The Good Parts

I've never been particularly great at being happy.

I'm the girl with abandonment issues. I'm the girl who is always waiting for it to all fall apart.

One thing I've tried hard to get better at though, is recognizing when something good just happened, and letting myself play it over and over in my head, as many times as I want.

See, when you come from shit, when you experience trauma on a regular basis, you learn to play that shit over and over in your head. 

It's easier to believe than the good things.

It's easier to recognize. 

It's unfortunately, a hell of a lot more reliable in your experience.

So I never knew how to notice a good moment when it was happening, but lately I've been trying to lock that shit down.

When you order soup at Wildflower and they put it in a bread bowl without charging you the extra $1.99, so you don't have to dig a little soup moat into the roll they give you.

When you live in Arizona and it's a perfect 75 and breezy, during a month that's usually 98 and hell.

When your favorite rap song comes on the radio while someone who has yet to experience your dope rap skills is in the car with you, and you nail that shit and obviously impress the shit out of them.

When you ask the person you love what they're thinking, and they pull you in a little closer and say that they love you. That they love you a lot. That they'll love you forever and ever.

And then some.

That's the shit I've been trying to teach myself to savor.

To replay.

To memorize.

And it's so goddamn sweet, I wish I could bottle it.

I wish I could record it and play it in the car.

I wish I could box it up, and live inside it whenever I want to.

It's nice, to know all the words to a good moment, and let yourself rely on there being more of them.

Letters to Jackson

Dear Jackson,

Sometimes I forget how young you are. Maybe because you're so big, or because you're so smart, or because you keep up so well most of the time with your big sister, I forget that you are just four years old. That you practically just came into my life.

I forget sometimes, and remembering always makes my heart ache.

Today when your little pillowy hand reached for mine as I walked into daycare, last night when you said "Mama, I need help", this morning when you were just waking up and your hair was sticking up in every direction and you wanted to stay in bed all day looking at your bunny book.

I remember.

And my heart hurts because I wonder if I've been too hard on you. Expecting you to behave like a child who is the age I sometimes mistake you for. My chest bursts because you still have the features of a baby. Your full cheeks and button nose, your tiny little tear-drop chin. And my heart falls because you won't be this little forever, and even though I'm right here, always watching you, I feel like I'm still missing it. I feel like the sweetness of this age is too much for me to soak in completely no matter how much I want to, and no matter what, it will be something I don't fully appreciate until it's over, and I am watching you move boxes into your first apartment, or bringing your first serious girlfriend to dinner, or reading the bunny book to your first baby.

I don't want you to be little forever, I won't go that far.

There is a lot that's wonderful about growing up.

So many firsts.

So many special friendships along the way that teach you everything.

First loves that become your most poignant memories as you age.

I just wish that I could stop time, here and there, and press those moments between the pages of a book so I can come back and live them again later.

Later, when you're growing up and growing away.

When you still let me call you my little boy, but we both know, you've become a man.



Cleaning Up Your Life {and by 'yours' I mean mine, but saying You instead of Me makes me feel less threatened. I'm a weak person}

I wanted to call this post "Getting My Shit Together" but thought better of it since I already cuss enough on this blog.

Sorry to all the decent people who may stumble upon this and want to wash my mouth out with soap.

P.S. : Already tried that. Shit didn't work.

Anyway, back to the point: cleaning up my life.

It's an ongoing project, at least for me. {but please say it is for you too so I dont feel like a total loser!}

Getting my finances back in order after the whirlwind that was "18", extricating myself from all negative and poisonous people, trying to find good people to be friends with {not perfect, just good} and trying to be a good person/friend for other people.

I would include being a better mom in this all, but really, no matter how much of a saint I someday may become {HA} motherhood will always be a work in progress for me. Kids are hard.

So on the topic of finances, saving money is something I'm kind of obsessed with. Or more curious about in a lurker way. Like people who save money each paycheck are this exclusive club that I'm eye balling from across the room, trying to decode all their mystical secrets. 

The idea of saving money makes so much sense to me.

It's safe, it's responsible, it means never being backed into a corner. It means never being without options, or a back up plan, or a way to flee the country...wait, what?

Nevermind.

The point to all of this is I like the idea, and in theory I have it down, but in practice I suck at it.

I put money away, and always end up needing to dip into it for some unexpected expense, or because I didn't budget correctly or because I overspent on something I didn't plan on, or whatever. OR I use my debit card for every freaking purchase and the next thing I know, I'm broke.

I don't seem to have any connection to my money if I can't see it.

My idea?

This:

I saw this on Pinterest the other day and was all "OK! Sounds neat!"

The idea is, you pay for things with cash as much as possible. You pull money out when you get paid for things like groceries, spending money, gas, or any other expenses you can't pay for online anyway.

You pay for stuff in cash, and whenever you meet a five dollar bill, you put it away. In a jar, in an envelope, wherever. If you're Bill, you throw it on the bathroom counter until your bathroom looks like you had a stripper party and made it in rain up in there.

The point is, you never spend a five dollar bill in your possession. You save 'em up, and over time they should add up rather quickly. 

If you're also putting 10% of your paychecks into savings too, like you should be, {#I'mahypocrite} then your savings will grow even faster. 

Sounds awesome right?!

A hawaiian vacation in a damn mason jar on your kitchen counter, right?!

And totally easy to pull of, RIGHT?!

We'll see.

I'm going to try, for the rest of the month, to pay exclusively in cash for things I can't pay for online {I am not driving to the cable office to pay my bill, so shut up}

and every 5 dollar bill that I come across, I am going to genuinely try to save.

I am not making any promises here, but seeing as how there are only 2 weeks left in this month, you'd think I'd be able to stick to a plan at least that long.

Wish me luck. 

In two weeks, I will post and let you know how I did and how much I saved.

And if I cried when I put a five dollar bill in a jar instead of a Starbucks barristas hand whilst saying "Vente iced no whip white mocha please"

I know. I'm ashamed of me too.

What It Was Like

Somebody asked me today what it was like growing up with someone who was bi-polar.

To my own astonishment, I stood there with my mouth flapping silently like a half drunk seal, completely unable to put anything into words.

What was it like?

It was like living on the edge of a canyon, where the bottom is full of wolves, and sneaking out at night to listen to them howling just so many feet below you, their hollow instinctual keening rising up like a tidal wave above the rock walls, so deep and sharp that you can feel it in your belly.

And there's nothing you can do about the sound, or the location of your house, or the fact that wolves need to howl and you can't sleep through the sound, so you just sit, night after night on the rim of that canyon and listen.

And watch.

And sometimes you howl too just because maybe they'll stop if they think they're not alone.

It's like living in a world where pain and beauty and loss exist all at the same time, and all of  the time. It's the sound of Mozart in the morning, and not being able to paint to anything but Berlioz or Bob Dylan.

It's song lyrics painted on the wall, and waking up to pasta for breakfast and candy bars hidden between the pages of your school books.

It's not having friends over for months at a time, and learning how to drive when you're 14.

It's motorcycles, and charcoal drawings and smoking on the back patio at 4 a.m.

It's knowing what the morning smells like when you didn't sleep last night, and explaining to people why your dad is always sleeping on the couch at 4 p.m.

And the weird part is, you hate all of it, and you can't live without any of it.

And when you finally grow up and move away you find yourself doing odd things.

Like making messes in the kitchen so you can pretend they're someone else's when you clean them up, or playing Berlioz even though you always hated that music, or leaving the T.V. on in the other room while you sleep, because you realize you've never slept in a silent house.

You miss the way 80 miles an hour feels on the back of a Harley when you should be at school, and what a good burrito tastes like when your dad brings you one home unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

You realize that growing up with someone like that is like carrying a bouquet of broken glass and roses, like loving someone who's imprisoned in another country, like a song you can't stop humming.

It's beautiful and it's painful, and it's a color that there isn't a name for.

It's what a child who's been deaf since he was born calls his mother.

It's your own word for love.

Then and Now

Then: I was 18, reckless, wild, foul mouthed, and thought life would always be the way it was then. 

Now: I am 24 and 1/2, mother of two, foul mouthed, and continuously surprised by how life can change in such a short period of time. 

Then on a Saturday night: I would get drunk, smoke too many cigarettes and hang out with dangerous people who made me feel exciting. Who satisfied my need for attention, adventure, and the belief that we never had to grow up. 

Now on a Saturday night: I hang out with my boyfriend after spending a whole day playing with my kids and cleaning my house. He makes me feel exciting, but safe and loved, and we fall asleep tangled up in each other's arms, after a long night of laughs, dinner, a couple drinks and some time on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of iced circus cookies.

Then I lived: in a one bedroom apartment with three rooms total and a balcony where I spent most of my time partying.

Now I live: in the 'burbs, in a big house with high ceilings and a washer and dryer that I own. I take the trash out to the curb on Sunday night and drive a minivan.

Then I drank: Vodka. A lot and often.

Now I drink: Rum or Patron. Seldom and in much more moderation.

Then I was working: at American Express, coming into work at 12:30 in the afternoon in jeans and a concert tshirt, waiting for the day to end and my night to begin. 

Now for work: I get up at 6 in the morning, shower, do my hair and makeup, dress up in corporate clothes and sky high heels, and think about all the things I have to do that day. I start my day at work by checking emails and sipping a cup of scalding hot coffee.

Then I dated: selfish boys, who were handsome and dark, with narrow waists and loose hipped walks who would lie to me, buy me booze and tell me fairy tales about a future that was never to be.

Now I date: an unbelievably gorgeous MAN who kisses me hello, and tucks me in at night, and is always there for me, no matter what tries to come between us. 

Then I thought: that I would be 18 forever. That I would always maintain a wrinkle free face, the same metabolism and an invincible attitude. 

Now I think: that if I could succeed in loving one man for the rest of my life with all my heart, and raise two kids to be giving, loving, adventurous people, I will have succeeded in a way that so many people have wished to, but did not. And my life will have been lead with purpose. I will have lived a life uncommon, a life worth living. 

Almost

My dearest Tiny,

It is a hot day in late May as you and your brother play upstairs, laughing and screeching and pretending you're pirates. I can't help but think to myself how right now, in this moment in time, you are almost a lot of things.

You are almost done with the first grade, and you did an awesome job this year! Being accepted into advanced classes and getting straight A's all year. A little trouble with talking to your friends during class, but hey, that's genetic. Sorry kid.

You are almost 8 years old. Your birthdays seem to come faster every year, and I love watching you grow. But 8 seems so old. Maybe it's because I don't remember feeling like a kid anymore after my 8th birthday, and I am just projecting on you, but maybe it's because I can't believe we've been mother and daughter for 8 freaking years. That is so much time, but I feel like it went too fast! Can we go back to some of the really good parts, and hang out there for a while? Suspended in time, on that afternoon when you were 2, where we played dress up in your room for hours and you fell asleep on my lap. That'd be awesome.

You are almost too old for a lot of things. I don't get bathtime with you anymore. You hardly ever want me to read the story at bedtime, because you want to read it yourself. I don't get to pick out your clothes. I don't get to hear all your thoughts. You don't take naps with me. And you don't want me to kiss you in front of your friends. You're becoming too cool for me. Already.

You got a phone call from a school mate last night, and as you two sat gabbing on the phone for a half hour, I sat there thinking "What the hell are they talking about?!" You are already in that phase of girlness where you have your own language with your pals, and I am becoming too old to understand it anymore. You have inside jokes. Jesus Christ, inside jokes. You're only seven! You're so pretty and girly and popular and so totally everything I was NOT when I was a kid....and a teenager, and it just blows my mind.

You are almost growing up right before my eyes, and in a whirlwind, a haze, a blur of time. I hope you're never almost gone. I hope you're never totally too cool for me and I hope you never, ever, even almost forget how very much I love you. And how proud you make me, every single day of your life.