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"They always say time changes things,
but you actually have to change them yourself."
~Andy Warhol

It must feel like the end. You've had her under your roof for years, sharing her daily drama, shielding her from societies monsters, inspiring her with thoughts that feel safe - like yours. And now, it’s her turn. To travel into her adulthood. To separate from her sheltered surroundings. To safely make mistakes away from watchful, caring eyes. To quietly fall and boastfully rise.

You may feel she is slipping way, but she is only growing closer to becoming the companion you always hoped she could be… It is not the end. It is the beginning of a fabulous friendship.

Congratulations Marli Grace. Good luck at Illinois Wesleyan.
Congratulations Elle J. Good Luck at U of I.

my love

this is my husband.
i am not going tell you if this was halloween
or just another saturday night...
but i will tell you that i think he looks hot.
he lets me put on his make-up, but he is picky about it.
the boa is from my personal collection
and on most occasions he brings his fog machine with him.

he likes heavy metal from the eighties.
he has a passion for video games and matchbox cars.
he loves everyday that our son is one day older...
one day closer to understanding the excitement
of a train show at the county fair ground
or the significance of the fishing in the Wisconsin river
with his grandfather.

he pisses me off when he leaves
the trash on our screen porch,
or when i play him a song i like
and he doesn't listen to the words.

sometimes i go to bed at night and i wonder
if we really know each other, if our souls are really in tune...
he doesn't know what is on my iPod
he rarely reads this blog and
he can not relate to the demons that keep me up all night

but he believes in forever
and with the great ease
and constant humor
he takes care of my heart.

waiting on a friend

dear accidental acquaintance
as mondays plans turn into tuesdays
and tuesday turns into next thursday
do not lose hope

ours are two souls
meant to be sisters

ours are two lives
full of the expectations of others
and our twenty four hour day
does not accommodate our caretaking

however, i believe there are oceans we will share
i believe we have more secrets to store
in the belly of our blossoming friendship

see you on thursday.

pray

i am up past midnight.
and my heart is full of prayer.
not the grateful type.
the pleading type...
my stomach is in knots.
i am just not sure how to ask,
i am just not sure you can fill this order.

i pray for the saleman
stirring in his bed,
knowing tomorrow he will
disappoint his client.

i pray for the seventeen-year-old
instantly addicted to meth.
once attending a casual party
now strange and scared and alone.

i pray for the young mother
wondering if she's got it right.
hoping her child will be unique,
but also the same as everyone else.

i pray for the mother who lost
her eldest daughter almost a year ago.
the anniversary she tried to avoid,
the day that will haunt her always.

i pray for my sister
watching her best friend die.
will there be enough moments
in the next several days?

i just keep asking
i just keep hoping
i just keep praying
that everything will be ok...

rockity roll

The above photo is from the website of Mike Doughty. I had the pleasure of seeing him perform live this past weekend at the Black Orchid in Chicago. He is quickly becoming one of my favorites. It was not until after the show that I found his fun and witty blog.

His music is delightful, fresh, alive and fun. He real and grateful. He said "thank-you" to the audience after each of his songs. And he is absolutely hysterical. I was so entertained. I wish I could sit down and giggle with him all even. He has brilliant sense of humor. His performance was refreshing...

This bitter drink
Has made you drunk
The thoughts you think
Become unthunk
The sea’s ablaze
The sky is too
The water’s red
And the flames are blue
~BUSTiNG UP A STARBUCKS

Thank you Bob and Dana for the introduction.

hey lady

A client of mine is leaving his job and had his replacement call me so I could continue the marketing and design I have been doing for his small cooking school. His replacement left a message on my voice mail referring to me as the "design lady." I hate being called "lady." So I decided not to call him back for 24 hours even though he left three messages.

I hate the word "lady" (unless it is the name of your dog.) I don't mind woman or girl or chick or chickie or even broad - when used in a "hey - she's a tough broad" kind of way... but don't call me lady.

When I traveled for business I assisted in setting up our booth at tradeshows. Each time, while assembling the mechanical nightmare with another female collegue, at least five "guys" would stop and ask "Do you ladies need any help?" No, we did not. In fact, we built that thing up so fast, we were in and out of each exhibit hall before the "dudes" - enjoying a cocktail or a manicure before official show hours.

My brother-in-law said I am overreacting... But you tell me? Are any of you offended my the same title? What is it about the term "lady" that feels so disrespectful and demeaning?

in time

"Do you have any questions or concerns to discuss with the doctor?"

I think for a moment. Zack is fumbling around in the diaper bag. He is down to his diaper, awaiting his 15 month well baby check-up.

"No, no... I don't think I do..."

This is refreshing as I look down at my baby, now a toddler, and I realize "I may be figuring this motherhood thing out." Each appointment before today, I came equipped with a notebook of questions... Am I breast feeding enough? Can I give him formula sometimes? When do I switch to whole milk? Can he have chocolate or strawberries or waffles sweetened with honey? Should he sleep on his back or front? When should he be sitting by himself? When will he walk? How long should he nap? When will he pick up his cup or throw a ball?

At first I feel ill prepared that I do not have a concern at the tip of my tongue. And then a confident calm comes over me. At this moment, I do not have any questions...

Yes, he sucks his left thumb until it is calloused and bruised, but I know the doctor will only tell me time will heal it. He occasionally gets a flaming diaper rash, but I know the doctor will tell me to keep him dry, apply the magic Desitin when necessary and eventually it will heal. And sometimes he has a tantrum for no reason or can't sleep after midnight or refuses to eat his dinner - the same meal he devoured two nights ago. But I know the doctor will just tell me all of this is a stage and time will heal it...

So the nurse simply smiles and I frantically search my mind once more for an unanswered question. I watch Zack drive his Tonka truck back and forth on the tissue paper covering the exam table and I am sure, at this moment, I have no questions...

but in time I will think of one...

invite

it's 5:30 in the afternoon
and we are alone...
zack is at meme's for the night
tadd is downtown for dinner.

no one to cook for...
no phone calls to return...
nothing...

it feels strange and foreign
and i am a little uncomfortable at first
i contemplate attacking
some large neglected task
reorganize the pantry?
rearrange our closets?
clean off my desktop?

still nothing...
not a sound or a deadline or an email...

nothing but a big old couch
with a tattered comforter
and your big eyes
attempting to appeal to my
snuggly side...

thank you for the invite.
what a glorious nap
with you burrowed behind my knees
and a perfectly still house.

chop

a hair stylist i am not. about four years ago i decided to go blonde. rather than turn my head over to a professional at the proper venue i took matters into my own hands. "its not rocket science" i told myself...

the fumes got the best of me and 25 minutes later my recently brunet hair was cast in a smoldering orange. i was now kinda-blonde, if the lighting was right... but in natural light my head looked like shredded carrots...

so don't ask me why i thought i could somehow conquer the cluster of curls attacking my fifteen months olds cranium. my intent was to trim his bangs. a little off the front. half an inch - max, just so the spaghetti sauce wouldn't double as hair paste during our next meal. he was referred to as a girl twice this week...

i don't fully recall what happened. my motions blur together... a snip, a cut, he winced and moved and ooops... i wasn't going to to touch the sides and why does it look like i used a bowl... how do you manage this mane?

so, his aunt gretchen says he looks like Llyod from Dumb and Dumber. his grandmother is just grateful he's not in school yet. and the twenty bucks i thought I'd save by cutting his hair myself I ended up spending at the GAP on an overpriced ball cap before his father came home. well, it may not be rocket science, but it certainly takes a trained professional to handle hair.