What can I say? It’s in my SOUL.

There are times in my life when mere prose cannot assuage the melancholy (a seemingly implacable foe!) that– unbidden and unwanted– slips through the armor of sass and snark and laughter and takes up residence ’round my heart. At times such as this… well, I wax poetic, y’all.

Hey. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Pair yoga and ballet

Shake booty… enlightenment

Say namaste, bitch.

Public Restroom Cell Phone Users

Because sometimes you just have to draw the line. That’s all I’m saying.

The Rhythm is Gonna Get You

Is it wrong that when I popped in my Yoga Booty Ballet DVD for the first time last night, I could not withstand the compulsion to throw caution (and the YBB instructors’ warnings) to the wind by skipping the whole Sit And Watch The DVD A Few Times Through Before Even Thinking About Attempting Those Bootylicious Moves Hey We Are So Not Kidding Sit DOWN You Big Dummy You Could Pull Something part and totally shaking my groove thing, shaking my groove thing, yeah, yeah? Because if it was wrong of me to lose myself in the music, the moment (I OWNED it!) then baby… well, you know the rest.

Hey. In my defense, we were bumpin’ booties, havin’ us a ball, y’all! I mean honestly. Bumpin’ booties! Havin’ us a ball! Gettin’ in shape! Doin’ yoga and shizz! WHILE BUMPIN’ BOOTIES! I mean, the hip thrusts alone… Hello?! Simply irresistible?! Seriously. I ask you, how COULD I resist? Huh?! HOW?!

That’s what I thought. It just can’t be done.

Whatever. I blame Kalki.

In other news, I have recently developed a quirky habit of slipping random song lyrics into my everyday conversations. Which is apparently “annoying.” I’m currently looking into 12-step programs. Fingers crossed for a full and speedy recovery.

I’m, like, famous or something…

Wow! Check it out! I am a Great Blog Find at blogher.org! That’s like a Major Award! Or something! Okay, not really. More like a Minor Mention.

But still! COOL.

*SIGH*

The rooms we redecorated may still be in a state of disarray, the paint may not be dry yet, the curtains may not be installed yet, the master bedroom closets may not be built yet, but we will make do!

The kids are home.

I may have cried and raged at the ridiculously inept TSA staff at Chicago O’Hare International Airport who detained me and forced me and a petrified Alli to pass through security again after we– hurrying back to TD and Mack (sitting alone at Gate A3) while struggling to keep four Ben & Jerry’s Mint Super Chocolate Chunk ice cream cones from dripping all over the floor– accidentally made a wrong turn, walked two steps out of the secure area of the terminal, then spent fifteen minutes trying to convince the idiot security guard (and then his idiot supervisor) that yes, we had indeed just bought the ice cream that was dripping down my hands and arms and pooling on the floor (clearly creating some sort of slippery safety hazard, I might add) at the Ben & Jerry’s located exactly twenty feet away, and that no, we DID NOT have our boarding passes or anything else because we were JUST BUYING ICE CREAM RIGHT OVER THERE (sixteen dollars! what a RIP!) and my two OTHER children were anxiously waiting for us at the boarding gate and don’t you people have any common sense and what the hell do you MEAN put the ice cream cones in the bin with my shoes because they need to GO THROUGH the X-RAY MACHINE?! Good LORD! Are you people freaking KIDDING ME?! (They weren’t.)

The kids are home.

We may have arrived home at one o’clock in the morning and slept in until ten, so the whole day is pretty much shot now because we are going to have to hit the sack early tonight because tomorrow we’re heading to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware (instead of Hollywood and the Emmy Awards because my wee Ryan was obviously intimidated by my quick wit and kick-ass interviewing skillz and was all, “Oh, no, no, NO, Cat would totally steal the show…”, so whatever) and we want to wake up at the crack of dawn and get on the road before traffic gets CRRRAAAAZY because we’re going to hit the waves and get jiggy with the body surfing and whatnot and generally up-chuck the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie to beat and that takes ENERGY, yo?– but no matter!

The kids are home.

I am cooking for five again, instead of two, so I’m pretty sure I’ll put back on those five pounds I lost this summer, but my clothes will still fit! Just tighter! No biggie! Yoga Booty Ballet arrived yesterday (thanks, Kalki)! My booty will be FINE, I tell you! Just… bigger!

The kids are home.

Last night as I tucked the girls into their brand new beds and kissed them goodnight, then climbed up into TD’s behemoth loft-bed and– just as I did last summer– I watched his sweet little eyes flutter shut, and I turned to gaze at the ceiling and I stretched and sighed– you know, a deep, heavy sigh from the very depths of my heart and soul– it was then that I realized that finally? Finally, y’all? I could BREATHE again.

How long had I been holding my breath? It felt like forever.

The kids? They are home.

When Money Talks, Alli Listens

The fluke mercenary gene that I have apparently passed down to my children has struck again.

It appears that Alli has finally kicked to the curb her fear of balancing on only two bicycle tires. I was super impressed with her when she called and gave me the news because we had just recently had a conversation about the power of determination, and how if you set your mind to something you can overcome your fear, and besides what if her friends wanted her to go ride bikes to the park and she had to tell them, “Sorry, I can’t ride my bike yet,” and they’d be all “Why not?” and she’d have to say, “Well, I totally could if I tried but I just don’t feel like it,” and how totally NOT fun would THAT be?

Then WHAMMO! the next thing I hear is that she is riding her bike like a seasoned pro.

“Wow! You rode your bike, Alli?!”

“Yep.”

“How far did you ride?”

“Um, to the blue trash cans?”

Wow! To the blue trash cans! I mean, that’s…

Okay, so I have no idea, spatially speaking, the distance between her starting point and “the blue trash cans,” but whatever. She rode her bike! By herself! Because of our little pep talk!

Booyah.

I don’t need to tell you that I was more than a little impressed with my mad motivational skillz.

“I guess our little talk helped you find the courage to just go for it, huh?”

“Of course,” she assured me in her best DUH! voice. (I love her DUH! voice. It’s killer.)

When I shared the news with TGIM, he had to give his baby girl a call to hear all the details. Because he is weird that way? Anyhoos, as Alli was at the swimming pool TGIM had to settle for a second-hand relay of the event, via his father.

What we learned from my father-in-law shocked us to the very core: Alli, our baby girl, who would kick and scream and cry whenever we tried to get her to even just sit and balance on her bicycle, apparently got her Lance Armstrong on and jumped right on her bike and pedaled herself right on down the road outside of my in-laws’ house in Podunky Small Town, AZ.

“I KNEW my pep talk would work!” I gloated, doing my happy Snoopy dance of joy around the living room. “Didn’t I tell you my pep talk would work?” I accented my point with an elaborate “Uh!” hip thrust. Because I’m cool like that.

TGIM just shook his head and wiped away the tears in his eyes. I was about to tease him for being a big wussy-daddy when I realized the tears were the tears of a daddy almost renedered speechless by laughter.

“What?” I asked trepidatiously.

Through laughter and a few more tears, TGIM told me the real story behind Alli’s sudden bicycling ability.

It seems that TGIM’s father saw Grandma Claire, T.D., Mack, and a random assortment of other relatives trying to coax, cajole, threaten, and inspire Alli to just suck it up and ride her stinking bike already, and he decided enough was enough– that weenie grandaughter of his should be riding her bicycle by now, dadgummit. So he went outside and while everyone looked on, he walked down the road stopping every thirty feet or so to place a dollar bill down on the street. Then he turned to Alli, who was watching him curiously as she busily scrubbed away her tears, and said, “You ride to the first dollar bill without any help, and it’s yours to keep. The if you go back where you started and ride to the second, that one’s yours to keep, too. Same with the third. And if you go back where you started and ride to that house over there,” he pointed down the street, “well then I’ve got a five dollar bill with your name on it.”

And then he stepped out of the way. Because Alli, after less than a second of hesitation, jumped right on her bicycle and shot off down the street, teetering precariously but balancing nevertheless, braking periodically to scoop up the coveted dollar bills while chanting, “moneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymy PRECIOUSmoney…” Okay. So maybe I made up that last “moneymoneymoney” part (it COULD have happened! you don’t know!), but the rest? Totally true.

My baby girl earned eight dollars.

By the time TGIM was done telling me the story, I was crying, too. Because my child, she is a crazy one, yo? And like her big sister before her (remember the soccer game?), she is apparently inspired more by the almighty dollar than by her mother’s mad motivational skillz and the satisfaction of a job well-done.

I fear for the future of America, y’all.

Oh, Alli. Oh, humanity…

And HA!

Veronica Mars PSA: Yellow Xterras

You don’t live in Neptune. That’s all I’m saying.

DWM Public Service Announcement: Tasty Cookies

Tune in as Cat shares a nugget of Working Momma wisdom.

When Momma Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy

Top Three Reasons Cat is Disgruntled with the World

Reason #3: This? Has become my professional life. Good lord… and HEE!

Reason #2: For the first time EVER– like in my whole, sad, I’ve Never Won A Contest life– I actually won a raffle… and I had to give away my prize! And it was a good one, too! Two tickets to HEAVEN, I am not even joking! Honestly. We are talking up close and personal time– including a special autograph session and a professional group photo shoot– with my favorite men from Mars: Michael Muhney (Sheriff Lamb), Francis Capra (Weevil), and Jason! Effing! Dohring! (Logan)! And I am freaking MISSING IT! And Jason’s on my LAMINATED list! Right at the TOP! Gosh! I know, right?! Short notice and a scarcity of disposable income (lodging and airfare not included… the hell?!) are truly the bane of my existence. Oh, how I agonized over the decision to give up my prize… I mean, this was a Major Award, y’all. If I could have at least scrounged up the last-minute airfare, surely a cozy little cardboard box of some sort parked right outside the Hilton Convention Center in Burbank, CA, would have been sufficient accommodations? Desperate times? Desperate measures? All that jazz? Right? Am I right?! Now some other lucky winner who is not me will have the opportunity to stand inappropriately close to Jason F. Dohring during a group photo shoot! *sigh* Stupid raffle. Stupid prize I can’t claim. Why am I not independently wealthy?! What?! Is that too much to ask, God?! IS IT?! MAN! My heart? She is breaking.

And the number one reason Cat is disgruntled? [cue drumroll]

Reason #1: I miss my kiddos. Um, duh? *snap, snap* Pay attention!

I may have missed the point. Perhaps. Okay, yeah, I missed the point.

Because I apparently lose more than a modicum of my usual iron-willed self-control (shut UP, TGIM!) when I have houseguests– often indulging in every craving for donuts, cheesecake, and Ben & Jerry’s that comes my way– I have been feeling a bit dissatisfied with my figure since the departure of TGIM’s brother and his wife, who stayed with us for a week-long food orgy the likes of which have rarely been seen around these parts.

So last night I thought to myself, Self? Why don’t you finally pull out that yoga DVD that’s been sitting on the shelf in its original packaging for six months gathering dust? You know, the one you bought because have you SEEN Reese Witherspoon and Gwyneth Paltrow post-baby? And because it was supposed to sculpt your abs and strengthen your back muscles while unlocking your core energy, purifying your mind and body, and improving your concentration and memory blah blahdy blah and what was I talking about again?

Okay, the thing about yoga? It looks simple, right? Throw down a mat, shout out to the sun, bust out a few poses, get my asana on, bada-bing-bada-boom, finito. Serenity (and kick-ass abs)? Totally mine!

But seriously? It is not as simple as it looks. Not at ALL. What with the arranging of my body parts in unnatural (albeit way cool-looking) poses? And the bending of my limbs in directions God never meant for me to take them? And the deep breathing through my nose thing (which totally DIDN’T sound like the ocean, by the way), and the NO TALKING?!

Good golly, Miss Molly!

Hello, completely unexpected, excruciating abdominal pain! I thought as I rolled myself out of bed this morning. Pleased to make your acquaintance!

Honestly. What’s that all about? Huh? Yoga is supposed to be relaxing! Yoga is supposed to cultivate a meditative state of BEING! Yoga is NOT supposed to cause such excruciating pain in my body that I collapse to the floor in the fetal position whimpering, “Why, God? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!”

Whatever. This is war, y’all. War, I tell you! I will NOT be Yoga’s bitch! Not this time! Not today!

Serenity will be mine. Oh, yes. It will be mine.

(*limps off to kick some yoga ass*)

Serenity now!

There is a problem…

The problem isn’t that the 2.5-inch screen is too small because the picture on that bad boy is surprisingly sharp.

The problem isn’t that the glassy-eyed, half-awake people on the Metro train at 5 AM are apparently “startled” by my sudden outbursts of giggles as I watch The Office on my way to… um, well, the office.

The problem isn’t that people keep interrupting my television viewing experience by waving their hands in front of my face or tapping me on the shoulder (which was especially annoying Friday morning as I was watching “The Fight” episode where Michael and Dwight are– sarcastic quotes– “fighting” each other in a dojo in downtown Scranton, PA… which has got to be one of the funniest fight scenes ever televised, I am not even joking) and saying things like, “Excuse me… excuse me… hi, yeah… what IS that thing?” or “Okay, you are having way too much fun this early in the morning… um, what IS that thing?”

The problem isn’t that TGIM believes I am THIS close to blurring that fine line between enjoyment and obsession as I have watched so many episodes of The Office over the past two weeks while riding to and from work (stupid outrageously high gas prices…) that I have taken to referencing the show in just about every social situation I am thrust into: “Oh my gosh! That totally reminds me of the time on The Office when Kelly slapped Michael and he was all, ‘YES! That was great! She gets it! Now she knows what it’s like to be a minority!’”

The problem isn’t even that I might have just maybe teared up (just a little! pinky promise!) this morning while watching the Season 2 finale of The Office (Jam forevah!), much to the dismay of the old gentleman sitting next to me (who was totally looking down my shirt at the time, the perv… okay, upon further reflection, I now believe that rather than sneaking a peek at my girls, he was in fact watching television over my shoulder… which, rude. I mean, I have on a VERY cute top today.)

The problem is that last night I dreamed that I was hanging out at The Office with Jim and Pam and in a fit of momentary madness I totally put the moves on Jim. Because come on… we’re talking about JIM here! (RAAAWR!) And now? Now, guys?! I’m pretty sure that Pam totally hates me.

Two More Weeks and Counting

I usually wait until around 9:15 PM to call my kiddos because after a full day of swimming, gardening, mowing, reading, playing, traveling, shopping, movie watching, and birthday partying it’s about the only time I can catch them at home, all exhausted from the day’s exertions and ready and willing to talk to me about their day… unless they are watching television, in which case it is best to just cut my losses, tell them I love them, and call it a day. Because really… who can compete with Ernest Scared Stupid? Be serious.

So last night I called and Papa answered. Which… strange. Usually that phone rings and TD gets his Justin Gatlin on, easily beating out his sisters in his mad sprint to the phone, and since he had specifically requested of TGIM that I call him, I was a little surprised to hear my father-in-law’s voice coming across the wires… or whatever the expression is now that we are totally wireless. Still wires? Really? Huh.

But the surprise I felt at hearing his voice was nothing to how I felt after I heard what he had to say.

“Tanner? Well, here’s the thing, Catherine Annie. I bought your boy a watch…”

“Oh, well that was nice of…”

“… and he set it forward to Virginia time. He says he wants to get his body clock back on track so he won’t be tired when he moves back home.”

Okay, so that was a little strange. But kudos to the boy for thinking ahead, right? I mean, reset his body clock? Man! Smart kiddo! He totally gets that from me, for reals. I had to hear more, so I asked TGIM’s dad to put TD on the phone so I could see how his body clock was adjusting.

“Oh, he put himself to bed a half-hour ago.”

“… Wait… he what?”

I could hear TGIM’s dad fighting a losing battle with the chuckles. “Says he’s getting up at 3 AM, too!” he finally choked out.

“It’s… what?!… he went to bed at 5:45?!”

More guffaws.

Good lord. He’s not even coming home for two more weeks! Jump the gun much? Honestly. And he’s only 10 years old! What 10-year-old puts himself to bed at 5:45?! Huh?! GOSH. What a weirdo that child is. He totally gets that from TGIM, for reals.

TGIM’s dad handed the phone off to Alli (”Speak to your mother!”), who was anxiously waiting to tell me about her day. This cataloguing usually last for as long as I can stand listening to her say, “You’re on the speaker-phone now!… Now you aren’t on speaker-phone… You’re on the speaker-phone now!… Now you aren’t on speaker-phone… Hey! Guess if you’re on the speaker-phone now!…”

“Mom! Tanner went to bed already and it’s the afternoon!”

“I know. Papa told me.”

“It’s not even dark outside, Momma!… But he’s on Virginia time now.”

“Well, why didn’t you go to bed, too? Don’t you want to be on Virginia time?”

Pause. Then, “Yeah… I’ll start that tomorrow.”

We only went through three cycles of the Speaker-Phone Guessing Game before I got Hannah on the line. After a brief conversation about plot development at the end of the fifth Harry Potter book, a few moments bemoaning the fact that we hadn’t worked on multiplication tables AT ALL this summer so we’d have to get on that when she got home, and a quick rundown of all the exciting changes TGIM and I made to their bedrooms this summer, I asked her, “So what are you most excited to see when you get back?”– fully expecting her to mention her friends, her stuffed animals, her bicycle, or even her brand-new bedroom.

“You,” she said quietly.

Oh lordy.

You guys? 

Heart. Melted.

(Has it been two weeks yet?)

Work At Home Tips from the Desperate Working Momma

(Disclaimer, per Charlotte: This video was NOT made on company time! It was totally after hours! And the WEEKEND! Yes! Just so you know!)

Cat reveals secret tips to being the most productive WAHer EVAH!

No, really. You’ll probably get a raise or something because your boss? Will LOVE you.

Are We There Yet?

Sometimes while traveling through the countryside, as you gaze out the window of a moving train or vehicle or airplane, do you ever find yourself mesmerized by the scenery flying by (but not while you are the one in actual physical control of the vehicle or plane because that would be super dangerous)? And although the scenery is moving by in lightening-quick flashes of lakes and trees and earth and sky almost indiscernible to the conscious mind, for reasons unfathomable you can’t help but struggle to capture it, try desperately to hold it in and hide it away, put it in your pocket, all of it– the meadowy greens and azure blues, the earthy browns and oranges and purples, even the strips of barren desert or occasional muck along the way– because it is just… so… breathtaking… it is!… and yours, all that beauty is yours at that very moment, you just feel it, and you have no doubt in your mind that if you could just grab it and hold it all in your hands for even a second then it would be the most wonderful, perfect second of your life?

But you can’t touch it because you can’t slow down, you can’t just stop, you’re not where you’re supposed to be yet? And your chest tightens and your breathing shallows and you discover that you can barely take a breath? Because as the scenery continues to pass by, to elude you, it changes, it always changes, and though it is still oh-so beautiful and utterly mesmerizing and you know that there will always be more to see, you also know in your heart that the original view is gone and you can never get it back, you can never see it exactly the same way again? And even though you never had it, not really, because you could never have it, it was never yours to take… still, you feel the loss?

Lately, being a Desperate Working Momma feels a lot like that. Like my life is speeding by in a whirl of restlessness and obligations and my children are simply a mesmerizing blur of growing and changing and learning and becoming and I can’t make it stop… I can’t slow it all down and snatch them out of time and hold them just as they are– so lovely and young, so full of innocence and love and trust– because there are miles to go and places to be and that’s the way it all works, this life. And before I know it my kiddos will be teenagers and they will be way too smart and hip to sit in my lap and tell me stories about mowing lawns and drinking cola, or hiding in the attic reading faux-forbidden books, or attending princess birthday parties wearing a brand-new foofy dress Grandma made.

So I’m ever-so-gently applying the brakes, making changes, taking notes. Because although I may not be able to stop the ride, no one ever said I couldn’t prolong the journey.

Conversations with Kiddos I Miss So Much It Frickin’ HURTS, Yo?

On Working Hard for Bupkis (and a Refreshing Beverage)

Cat: ‘Sup, buddy boy?

TD: Guess what!

Cat: I can’t possibly. Do tell.

TD: I mowed a lawn today, and it was like an ACRE long.

Cat: Wow! An acre?! Check you out! How long did that take?

TD: (all nonchalant) Oh, six hours I think. Yeah. Six. At least.

Cat: SIX?! Wow. Six, huh? Did you get paid for it?

TD: (best ‘duh!’ voice) Well, yeah… twenty-five dollars!

Cat: Wow! That’s like… er… four bucks an hour…

TD: Yeah! And Momma? Guess what? The lady? She gave us a Coca-Cola. (said in best John Heder “I’m 99.9% parched and I sure could use a cola” voice )

Cat: Well. Then it was clearly worth it.

TD: Yep.

 

On Choosing Between What is Right… and What is Easy

Cat: Alli said you were hiding… So whatcha doing hiding?

Hannah: Re-reading book five of Harry Potter.

Cat: Ooooookaaaay… and you’re hiding because…?

Hannah: Someone told Papa it was a bad book so he keeps taking it away from me.

Cat: ?!?!

Hannah: But TD found his hiding spot and got it back for me!

Cat: So you’re hiding upstairs reading a banned book, huh?

Hannah: Yup.

Cat: You little rebel.

Hannah: Yeah…

Cat: Grrrreat. Um, okay, can you put Papa on the phone please?

 

On Realizing the Sad Truth about the Momma 

Alli: Momma! Mom! I’ve grown SO much!

Cat: Really? You have? How much?

Alli: Yeah! Like, I would say probably twenty inches or so…

Cat: Twenty, huh? Gosh. Will I even recognize you, do you think?

Alli: (giggling) Well, yeah!

Cat: Hey! Are you taller than me now?

Alli: (still giggling) No!

Cat: Good! You’re not allowed to be taller than me yet because then you could totally beat me up.

Alli: …

Cat: Alli? Hello?

Alli: (breaking out the ‘duh!’ voice) Now why in the world would I want to do that?

Cat: You wouldn’t! I’m just saying.

Alli: … Yeah. You’re weird.

Sometimes it’s just embarrassing to be me.

You know how sometimes you hear a piece of music and it just… I don’t know… moves you? Like moves you moves you? Like Brings You To Actual Tears As You Listen To It On Your iPod While Driving Mach 1 Around The Capital Beltway On Your Way To Work At The Un-Godly Hour Of 5 AM moves you? Which is way cool junior but clearly dangerous and should not be tried at home, kids?

So… yeah. That’s what happened to me yesterday morning. Man. So embarrassing. Big old baby. I don’t even want to talk about it. Okay, I totally lie. All the time. It’s a sickness. Of course I want to talk about it. Hello! Blogger! Anyhoos… there I was, catching up on a back issue of Accident Hash (I’m a total Homefry now, yo?), when suddenly amidst Danko Jones’ 80’s rockin’ throwback First Date and Lee Coulter’s kickass Booty Voodoo (kickass!… booty!… I slay me), there it was. This song. This achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful song– that while plainly not a part of the regular Accident Hash repertoire (teaser: you’ll have to listen to C.C.’s podcast for more info! mwah ha ha!)– was so clearly a piece of music that my heart just needed, at that exact moment in my life, that before I could even think to myself, Well well well, that sure is purty… tears. Actual tears. In my eyes.

Thank goodness it was still dark outside because hello? Embarrassing, much? Good lord. Baby! WEE BABY! Thanks a whole lot, C.C.!

GOSH.

In my defense, I have a bizarre weakness for classical, new-agey piano. It’s a freaky Cat thing. There’s no ’splaining it.

(Caution: Do not listen while driving. That is all.)

Here’s John Schmidt with All of Me

Cat’s Birthday Trapeze Extravaganza

Good LORD, people! I’m obsessed with iMovie! Somebody STOP me! STOP! ME!

Okay, not really. I’m done now.

Time Keeps on Slipping into the Future

I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.

In my mind’s eye, I’m there. I am gazing out into a heartbreakingly picturesque expanse of Grand Canyon-like proportions, and I am right there, precariously perched, my feet firmly planted (for now) on the ledge, the tips of my stylish yet sensible hiking boots peeking over the edge.

Open air. A slight breeze.

The horizon extends for hundreds of miles in every direction– acres of mingled evergreen and deciduous trees at the midway line, blending with descent into clumps of dry, earth-toned scrub brush and spike-leafed evergreen Joshua trees, with the occasional saguaros standing majestically at attention amongst the palo verde trees and the dry desert earth– so far away, yet close enough to touch if I could just… reach… far enough…

I shift my weight a little and slowly, oh so slowly, stretch out one of my hands, causing tiny pebbles to break away from the ledge, rattling their way down the cliff’s edge, falling into the unknown, out of my hearing, far… far away. So I freeze. I can barely breathe. I wonder if the breathlessness is a result of exhilaration, overpowering awe, or sheer, unadulterated fear?

I’m going to have to go with the fear.

Because I feel it. That powerful, almost overwhelming urge to jump out there. Into that. Into the wide-open expanse that is at the same time achingly, invitingly familiar… and– dear lord– terrifyingly unknown.

I slowly stretch both arms out to the side, graceful, like a ballerina, or like a tiny elf owl at dawn, saguaro-bound, gliding home…

I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. Right here. Right now. A decision has to be made, and I know what I want.

I’m going to fly.

Cat on the Street with Paige: Trapeze Extravaganza

Your attention, please! (May I have a drumroll?) This video is the first of two videos (possibly three) I am making out of my b-day trapeze extravaganza ramma-lamma-bing-bang video footage. I focused this one on my buddy Paige… because cuteness?! And HA!

Oh, just FYI: the videos I make for my wee Ry-Ry cannot be over two minutes long, nor can they contain music I don’t have permission to use. GAH. The pressure!

Trapezing Extravaganza

Just for fun, I have included some more raw footage… this one is me going for my very first catch-release thingymabobber of funness.Check me out, yo? Trapezing, guys? Trapezing?! Kicks ASS.