Lovely Moments

When I feel as if parts of my life are falling apart around me, and I am lost in a maze allowed to grow wild with uncertainty and fear and disquiet, I try to remember a lovely moment, and what I felt. Perhaps I think of the first time I stuck a full-twisting double back layout in my floor exercise. Or my second real kiss. Or possibly the moment I realized that, oh good lord, no joke, TGIM was seriously proposing to me. Or even the exact second I looked into my newborn son’s wide and dazed eyes for the very first time and he gazed back at me and I was struck by one word only: mine.

Surely I must have felt surprise and awe, but no real sense of that comes back to me. No, instead, feelings of happiness— pure and golden— warm me from the inside out, like the warm cloak of sunshine falling round me as I sit on my bed contemplating and composing this.

Admittedly, with the warmth comes the hint of a chill, because I can never fully recapture the moment. Instead, I see it all happening apart from me, a mere spectator. I watch myself as I was then, like a stranger, far removed from who I am now, and it seems so distant. So long ago. Too far away to be connected to me. But, amazingly, the happiness does connect, and flows through my body, thawing the parts of me frozen by fear and self-recrimination, and I realize that the warmth? Well, it is enough. It clears a path for me, allowing me to move forward, move on. Not yet found, but no longer lost, I resume my travel through the maze, a woman determined to make boulders in her way into stepping stones because life is short and if we want these lovely moments, we need to grab them, disappointments, setbacks, and shenanigans be damned.

And I’m thinking that right now, at this very moment, a quick trip to Dunkin Donuts is simply crying out to be my next lovely moment. Cinnamon cake donuts. Mmmm.

Lovely.

You know you’re an awesome momma when…

…your 3rd grader’s final slide in her PowerPoint presentation on Rosa Parks, the Mother of the Modern Civil Rights Movement, reads (and I quote):

Why I Admire Rosa Parks

She was brave and she stood up (but not literally, ha!) to laws that she thought were unfair. She remained in her seat.

*snerk*

Ahem.

You see? With the inappropriate-yet-impossible-to-resist punning? DO YOU SEE?!

Seriously. What else can I say? My job here is done.

Girly-isms

Alli: (from backseat, reaching for a cookie) Hey, Momma, will you hook your sister up?

Hannah: (kicking off flip-flops while swinging) Momma! Swinging with the wind rushing over my toes is my favorite way to swing! (flinging hair as if she were the Breck Girl) With the wind in my hair!… While wearing a skort!

Alli: (clapping her hands) Okay, people, let’s go to Dairy Queen for goodness Pete’s sake!

Hannah: Hey, Momma, listen! Cheese, cheese, I love cheese! Too bad I have allergies, and yummy cheese makes me sneeze! Geez!

A Moment in the Life of a Repressed Extrovert

There were two choices in Friday traffic, only two, and though the correct way seemed oh-so-clear, I chose the wrong road. Totally. Start… stop. Start… stop. Start… stop. START… STOP.

I seethed. I railed. I expressed my frustration in less-than-ladylike terms. Finally, I dialed TGIM.

“Argh! I am SO mad! I totally chose the wrong road! This way is usually quicker, but not today, NOOOOOO, and these morons are NOT moving and I am NEVER going to get home, just so you know! NEVER! Just don’t even think about seeing me for HOURS! I’m not even kidding! OH! MY! GOSH! This idiot just CUT ME OFF! Way to go, loser! MAN! IDIOT! Aaaaaargh!”

There was silence on the other line for a moment, then, “Um… okay. Is there anything else?”

“Anything else?” I asked, maneuvering past some genius who apparently thought driving fast in the fast lane was more of a suggestion than an imperative. “Oh. Well, no, not really. There was just no one in the car to talk to, so… um, I thought I’d just, you know, give you a call…”

Another pause, then, “Goodbye, Cat.”

*click*

Well. How rude. Honestly.

Guitar Hero: Stars in Her Eyes

Nothing says family togetherness like Guitar Hero. Just sayin’.

All Apologies…

Shenanigans at the workplace! Shenanigans, I say!

Stupid shenanigans.

That’s all I have to say about that.

On the bright side, a new couple has replaced Veronica Mars and Logan Echolls in my romantical heart. Plus, they’re Canadian! I KNOW, right?! They say things like “aboat,” which I’m 99.9% sure means “about, and “soary” for “sorry.” Which… awesome?! So very Gilbert Blythe of them, you know? Plus? They have RED fifty dollar bills! I’m not even joking! And those fifties are HUGE, y’all. Like, ginormous. All big and whatnot. And the rest of the money? Totally colorful, all purple and brown and green and blue, colors which I think are infinitely more exciting than our boring old greenbacks, I tell you what. Plus… bigger.

But how did I get to talking about Canadian money? I meant to wax eloquent aboat the romantical couple, who put Veronica and Logan UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension) to SHAME. I hate to say it, but Veronica Mars missed the boat; if they had written or directed Veronica and Logan the way this couple has been written, they’d be aces right now, instead of threatened with cancellation. Yes, this couple is THAT hot. And the show is totally PG, so it’s romantic hot, not porn hot. Not that I think porn is hot. Because I don’t. Porn is the devil. Or something. Stripping, on the other hand… lucrative!

What? Who is the couple? Well, didn’t I say already?! Sheesh! Pay attention! I told you right after the part aboat the–

Oops. My bad.

Okay, I’ll just say it. Mock me if you will, but I am now completely in love with a Canadian television show called… (wait for it… wait for it…) Instant Star. There! I said it! I don’t care! Jude and Tommy are da bomb DIGGITY! Tommy? PRETTY. And Jude? She’s rocks! No, literally. She’s a rock star. And Tommy is her producer. And they luuuuuuv each other, but the timing is never right. Plus, he’s way older than her. And she’s underage. But they’re sweet. And they get involved in other romantic relationships, but it always comes back down to them. And amazingly, it WORKS. Plus? The music is very catchy. “Waste my time! Waste my tiiiime! Not so sure if I’ll be yours and baby you could be miiiiine!” How does THAT grab ya? Eh? Eh?

Come on! Who’s with me? Any Canadians out there? Besides Nilbo, who I’m pretty sure is NOT in the demographic for this show? (Soary, dude.)

Seriously. This show eases the stress and unhappiness I am experiencing right now due to SHENANIGANS, so I shall love it forever. Unless they keep Jude and Tommy apart, in which case I will cry and vow vengeance. I’m just saying.

There. Let the mocking commence.

(Stupid, STUPID shenanigans.)

Happiness is…

… crawling into bed at the end of a work day that ran much too long, and cuddling up with that frivolous novel you’ve been meaning to read for ages, smooshed between two little girls– smelling of playground sweat and sunshine– eagerly devouring novels of their own, the only sound the whisper of turning pages, the rustle of blankets, and occasional burst of laughter followed by silly passages read aloud for all to enjoy. No television. No phone. No computer. No radio. Just you and your daughters tucked away from the world, immersed in worlds of your own… together.

The Promise

I wasn’t expecting it. Not then. I was concentrating on the road, looking for holes, darting in and out of traffic, not really going anywhere, but still… going. Fast. Always moving, my choices spurring me onward, sideways, forward… sometimes backward, but only if I chose wrong, so I concentrated, wrong not an option I wanted to explore. I spent too many hours on the road already. Home. I just wanted to be home, tired of going. Fast. I was focused, blocking out any possible distractions.

That’s how I almost missed it.

I climbed the hill, drifting back in the left, fastest lane, anticipating the inevitable ebb to my flow. I knew that as I shot over the hill in my little white Miata, I would have a clear view of the tangled maze of cars as all five lanes stretched out before me, which meant a spilt-second opportunity to map out my route. I was confident I’d see it clearly. I’ve always been good at mazes, you see.

I crested the hill, prepared for the small adrenaline rush that inevitably accompanied my hurried Seek and Destroy scan of the Beltway. I was speed. I was determination. I was aerodynamic perfection. But as I glided up the valley and swept around the bend, there came a vivid flash, stunning with a sea of palest green foliage, dazzling in the distance, atop dark blue wooded hollows of groves dipping and swelling along the banks of the Potomac. A thickening green fanned out from the river for miles, the treetops swaying gently, stately and majestic, blossoming, bursting with vigor, stealing my breath away.

Oh, my! I thought, my eyes widening, straining to take it all in. Spring? Sprung! When did this happen?!

Unsolicited euphoria flowed through me as I gazed into the distant see of green, the traffic maze before me all but forgotten. In my hurry to go fast, find the holes, crack the maze, I had missed it. The gentle promise whispered by the pastel blossoms and the hazy green mist. The promise of family bicycle rides on lazy afternoons and long, winding walks along muddy forest trails. The promise of neighborhood barbeques and group camp-outs. The promise of holding hands with my children at the lake as we laughingly dash to the edge of the dock and jump, momentarily flying, then screaming and snorting as water rushes into our mouths and up our noses. The promise of rebirth, a fresh start, turning over a new leaf, beginnings.

To my right a horn blared, and I snapped my attention back to the road. The choices, the holes, the answer to the maze, it was all right there, right in front of me. Yet I eased myself out of the fast lane. Took my foot off the gas and slowed down. Looked around. Stopped worrying about holes and wrong choices.

And I smiled, basking in the breathlessness, the euphoria (ever-elusive in the grey of winter)… the promise. And to think I had almost missed it!

It was a long way home, but my weariness had dissipated.

I sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Mini-Me Strikes Again

Statement: “Well, she’s got a lot of… energy.”

Translation: “Allison is the talkingest damn child I’ve ever met and did we really voluntarily invite her– without any kind of coercion whatsoever– to spend the night with us? Because, if so… INSANE?”

 

Statement: “She likes to talk, doesn’t she? No, I mean, it was nice. Really!”

Translation: “Good LORD. Allison did not stop chattering from the minute she walked through our door until the moment two seconds before her head hit the pillow when she announced, “I probably won’t be able to fall asleep. No, really! I am actually not tired at ALL.’”

 

Statement: “Aw, she reminds me so much of you at that age.”

Translation: “You were the talkingest damn child I ever knew and now you’ve got one that rivals you for the sheer volume of words that pour out of her mouth in a steady stream of inane questions and “conversation,” and isn’t it true that Mom always told you she hoped you’d have a child just like you someday, so help her God, mwah ha ha? In which case, boy howdy! I think we’ve seen the culmination of THAT curse!”

 

Statement: “Yep. Allison IS just like me at that age. JUST like me, poor thing.”

Translation: “Thanks for the ‘curse,’ Mom. Because truth is, I love that girl more than life itself. Here’s to hoping she never loses her spunky energy and zest for life, or her firm belief that everyone around her absolutely loves her to death… just the way she is.”

See? I ROCK. Because Michael Muhney says so, that’s why!

I’m not one to ask for autographs– I have no idea what I’d do with one, actually– but when a GORGEOUS, super HAWT picture of Sheriff La– I mean, Michael Muhney is attached to the autograph… well, who am I to refuse?

Woo! Super cute.

Thanks, Mr. Michael Muhney. You are officially the coolest celebrity I know. Plus… nice penmanship! With the hearts and whatnot?

Mwah!