“For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth; And the former shall not be remembered or come to mind." Isaiah 65:17
Laser Focus. That is what is missing from my repertoire. Determined Jedi-like Laser Focus.
My brain matter consists of fried, mushy baby batter where the circuits cease to fire but glaze over at first sound of a whimper.
I'm a one trick pony in conversation and a walking National Geographic documentary as I spend most days with my breasts hanging out ready to be ravaged by the ravenous creature who now controls my every thought, word, and deed.
I relish him when he's awake, ogle him as he sleeps, and spend my down time pouring over pictures of his short past. I'm enthralled. And lost simultaneously. I recognize this common contradiction.
My rare outings consist of La Leche League meetings where other women not wearing bonnets and long skirts (much to some surprise) offer mother's milk on demand and ask questions like, "Why is he doing this?" And, "When will she stop?" It's amusing and numbing in the same breath. And impossible to not let the ghosts of past and present mothers serve as my guiding light of pure amazement.
I will not apologize to the non-parents or read articles about what I shouldn't say not to offend them. I was one of them. And now know the difference. The difference is the clock ticked for me before. And my days unfolded as such. Most pursuits were for pleasurable and material gain. Yet with a wave of his tiny hand, the timekeeper and energy spender has dictated a new world. One in which I find myself uncomfortable, resentful, delightfully affirmed, and hopelessly in love as the calendar pages tear off at rapid pace and I experience a life lived for someone else.
Don't pity my priorities. Or say I've fallen in with the masses.
I just might purchase a plastic toy, adopt primary colors as my new favorite pallet, or talk in a higher octave with a shit eating grin smeared across my face as I stare at this miraculous human occupying my time pie chart.
It's okay. It's my life. And bringing a new life into this world will change a person. Trust me, I know.
Now did I say I had no focus?
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
The Under Sail Urge
"Those who work their land will have abundant food, but those who chase fantasies have no sense." Proverbs 12:11
Definition of Isolation.
Is it a baby that sucks vigorously and bangs on my breast like a tom tom drum every two hours? ( I round down) While being the victim of a one car family trapped behind a locked door, scared to crack a window for the coastal humidity will suck me and my drained body into a puddle of salty water. So I sit at port...with a 16 pounder attached to my soft body, rebuke daytime television, and take advantage of the rare quiet time to sift through rising air condition bills and soiled diaper covers.
What?
We've moved again. Yes, again. And my husband has positioned my writers desk under a front window (like I had it on St. Mark's) in hopes of higher spirits. A pathetic and far cry from the East Village color and a distant third to Walden Pond, I make no excuses for my lack of muse, creativity, and for that matter, discipline.
I wrap the boy up and strap him to my belly for a walkabout. It is 7 AM. The southern sun is still deceiving as it filters through the Live Oak's Spanish Moss. Production Trucks, Wardrobe Bitches, and the smell of the Grip's cigarette smoke lures me down the block. The sight of PA's walkie talkies and the sound of the generators working overtime to cool first team's trailers brings a bittersweet taste to my mouth and a sense of belonging I've been lacking.
How the hell can I miss this work?
And when can I get back?
Grand illusions of the dutiful housewife fade with the shade.
The wide open sea beckons me.
I clutch this sweet anchor around my neck and wonder just how long is his chain.
Definition of Isolation.
Is it a baby that sucks vigorously and bangs on my breast like a tom tom drum every two hours? ( I round down) While being the victim of a one car family trapped behind a locked door, scared to crack a window for the coastal humidity will suck me and my drained body into a puddle of salty water. So I sit at port...with a 16 pounder attached to my soft body, rebuke daytime television, and take advantage of the rare quiet time to sift through rising air condition bills and soiled diaper covers.
What?
We've moved again. Yes, again. And my husband has positioned my writers desk under a front window (like I had it on St. Mark's) in hopes of higher spirits. A pathetic and far cry from the East Village color and a distant third to Walden Pond, I make no excuses for my lack of muse, creativity, and for that matter, discipline.
I wrap the boy up and strap him to my belly for a walkabout. It is 7 AM. The southern sun is still deceiving as it filters through the Live Oak's Spanish Moss. Production Trucks, Wardrobe Bitches, and the smell of the Grip's cigarette smoke lures me down the block. The sight of PA's walkie talkies and the sound of the generators working overtime to cool first team's trailers brings a bittersweet taste to my mouth and a sense of belonging I've been lacking.
How the hell can I miss this work?
And when can I get back?
Grand illusions of the dutiful housewife fade with the shade.
The wide open sea beckons me.
I clutch this sweet anchor around my neck and wonder just how long is his chain.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Surprise! Your Messiah Has Failed
"He will not fail nor be discouraged, Till He has established justice in the earth; And the coastlands shall wait for His law.” Isaiah 42:4
Wake up America. Your president values your intelligence so little that he thinks you can continually be pacified with lip service. Continual lip service. He's angered, outraged, and will conduct thorough investigations to bring justice. Yet...no action.
Fifty percent of America is still clinging to the hope of his public speaking charisma while he back peddles from cover-ups and controversies. His Attorney General whose job it is to know, claims ignorance on every scandal that surfaces. And his White House Press Secretary just dwells in the sticky web of lies he's told to spin.
Mainstream media seems to have temporarily shaken off their brainwashed fog as they are bringing focus to their savior's sullen record. Washington Post calls him a Pinocchio. Democrat strategists say his double talk is bologna. And even the faithful followers cringe when he orders in The Marines to protect him from the raindrops showcasing the irony of the honorable protecting the disgraced.
But what's wrong with the citizen's of America who can't see this man is a traitor to his country and a betrayer of its people and why do they not care?
Wake up America. Your president values your intelligence so little that he thinks you can continually be pacified with lip service. Continual lip service. He's angered, outraged, and will conduct thorough investigations to bring justice. Yet...no action.
Fifty percent of America is still clinging to the hope of his public speaking charisma while he back peddles from cover-ups and controversies. His Attorney General whose job it is to know, claims ignorance on every scandal that surfaces. And his White House Press Secretary just dwells in the sticky web of lies he's told to spin.
Mainstream media seems to have temporarily shaken off their brainwashed fog as they are bringing focus to their savior's sullen record. Washington Post calls him a Pinocchio. Democrat strategists say his double talk is bologna. And even the faithful followers cringe when he orders in The Marines to protect him from the raindrops showcasing the irony of the honorable protecting the disgraced.
But what's wrong with the citizen's of America who can't see this man is a traitor to his country and a betrayer of its people and why do they not care?
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Paranoid Conservatives?
Just how big is the breadth of this government's outreach?
Because I'm too exhausted to write it and I spend my down time washing breast milk spit up stains from my sheets, listen to John Stewart instead...
As much as he is still a progressive, it sure is comforting to hear his faith in t(his) administration and that they have no credibility.
Because I'm too exhausted to write it and I spend my down time washing breast milk spit up stains from my sheets, listen to John Stewart instead...
As much as he is still a progressive, it sure is comforting to hear his faith in t(his) administration and that they have no credibility.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Some Mommy TIme
"Let your father and your mother be glad, And let her who bore you rejoice." Proverbs 23:25
I asked for a few hours alone.
A brief escape to breathe in the still silence.
Just to let my wrists uncurl from the carry position, straighten my neck from the soothing tuck, and feel the weightlessness in my fatigued arms.
To feel normal again.
But found this gift was greater.
I asked for a few hours alone.
A brief escape to breathe in the still silence.
Just to let my wrists uncurl from the carry position, straighten my neck from the soothing tuck, and feel the weightlessness in my fatigued arms.
To feel normal again.
But found this gift was greater.
In the words of my mom, "It takes one to know one..."
And now I know.
Happy Mother's Day to me and to God be the Glory for this precious baby I get to call my own.
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