Who is this child?

Something I want to be sure to do more of is writing down some of the conversations my kids have. Their intelligence, wit and intuition never fails to astound, impress and amuse me.

For example, Jenna's conversation with her father on the phone last night.

Jenna: Sorry I didn't get to go to your wedding Daddy - even though you PROMISED I could. (insert slight dramatic pout).

the ex: That's okay Jenna. I tried, I really did, but it didn't work out.

Jenna: Yeah, you stole Nate from school and got in trouble. I understand. (with a tone of resignation and matter of factness).

the ex: (long pause)

Jenna: Daddy?

the ex: Well I didn't steal him, I just borrowed him. I was going to put him back when I was done. (teasing tone).

Jenna: (giggle) He's not a toy to be borrowed and put away daddy.

the ex: I know. (sigh)

Learning. Loving. Living.

Do you ever miss being a kid? I'll admit that I really don't think about it much. My childhood was fun and full of drama at the same time. Interspersed with the happy moments of playing with my friends until dark and drawing hopscotch on the sidewalk, is the memories of my mom sitting in a corner of a dark room crying and having potato soup every night for a week because there wasn't enough to eat in our house.

Childhood was somewhat bittersweet for me. I grew up not knowing my real dad. I fell madly in love with my mom's first husband, who eventually cheated on her, got mixed up in drugs, and died a homeless vet roaming the city streets - hardly father of the year. And then I spent my pre-pubescent years scowling at my mom's second husband and picking fights with him throughout high school. I took all my resentment out on him, and although sometimes he deserved it, most of the time he didn't.

But I also remember holding all-day dance contests in my cousin's front yard, complete with a sheet of cardboard to "break-dance" on to the tunes coming out of our "boombox". Fun times. And sitting on the back patio in the scorching sun eating a popsicle, feeling it drip down my arms and onto my bare legs and then jumping in the pool to rinse it all off. While inside the house my family was falling apart.

For a kid with a childhood like that... the good memories were a lifeboat to happiness.

The resilience of children has never been more clear to me than when I became a mom. Wiping tears from faces that just got skinned from falling off a bike, kissing a papercut that has already begun to heal but needs a batman bandaid, well just because it feels better, and playing barbies with my daughter because she had a fight with her best friend --- these are the moments when my heart breaks because more than anything I want to protect my children from any pain. But then five minutes later they are up and running and laughing again... whatever hurt received quickly forgotten. And that makes me smile.

I realized tonight that I am doing a good job of protecting them and encouraging happiness, because despite being involved in a nasty custody dispute with their father, my children are oblivious to it. I fill their days with activity and stories and love and kisses and hugs - tucking them warmly into bed at night, so that they don't doubt for one second that they are loved and cared for. They don't have to worry about whether mommy is sad again or whether there will be something new on the dinner table tomorrow night. They have the security to know that their every need will be met.

Does their mom sit in a corner and cry? I'll admit that sometimes I do, but it's when they aren't around to see or worry about it. Have I worried about where I'll find food to put on the table? Since becoming a single mom, yes I have been there a time or two as well. But it's not something they ever see or realize. I protect them so that they can do what kids are suppose to do... play and learn and experience the wonders of our world.

And somehow, through them, I am getting to experience my childhood over again - well at least the good parts. That's my reward for being their mom.

Weeeee!

Is there anything more free than this?

Jenna doing what she does best

Congestion

Can a upper respiratory illness cause writers block?

I am home sick today. Fuzzy bathrobe snug around me, hot tea with honey and lemon cooling... I thought "What a perfect time to catch up on my blogging."

But what to write about?

...

...

...

Being sick? God, no one wants to read about that.

Kids? Nate did start a new school yesterday and because they teach Spanish there he keeps asking me when we can go on vacation to Mexico, convinced he'll be fluent after a week I imagine. Jenna has a complicated friendship with three little girls that is causing her equal joy and frustration.

I could use my experiences with both of them to write an article. How to transition a little one into a new school in a healthy way, as it worked well for us. Or write a piece on the dynamics of friendships that carry over from childhood into our adult lives.

Somehow there are thousands of ideas and possibilities swirling around in my head, but I can't seem to formulate one of them into words that I can type.

It reminds me of driving in dowtown Dallas traffic on Monday morning. Inevitably you are going to hit traffic and it's usually caused by some city planning committee who thought it would be great to take the four lane highway and expand it to six to ease traffic - but not taking into account the length of time and resources needed to complete the improvement would include shutting the four lanes into one as the development is being done. So what you have is four lanes of traffic being merged into only one - causing traffic congestion.

That's what is happening with my head. Congestion. And I am not talking about the extensive amount of snot making my nasal passages throb. I am talking about a congestion of words and thoughts and ideas... they are there in my head and all of them want out at once.

But where to start?

I can't just hold a tissue to it and "blow" the way we direct toddlers to do when they haven't figured out how to do so yet.

Or can I?

A friend once told me that writers don't get "blocked"... they get lazy and scared. A real writer never stops writing... even if the topic is overdone or mundane. Just do it. (thanks Nike for the most recognized tag line of my generation). JUST. DO. IT.

So instead of staring at the computer screen and being too scared to write... being too lazy to start... I have one new year's resolution for 2009. To rid myself of the congestion of ideas by writing about them everyday. Just stick my hand in the pot and pick one and go with it. I might just find that with one good "blow", the words will come flowing again.

Dear Santa - mom needs a new job...

I was cleaning out her backpack this morning and found this letter, addressed to Mr. C. (Santa Claus). I will let you attempt to read it first and then translate it in a second...




LMAO

Here is the translation:

Dear Mr C - I hope that I am on the nice list. I would love that. I would be
good. P.S. Jenna P.P.S. So will you put me on the nice list? And Mr. C, I love
you. Oh and I hope that you love this letter. Oh and Mr. C, will you let my mom
be a elf working at your work? Cause I would love that. From Jenna to You.

Now I am not sure if this is because she thinks Santa needs some more effective marketing and I am just the person to do it, or she just hopes that me being an elf working there will score her some better Christmas presents. LOL.

Say Cheese

We grew up in front of the camera, so it's no wonder we now choose to stand behind it. Me and my sisters are obsessed with taking pictures. I think we have literally documented every major, and not so major, moment of our lives, since the point our parents bought us our first very own 35mm camera (actually I think mine was a 110, do they even make those anymore? What about Advantix... whatever happened to those? Ha).

But I digress.

Picture-taking, documentation, photo albums and finally scrapbooks have encompassed so much of our memory-making, that they have not only chronicled the memories of our lives, they have become a PART of the memory-making.

Somewhere along the line it went from being a hobby to being something I could actually make some money doing (in order to pay for the outrageously expensive equipment I drool at while browsing photog sites online).

And unlike those fiercely loyal photographers, I have no loyalty to brand. I've tried Canon and Nikon, Olympus and Kodak. I have probably tried a version of every camera-making brand in the U.S. at some point. As long as it takes a crisp photo quickly... well I am happy.

So I am excited to break in my early christmas gift from my boyfriend, my Sony Alpha A-200. Already I am impressed with the quality of photos... and what better excuse to harrass my children like celebrity paparazzi, than making them help me break in the new cam.

Jenna was less than thrilled. All the rest of my photographs of her were of the back of her head or her hands in front of her face "Brittany"-style. Sigh. Better luck next time.

Nate on the other hand was a more willing participant. I will spare you the extreme closeups of the taco meat from dinner hanging out of his mouth while he cheesed it up for me... and instead give you the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen (apologies to my blue-eyed boyfriend, but he is a close second).

And then I will leave you with a shot of my boy showing off his battle wounds. He got into an altercation with the swing at school. He swears the swing looks worse, but I am not so sure.