blocked
your daddy and i love you very much. even when you’re a grub face.
and we know how much you like your “snuggles and love.”
…your VERY CLOSE IN YOUR FACE “snuggles and love.”
we enjoy it too.
but, if you ever want a baby brother or sister, you gotta give us a little breathing room.
(one day you’ll understand.)
love,
mom and dad
google + and the status of social media
(alternately titled: jenny p.)
surely everyone had a jenny p. at some point in their young academic career.
definition of jenny p: male or female, physically attractive to many, is whatever age you wished you could be because then you would be cool, and sets the trend for the entire school throughout the entire school year.
you wanted to be jenny p. (though it pains you to admit that, even years later). in fact, you yearned to be jenny p. everyone wanted her and to some extent you felt like you needed her. if she doesn’t show up at school, people notice. if she fails a test, you offer to tutor her.
because… if you lay down and beg for long enough, you’re bound to get an invitation, SOME RECOGNITION.
doesn’t matter if it’s a pity-invite.
it counts.
and that recognition, that invitation to the party or the seat next to jenny p. in class meant that you may have a shot, at being someone.
other than yourself. better than yourself.
with people. and power.
(if you can’t think of who your jenny p. was, then chances are you were her.)
**********
my jenny p. was incredible. absolutely fucking incredible. she was the helen of troy of 1993.
SHE HAD BOOBS.
the vast majority of middle school girls do one of two things: you either pray to get your period so that you could say you were officially a woman… or, you pray that no one would find out that you started your period when you were 9 years old because if someone found out that you’ve been menstruating for THAT LONG, you were strange.
you NEVER wanted jenny p. to think of you as strange.
you watched her, mesmerized and entranced by her status.
you watched her, not wanting to miss out on anything.
and… you felt yourself start to genuinely care for her.
**********
i wanted to fight the power then.
i want to fight the power now.
and yet, i submit… because i’m human and imperfect.
ya know what? so is jenny p.
**********
i thought i was a late comer to blogging a few years ago. i was one who read blogs for a long time before starting my own. sure, i had a live journal but no one ever knew about it. i had a myspace page only because everyone else did.
even now, after doing this for almost 4 years, i still feel like i’m learning.
i’m noticeably younger than most of those i admire, correspond with, trust.
for a while, i thought there was something that i was missing about blogging. something that other bloggers understood that i didn’t.
TELL ME YOUR SECRET.
it’s not me who doesn’t get it. i get it. i have this space, this twitter account, this about.me page, this facebook account, a pinterest page, and as of last week, i was added to google +.
someone deemed me worth of an invite.
someone placed me in their circle.
ME.
and as much as i would like to say, it doesn’t fucking matter. i’m a creative. i don’t need the NEXT BEST THING. i have my words. i have my quill and my parchment, i can’t say that.
because it does matter. all of it matters.
or so it seems.
**********
when we find ourselves at the place of desiring recognition, power, notoriety, FAME, do we find that we really want to be there? was that our intention? do we then feel heard?
i don’t know…
but that doesn’t mean that my heart didn’t skip a beat when i saw i had been added to jenny p.’s google + circle.
not even age can take away one’s desire to be wanted by others.
clearly i just don’t give a shit anymore
this would typically be a week that would slaughter me. i am single-parenting jackson (starting yesterday) as paul is doing some conference thing with navy people which means early mornings and late nights and too many acronyms.
jackson is trying what eensy teensy bit of patience i have with his “I’M A THREE YEAR OLD AND THAT MEANS LIFE IS WORSE THAN WHEN I WAS TWO” with a side of “HOME ALL SUMMER WITH NO SCHOOL, NO CAMP, NO NOTHING.”
oh, and we’re all road tripping at the end of the week to go house hunting.
::MANIACAL LAUGHTER::
so yeah, i normally freak out a bit when i start to think about all the emails that need to be sent, calendars that need to be coordinated, phone calls that need to be made, researching house info and mortgage info and ZOMG the lease on paul’s car is up.
the house is a wreck simply because it’s not a priority this week.
laundry is a priority. we’re going to be living out of duffel bags and backpacks for 10 days. smelly clothes and shoes in an enclosed space, LIKE A CAR, make me nervous.
cleaning out all of the leftovers from last week that’s still in the fridge because we thought we’d eat it this weekend and didn’t because we’d rather order chinese is a priority.
there’s not much worse than returning home from a trip to a kitchen that smells like rancid death by coleslaw… except maybe a diaper genie that wasn’t emptied before leaving for said trip.
::GAG::
keeping jackson occupied is a priority because if he’s not occupied, i can’t get anything accomplished. like right this moment, he’s not occupied so he is climbing into my lap and asking for a movie while squirting blue gatorade out of his mouth.
and i’ll probably turn it on because i’m that kind of a stellar mother right now. don’t judge me because i let my kid watch what you think is too much tv. judge me because i give my kid sugary, crack-laced, gatorade.
i bow to all of you who are single parents. you’re absolutely incredible.
this week may be kinda kooky. i may forget what day it is a time or two, but let’s be honest, i never really know what day of the week it is anyways. i will most likely not empty the dishwasher and reload it because by the time i put jackson down for bed, i’m going to dive face first into the couch. and i will most definitely leave something crucial in our house and remember it when we are hours into our road trip.
this week will be one of skipping breakfast because we’re not interested but eating two hotdogs and fruit loops for lunch because we’re famished and then reheating macaroni and cheese for dinner.
which reminds me, we’re running low on tater tots.
independence
this post is for the writing prompt “independence” that’s up over at studio 30+ this week.
she stared at the white, flaked chip on the mug until her coffee was cold. finally she took a sip. then another. and with the third sip, she drained the coffee and left the dregs at the bottom.
the air conditioning kicked on with a slow hum as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table. a small spider made its way up the edge of the white door frame.
for a split second, she entertained the idea of moving back in the house. it was certainly lovely and comfortable. but she had broken free of this house, this space, this life.
the eldest of 5, she was the executor of the will. how she had acquired such responsibility, she had no idea. but it was there. the weight of it all. resting in perfectly cylindrical knots atop her shoulders.
she reached behind her head and squeezed the decades of stress and obligation.
“get rid of it,” she told henry, who scribbled in his notebook and then shrugged at her sibblings.
everything would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. it would be in the papers. dollar signs and last names.
when her brother protested, she closed her eyes.
“just think about it first, j. we don’t have to decide right this minute.”
opening her eyes, she reached for the drained coffee mug. she regarded the chip, touching it with her index finger. applying pressure until the crimson droplet found its way to the surface and then bled onto the rim.
“get rid of it,” she said again, and threw the mug against the pantry door.
cries were heard in the background as she exited the house. her sister called after her, but knew she wouldn’t return. it was never her intention to be there in the first place.
she got in her car and found a band-aid underneath some napkins in her glove compartment. after tossing a used napkin out the window, she lit a cigarette and pulled out of the driveway.
but but but… WAIT!!!!!!!!!!
haley joel osment taught himself not to blink when filming the sixth sense.
i tried to not blink, just now while sitting in front of my laptop.
my eyes started to water and i lost the contest against myself in under 30 seconds.
TEACH ME YOUR WAYS, HALEY JOEL OSMENT!
because this… THIS… keeps happening. and it’s crazy.
Have a Sip
