly as bad as it sounds. She means "tickle tickle" and she reaches out and "jazz hands" at Lo in an attempt to tickle his belly. I don't think she's succeeded yet, but it gets him to play with her for a few seconds at least.
9. Is still nursing with no signs of stopping.
10. Went on spoon strike and has since only eaten half (if that) of what she normally ate from the jarred baby food. That girl is living off of snacks (she loves her some colby jack cheese) and boooooooob.

Logan/Puppy:

1. Came up to the husband with a broken down bulldozer today and said "batteries."
2. Came up to me, the one and only SUPAHMAMA, the other day and said "Mama, mo' nana peas." For those of you who don't understand Logan-ese, that would be "more banana, please."
3. Has started playing dress-up with daddy's work boots/clothing and my grandfather's (boppaw's) garden boots and hat.
4. Still thinks he's a puppy.
5. The doctor's no longer think he had hand/foot/mouth a few months back, we went in with the same damn symptoms (fever, rash, puss filled blisters in his throat and on his tonsils) to be told he has... wait for it... croup. No cough, no congestion, no runny nose. WTF.
6. Guess who was a puppy for Halloween and who's mother TOTALLY didn't get a single picture of him in his costume? You better bet your butt it was Logan Puppy.
7. Guess who found mommy's anti-depression/anxiety meds and managed to get them open fast enough to share with his sister, because "DUDE, MAMA, CAN-NEE!" Guess who also got to see his favorite paramedics shortly thereafter because his mama was a DUMBASS WHO LEFT HER PILLS IN A PLASTIC FREAKING ZIPLOC BAG. Yah, betcha again it was Logan Puppy. Not to worry, no harm done as neither kid had more than 3 a piece since I got to them and gagged them quick enough. They were awfully calm and (drugs are bad kids) stoned for the rest of the day, nap time ROCKED.
8. He has become rather bossy towards his sister and now there are three parents in the house instead of 2. I often hear "NO, CEECEE!!!" (sissy) at least once a day when she's either a.) getting too close to his much needed personal space or b.) threatening his view of his precious "Toy Story."
9. Weighs 34 pounds...
10. ...but is still not tall enough to wear 3t clothing in pants... only in tops. Poor kid, looks like that rogue tall gene didn't hit him.

SUPAHMAMA!!!:

1. Is still a total nutcase.
2. Is about to go on a Slimfast/yogurt/Slimfast/proteinbar/omgREALFOOD diet again.
3. has some serious thinking to do about what the future holds for this family and what she's going to have to do to obtain the future she and the the Husband want.
4. Both is and isn't bitter that the Husband took the initiative to go back to school... the slightly competitive woman in me is pissed, the lazy, "Meh, it'll happen when it happens" woman in me is all, "whatever dude, enjoy the time you've got with the kids while you're not obligated to do anything."
5. Decided to become a consultant for pure romance.
6. Got consumed with this.
7. Actually got SCARY excited when talking about her love for Martha Stewart's crafts and line of crafting supplies.
8. Is hoping Martha's not reading this RIGHT NOW, because dude... I'm still wearing the same pajamas I woke up in YESTERDAY. It's not like I do a lot of anything around here anyways, just ask my Husband. He'll agree.
9. Is the proud owner of two piece of shit Toyotas. THIS IS ME VOWING TO NEVER EVER OWN A TOYOTA AGAIN. THE. END.
10. Got intrigued by nanowrimo last year... enough that I think i'm going to rename it "nanowriye" (year instead of months for those of ya'll who are slow) and get back to work on something I started back in high school... you know, one of those emo-tastic novels from a teenage girl's point of view and Holy Lord, going back and reading it out of my mind seeing as my laptop doesn't have a floppy drive.

The Husband:

1. Um, so yah... I totally got distracted by that picture of mah MAAAAN. That was taken about the time I first met him 7ish, 8ish years ago.
2. The Husband currently has a gimp shoulder and we're trying to get it fixed, because if it's serious I am totally up to my knees in "Oh shit, MAMA needs a job."
3. God. He is HOT.
4. He looks even better in his firefighter garb.
5. It's easier to molest him now that he's all doped up on pain meds and muscle relaxants.
6. Crap. His parents read this. HI MOM!
7. We find out tomorrow(ish) what the verdict is on aforementioned gimp shoulder and I OMG I'll be the only one able to change diapers for SIX WEEKS.
8. HOT.
9. HOT HOT.
10. HOT HOT HOT.

el fin.

Vintage Supahmama

September 29th, 2009

Logan may or may not be referred to as "puppy" from this moment on. It seems that upon his changing from 1 year old to 2, he also transformed into that of the canine persuasion. Meaning, he barks... gets down on all fours and pants... runs around in circles doing anything puppies might do. He is the MASTER of fetch.

10 years ago, had you told me that I'd be the proud parent of a dog-child I would have called you crazy and walked away. Because, seriously? Kids don't do this shit, right? Wrong. They DO. Their little brains are hardwired for this kind of nonsense. You better believe the Husband and I are working this puppy thing to our advantage. For example, Lo would rather you peel his nails off one by one than get his hair washed. If we were filmed bathing this kid we'd be on the evening news, because honestly? THE TORTURE! THE ABUSE! WE DROWN OUR CHILD EVERY OTHER NIGHT!!! Or at least, that's what it sounds like should you happen to be standing outside our bathroom. However... imagine our surprise when out of desperation we threw our hands up in the air and said, "You know what, Logan? we need to wash behind puppy's ears." A miracle spewed forth from the heavens, we were able to POUR WATER OVER HIS HEAD in order to wash AND rinse. Tonight, we had a similar breakthrough.

On a typical night at dinner time, we bust out the music and jam out while we eat. I think it helps to lower the blood pressure when you have a baby and a toddler throwing the meal you slaved over onto the floor or flinging it across the table. Tonight's dinner was vegetarian chili chock full of carrots, tomatoes, cannelini beans, black beans, corn, onions... yum yum and YUM. Not so much for Lo. He pushed everything around on his little tray and attempted to escape from the table. We turned the music off and threatened to leave it off should he not return to his rightful spot. No reaction from Lo. We bitched and moaned over wasting food every night and how he is supposed to SIT at the TABLE with the FAMILY and we're TIRED of him being TWO. TWO TWO TWO! WHHHY? And then... lightbulb. "You know what, Lo? PUPPIES eat carrots." We didn't even have time to think before his little butt was back in his chair shoveling medallions of carroty goodness into his mouth. ((Don't get me started on the cleanliness of his hands... just don't... we're just happy he's eating carrots...)) The trickery worked with the beans as well, but not nearly as well as it worked for the carrots. All I know is I am stuck yelling for "PUPPY! PUPPIES DON'T RUN IN PARKING LOTS! PUPPIES HOLD THEIR MOMMY'S HANDS!!! DAMMIT PUPPY!" in public. Did I mention I call my son PUPPY in PUBLIC. I totally do. You know you're jealous.

I've reached the point that I may have to start changing my tactics when it comes to a few other things I'd been meaning to tackle when it comes to the boy. i.e., potty training... tantrums... sleeping in a big boy bed... btw, the big boy bed? I'm still waiting on THAT project. We get halfway through a pay period and I remember, CRAP... was totally going to build a toddler bed with my own two hands. SPLINTERS! POWER TOOLS! REJOICE! and then I forget again for another two weeks... ah well, eventually... I'll save that project for when I can think about taking the side rail down off his crib overnight without becoming twitchy and causing me to eyeball the mini bottle of Wild Turkey camouflaged in my spice rack.

Vintage Supahmama

September 26th, 2009

Pretty pretty princess... you're less than 4 months away from the big one. THE BIG ONE. Quit growing up so fast on me! Where has the time gone? I have attempted to savor every minute since you've been around, but eight months? The time has sadly zoomed right past us and I miss those days where you slept heavily on my chest and your drool dripped down your chin. Who am i kidding? Your drool STILL drips down your chin because your gums blatantly refuse to produce any more teeth, but your mouth is resistant to believe this to be true.

Right now you are sitting next to me contemplating as to whether or not you should pull up on this half empty laundry basket or pull everything out of it. I can tell this is going to be a very long day already. Do you know how you got to this basket? I'd originally placed you halfway across the room from me, but you found me dangit and CRAWLED over here to me. Mommy is always near something you can get into and you know it. It's like you've got a baby sixth sense or something... Last night, Daddy and I went to bed and you woke up. When I put you back down you wanted nothing to do with being in your bed, which is understandable seeing as you could SEE your Daddy asleep RIGHT THERE. RIGHT THERE, MOM! PUT ME BACK IN YOUR BED!!! I let you fuss for a minute (because I obviously want to traumatize you for life) and when I came back into the room you were standing and waving your arm at the Daddy like you were telling on me. That wasn't the last time I'd find you standing last night. Seriously? stop it already. You're acting your 8 months old or something. Well, there goes all that clean laundry... thanks, Princess.

You "talk," giggle, clap, patty-cake, dance, feed yourself, crawl, pull up, stand, and annoy the snot out of your brother now that you can get to his toys. HIS toys and don't you ever forget it. We've got a secret for him, though, don't we sister? Come December we're going to break his soul by giving YOU a ton of toys and then a month later? On your birthday? We're going to give you MORE toys. But unlike your brother, I have a sneaking suspicion you'll actually share yours. You're really pretty nice like that. You are still under the impression that brother created the cosmos and he can seriously still do NO wrong. Even when he wipes your kisses away at night. Don't tell him we told everyone, but he loves you. He shares his snacks with you even though we have to explain to him that you've only got 2 teeth and aren't "great big" like him. He pushes you around in your walker even though you want him to STOPPPPPP! YOU PASSED DADDY! He dances harder and barks louder when he hears you laughing and paying attention to him. The two of you even chit-chat at dinner and giggle at whatever jokes the two of you can tell each other at this point in your lives. Now if only you could talk him into handing over some trucks to you when he's playing instead of leaving you hanging two feet away from him with the biggest saucers for eyes we ever did see, we just might get things accomplished around here instead of catering to your sassy little princess ways.

Indeed, what a princess you are... if you could be carried on a silk pillow and fed bananas and omgoatmeal you would be in heaven. Asking you to crawl all of two feet can have the same effects of pushing you down. Oh Lord, the NERVE of us. How DARE we make your precious little knees TOUCH THE GROUND. You've got quite the "woe is me" sob under your belt. You poor poor little thing. You scoot yourself back into a sitting position, fold yourself over and just WAIL until you're all the way back on your belly. Melting into a puddle of tears on our lovely indoor/outdoor carpeting. Tears, snot, the ultimate sadness. It really is quite pitiful and to an innocent bystander we probably look like the WORST parents ever for neglecting you and leaving you to cry for a few minutes before we look over at your sad heap of a body on the floor. Gotta teach you while you're young, sorry sweetest girl. Mama doesn't do tantrums.

You're starting to eat us out of house and home now and you're still nursing. STILL. Brother was beginning to look like quite the pirahna at 8 months and it felt like it too. You, on the other hand, not so much. you've started to crawl away with the boob when you're tired, but not tired enough to doze off. Which i've got to tell you isn't too pleasant. I've thought about introducing bottles to you again, but your poor Mama isn't quite sure she wants to give you something she's going to have to take right back in a few months. Your brother had to have his bottles pried out of a white knuckled stronghold at 18 months and I really don't want to have to go through THAT again. As much as I long for my freedom at night, I know that the minute you stop nursing I will cry myself to sleep at night and whine to eeeeveryone with ears that I miss my baaaaaaaby and where did my baby go? Why WHY? My babies are ALL GROWN UP!!??! BOOOOOOHOOOO. And THAT is exactly how you came to be. mommy stopped nursing stinky, Mommy cried about wanting a baby to snuggle close to her chest, Mommy got pregnant with you. Pretty much JUST LIKE THAT. Thank goodness for you, it is pretty much physically impossible for mama to get pregnant for... counting fingers... 4 1/4 more years. So, you're welcome. Unless there's some freak accident you'll be my youngest and sweetest baby for a few more years.

Well, this post COULD have been longer, but you've somehow managed to get yourself stuck under your walker and the cat is sending out distress signals on your behalf. I love you, sweet girl. Please let me cherish these next few months as much as possible even though we both know they are going to soar right past us.

Love,

Your mama

Lillie Rae of Sunshine

 Georgia Aquarium Fieldtrip, it was her first time going since they added the dolphin show. Dolphins are her FAVORITE.

 Early Birthday gift from "Gamma." This is Lillie Rae's newest baby, "Sparkly" the dolphin. She got to pick her out after the dolphin show, which in her opinion, needed more dolphins. I kind of agree with her. More on that another time.

 With growing a year older, comes tantrums of epic 3 year old proportions. This is from tantrum 2 of probably 47ish tantrums. It ended with her getting a bath after dinner and going directly to bed.

 Another "Tangled" poster? SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

 Sweet girl is super big into board games right now. You'll also see good old, "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" behind it. It's one of her favorite books (and you can find the video on Youtube of the author reading it aloud -- you'd never know that's also one of her favorite videos.) She's been singing/reading it to me all morning.

Brother gave her a big Birthday/Thank You hug after he opened his "Big Brother" gift of various little Lego guys. Lo loves Lego.

I can't believe my sweet baby is 3 years old. It's seriously a bittersweet day. One minute she's this little sleeping beauty and here she is this BIG girl, yearning to do all these BIG girl things and I'd much rather curl her up in my arms and snuggle and nap and kiss on her sweet baby cheeks while they still have that babyness to them.

Tomorrow we will have friends and family over to celebrate, and I'm pretty sure I have a thousand things to do. But for now, while she's not throwing yet another tantrum, I'm going to squish up on the couch with her and watch "Tangled" for the 50 bajillionth time.

Vintage Supahmama

August 31st, 2009

Mama has meant to write this for two months, I swear. You're two now. TWO. Two whole years and I'm already choking up before I can finish this sentence. The first year felt like forever and the second? Well, it flew by so fast I can't even remember how you could possibly become this little crazy man in such a short time frame. I mean, I KNOW that the year drug on for say, a good six months out of the twelve because Holy Lord, mama was PREGNANT. Thank the Heavens above child, that you are a boy, because you will never have the joy of knowing just how slow time can drag unless you're baking a baby in your belly. Unfortunately for you, however, because the Mama was pregnant, my memory isn't so great of this past year. Even worse, we lost your Gigi halfway through it all. Mama is still trying to work her way through that one.

I do know this, that I love you from your sticky sweaty head down to your stinky cheese toes... even the dirt in your armpits and elbow creases get a little love out of this poor poor Mama. You've blossomed into this BOY who doesn't know how to get the words out, but knows every note to "I'm a little teapot," "A-B-C's," and can "YEEEEE-HAW" right on cue with Woody from "Toy Story." You are a nightmare to take out in public, but a sight for sore eyes when any old lady at the grocery store strikes up a "conversation" with you... Your imagination is larger than Mama and the Daddy can even comprehend. It's larger than all the galaxies combined and you are the ONLY child I've ever met who has mastered transforming into a puppy before the age of 3. What a wonder and joy you are. You mastered fetch faster than any dog I've ever owned, and for that I give you "knucks."

And then came sister. At first you were unsure about this traitorous fleshy mini-human we brought into YOUR house. You never hurt her or us over this new addition, but you mastered the art of ignoring her AND your parents pretty quickly thereafter. At least you started early enough that we wouldn't be too phased by it come time for you to hit your teen years. Now that she's become much more personable and you can interact with her more. The two of you seem to have gone from merely coexisting to quite the team in a sense. You LOVE her and she loves you five thousand times more than you think she does. You hung the moon and the stars in her mind. You also hung the ceiling fan, the sun, clouds, hanging plants... you name it. She starves for your attention, and oh my gosh, when you grant her 5 seconds of your time she gobbles it up like Mommy on cake. You can see the excitement oozing out of all her little pores when you come within grabbing distance of her. You've recently started becoming more annoyed with her when you want to play alone and she is nearby just as you did when we brought a friend's baby in during the day. You whine and bat her hand away when she goes to pull on your shirt or *gasp* runs her fingers through your hair. But, again, you tolerate her in a way that only makes her even happier that you exist in her presence at all.

We've had some run ins with attitude, but dude... you're TWO. I expected as much if not more. Sometimes when I get exasperated with you I remember friends or even strangers commenting on how well behaved you are outside of the house and either they're a bunch of big fat liars, they're being sarcastic, or perhaps they're telling the truth and I have nothing else to compare you to. I do know that the time-out chair is a freaking joke to you and that fulfilling my desire to duck tape you to it would NOT help at all but only make things worse. taking toys away doesn't work because again, YOU'RE TWO and rotten due to the fact that you have a ton of family who thinks you're the best thing EVER. So having toys taken away as punishment? No biggie... there are more where those came from. It seems as of now for me at least, that sitting you in the middle of your fairly empty bedroom (we are the least fun parents, EVER) and making you sit there for a full two minutes at least distracts you long enough to keep you from going right back to the punishable act and THAT is the greatest part about two. Toddler induced A.D.D. it's freaking sweet. except for when I need you to get into the car and my arms are full of sister and all of the things that go along with having two in diapers.

SPEAKING of diapers. Could you please get over this whole "I'm totally cool with sitting in about 10 pounds of my own shit" attitude? Your parents are totally not down with this. SERIOUSLY. You were obviously excited to have "GAY-HO!!!!!!" (ahem, Diego) on the front of your pull-ups, but when the baby jaguar on your ass started to look as if he was bleeding chocolate... THAT was the last straw. You let us know when you're ready, dude... so long as that's BEFORE preschool and next years laughable attempt at getting you into peewee soccer and t-ball. The laughter you hear on this side was me convincing others I could have you trained in 3 days. Oh, OH... the irony, THAT'S SO FUNNY. Here I turn my nose up at other mom's and even non-mom's giving "ass"vice to mother's about to go through a "really fun time" a "turningpoint in childhood" and I'm doling it out myself about POTTY TRAINING. Could somebody send me some copies of, "Everyone Poops," "Once Upon a Potty..." and pretty much any other media involving feces, toilets, and toddlers that are on the market right now? Because you, my stinky STINKY boy have a real soft spot (no pun intended) for anything edible with the fiber content of an entire bucket of Metamucil. Thanks for that. What mom in her right mind tells her child, "NO! Mortimer Quincy the Third! You put that prune down and have a big bowl of sugar coated crack sacks." A bad one... THAT'S who. What can I say... the child is QUITE the fan of raisins, prunes, pears, grapes, granola bars, multi-grain ANYTHING... I might have screwed up a bit these past 2 years by attempting to counteract the insane constipation my stinky had the first six months of his life. Awesome. Anyways, I was writing this for my baby... so back to the subject at hand.

My stinky boy, you are quite the lover when you want to be (and when you're not doing the "Night at the Roxbury" dance and being a puppy.) I catch you lounging (aka cuddling) with Daddy all the time... traitor. I only carried you INSIDE MY BODY for two weeks too long on top of the 9 months you were baking in my belly. You used me as a host body and then just left me for dead. Thanks. I appreciate that. Aside from THAT, it does make my heart melt a little to see you hug and kiss on sister... and ok, it makes my heart melt a LOT to see you love other people, because THAT totally makes my job worth it. To know that i brought this tiny little human into the world two years ago (seriously, TWO???) who loves others unconditionally as he loves his Mama and Daddy is probably the biggest gold star on the Mama's accomplishment chart she'll ever get. I want to nurture that big heart of yours, baby boy... I want to see you be compassionate for years to come... to see you love even those who others wouldn't think deserved it... to be kind and still keep that humor because everyone deserves to smile and your smiles make the stars fall from the sky... or at least that's what THIS Mama thinks. I love you my booger butt...

your mama mama.

My very first apartment.

From the time I first started making cash money through jobs, babysitting, chores, etc. I started purchasing items towards my first apartment. It was all I could do to bide the time till I was out of my Mother's house and in my own place. I lived for independence. There was one place in particular I wanted to live and I would settle for nothing less. I wanted to live in the renovated cotton mill a few towns over that they had turned into lofts.

After High School, I moved in with some friends while in limbo between living arrangements. It was two houses down from my Mother's house. Convenient, no? I was only there for a few months and I headed south for Florida to be with my best friend at the time. Naples was beautiful. Pricey, but beautiful. I still hadn't found a place to call my own though, and the lofts still called my name. When I literally fell into my airline career, I knew then that I would finally be on my own! I could get my loft! And then they stationed me in Chicago. To save money, I lived in the baggage area under the airport. Seriously. After 2 brutal months reeking of deicing solution and plane exhaust, I was confronted by my Inflight Manger who told me I finally had the seniority to be stationed in Atlanta. I took the first flight home, threw my friend in the car and went to secure my place in the Newnan Lofts. Nobody told me it was haunted until after the fact.

I lived minimally. Making my own meals! From scratch! Just for myself and nobody else but me! I had people over! I EVEN HAD PARTIES! HOSTED! IN MY OWN APARTMENT! It was a bliss nobody could have prepared me for. Sure at night you could hear children running up and down the hallway slamming doors. Sure there were times my dog would bark at absolutely nothing. Sure sometimes my milk would be on the counter when I came home from a 3 day trip. I thought nothing of the blasts of cold air coming from my speakers or the fact that my t.v. would turn itself back on minutes after turning it off. They were all just added bonuses of living in a 100 year old cotton mill.

 What you don't see is the loading dock I would back my car up to, unload 2 weeks worth of groceries and dog food, park the car and then slide every last grocery bag up each arm and power through those damn stairs. I do not miss those stairs even though my legs were probably the most toned they'd ever been in my life during that period.

Many cases of Natural Light Natty Light were enjoyed poolside. This pool will probably also be the first place I think of if I ever get diagnosed with skin cancer.

 

Despite the ghosts, the time I spent there was the best time of my life. I started dating my (now) Husband while I was there, so the romance that budded there still intoxicates me and swims through my veins whenever I think of apartment C204. The short walk to downtown during Spring and Summer still warms my skin and makes me think of the bookshops with their "Free" tables out front. The smells of hot metal after the train would pass through town still scorches my nose. I miss the lofts. I miss the nostalgia of freedom and days open to doing whatever I pleased. It was my first place and of course it will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Vintage Supahmama

August 10th, 2009

She sits on the bed, heavy, filling the room with her scent. The smell is almost too much. Dust, mold, cobwebs, the must of a room that's been unused for so long. I can't see her, but I can feel her presence. Her panic weighs down on me as I go through bag upon bag bearing warnings for my grandfather with labels scrawled half crazed not to touch, not to toss. Bag upon bag of pages ripped out of magazines covered in images of puppies on porcelain plates, ceramic angels with hymns painted across their wings, envelopes with telephone numbers to televangelists and estranged family members, pictures ripped off of "have you seen me" fliers in hopes that she can reunite a missing child with their parents, coupons meant for me that she saved 10 years ago and lost in the mess... well meant gifts for her grandchildren, household items still in their packaging waiting to be placed in hope chests for her granddaughters... baby clothes for grandchildren and great-grandchildren she'd never had the joy of snuggling close and tickling under their chins. More and more bags... bags of mending, bags of soiled clothes, bags of crayons broken in twos and threes, bags of homework she'd kept from her children and her grandchildren she'd housed and raised. Then there are the boxes... Bibles that needed repair, shoes without mates, pans missing handles, Tupperware with holes burnt into the sides and discolored from over microwaving. enough blankets scattered across the room to keep an entire shelter warm. Dispersed throughout are toys and small trinkets, memories of the childhoods of my Uncles and Mother. Christmas gifts she'd intended to give the year she passed. Potting soil littering the carpet and windowsills from seedlings jostled off their ledge and out of their planters.

The emotional tidalwave that comes with the responsibility can be overwhelming. I can understand why I'm not getting any help. I can't understand why they're not speaking up, why I don't hear even one excuse as to why they're not here by my side FACING her. She is there with me as I choke on the dust and as I wipe the cobwebs from my arms. She is there as I wipe the sweat from my brow. We don't have to speak to one another to know the other is there. I don't have to explain my actions to her as she's already listening to my actions. She doesn't want me in that room just as much as I don't want to be in there.

As much as she hates it, I have to do this. Not out of loyalty or responsibility to her children, not even to save my Grandfather the trouble, but more for me to be able to understand her. To try and decode all the scraps of unintelligible writing written at 3 in the morning on the edges of old newspaper after having dreams of Jesus walking through mountains. To try and make sense of the neglect she showed her body and her house. Although I was the oldest of her eight grandchildren, I had the least time and patience because I had seen her during her moments of clarity... I KNEW her and didn't like seeing how she could just throw her health and sanity out the door because one day Jesus would heal her. I feel guilty knowing that my cousins and Sister didn't know the woman I once knew. Ashamed that I couldn't let her speak to me a little longer because I was done having that conversation with her, the one where I was living in sin or the other one where she couldn't agree with how I chose to worship God or worse yet, how I could even consider walking the path of Buddhism and still claim to have accepted Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior. I remember the hurt in her eyes when I laughed at her after she realized I still wore my "om" necklace after years earlier my Mother whispered to her that she was sure it was just a phase and not to get too worked up over it. I'm sure she was delighted to find hand carved statues of buddha himself whenever she came down to sneak up on us. I always knew when she'd come down while we were out of the house because every last one of them would be turned facing the wall.

While I have many moments where all I can do is just stop my progress and walk away to clear my mind of all the many emotions that become cluttered, this is my last chance to find her amidst the mess. The last chance I have to feel her eyes shine on me when I DO find something of familial value. Photos of her that I'd never seen before when she was 20 and life still had so much in store for her, music box "radios" that perhaps my mother might have twisted and turned the knobs of much as my own Son does now, dolls lovingly sewn back together after years of affectionate snuggling and abuse, and a treasure trove of cards, letters and "baby's first..." booklets. That's when it all becomes worth it. That's when all the madness and cacophony of misunderstood ramblings all come together and it all just makes since for the first time in my life.