out of the box

there is no real reason a person should cry over diaper boxes in the recycle bin. but lets just say she went to the store with a few minor flakes of snow falling, and came out of the store 35 minutes later, kids in tow, to find her car under much snow cover. and lets just say that she couldn't see across the parking lot, and drove about 20 mph on the way home. and maybe it was such dreadful white-out conditions that she didn't see the road to make a left and go home, adding 2 miles of driving in the non-tree or building areas, since it was impossible to recognize the street. and so when she got home, safe and sound, found the good boxes in the snowy recycle bin (not to mention the box she just purchased to mail a gift was torn-for shame!) and she filled with an unrecognizable fire as she firmly pressed 3 to call her husband at work to scold him. there is no real reason she should cry when he called back to soothe her over the boxes. SNOW reason at all. :)

Fun with Daddio

Salon stuff

all from my phone...part of the charm, right?!

from the top:

1. left)at the desk. boss has a lovely client from england who makes these valentine's. there are 5. right) we rarely have the date right. the mirror for one last chance to admire our work before you go
   
2. l)we are eco friendly--we get our towels from the thrifty across the street. r)our backroom is actually a closet with a sink
3. l)An amaryllis--a gift to MOE from one of "his ladies" r)walking in our door the retail, curtain, manicure table & pedi chair (shampoo bowls are opposite the retail shelves)
4. l) sitting at the manicure table, with the whole of the salon behind me-- MOE with a guest r)sitting in the same place, with curtain down, facing toward the front of the salon

just wondering...

could I make this blog any more about me? I land on my own blog several times a day...whenever there is a lull in the action. Guess what I find? Myself. (Those people spending hundreds of thousands of dollars searching for themselves should get a blog, post a picture or 3 of their own mug and ponder it, instead of spending all that money. Then, they should send me the money and I will analyze the photo, too, and enjoy monthly pedicures.) It is a kind of vanity, posting all these photos of myself. I really am looking for something. Some Grit, perhaps?

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time you should be well acquainted with my Motherhood Love Affair. I do absolutely love being Mommy. Even when I hear "mommy" repeated so many times the word starts to change in my ears to something more like "Hello? Lady? Are you paying attention to this busy little boy down here? How 'bout now?" I am thankful to be a Mommy when it is stressful, when I am tired, when they are hungry, when they are cranky and as yet unable to verbalize their needs. I can say God is indulgent to have given me these two beautiful children. If He trusts me with them, then I have to trust myself. So yes, I love it, we are agreed. But there are times when I need some of the old angst ridden, gritty, thoughtful, creative tortured being of my youth. Not all the negative energy that I used to hold on to for fear of evolving (hindsight 20/20), but the solid piece of something that is me. Just me. It can be something... it is something that makes me a better mother. I feel stronger and more exciting and livelier when my brain is producing and creating.

I make up songs nearly daily for the children. One day I was singing or chanting for them and Theo's face absolutely lit up like a Christmas tree. He stood up from his truck and started clapping his hands in time with my song. Suvi sings along to most of our tunes. These are Mommyness moments that makes me feel alive and worthy of their cares. Oh! How I love these two little people. (So much that the worry for their health overtakes my tender mind at times, and then Habtamu worries as well, or he brings me back to reality.) Singing with the kids is a win/win: they are entertained, I get to hear my own voice. (I don't limit myself to the shower or the car.)

Singing with the kids wakes me up... Looking at selective photos of myself makes me look for more... Love being Mommy... want to use my creative mind... So, maybe I shouldn't be landing on my blog so many times each day. Maybe those moments should be used for directing more energy towards the joy of my children. Maybe 70/30. There is plenty of grit, plenty of vanity, plenty of me to go around.

QUESTION:

What do you want to know?

I would like to type like crazy, I would love to just really dig into something and describe it to my heart's content. I'm feeling a little hungry. For words. The words stuck in my files. Help me set them free!

"I'm in this hive and the queen mother is coming to eat me up." I wrote that in 1994. I thought myself quite the deep thinker in those days, and I am in the mood to indulge. Come, my little flowers, get me rolling.
Oh. Pardon me. Please.

Straight up.

My little lady was hanging out on my lap, watching Thomas online with Theo.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Muah! A big kiss, and a shout out to my peeps from my little peeps!

gritty?

This photo didn't scan in with the original quality, but perhaps that adds to the aesthetic for which we are searching .

100!

this is my one hundredth post. weird! I would have expected it to be more meaningful:)

The sun streaming through my windows is like the perfect mouthful of lemon pie. Anybody see Waitress? I loved that movie. I bawled through it--and it is rather gritty, aside from the lovely pies.

danger!

Something dreadful has happened. I was cornered by two of my greatest weaknesses: please meet my friends, Clearance and Calorie. There is something missing from this photo. Who can tell me what it is, class?

Please, let me vent./reborn.

I can't get into facebook. ITS REALLY BUGGING ME!
I'll stop yelling now.


The other day a girlfriend called to share a funny/strange story with me. The thing she discovered, in contemplating an exchange she shared with someone in her world, is there is no original thought when it comes to communicating our emotion. We totally enjoyed the idea, and laughed for the cheesy factor in a statement of love or emotion. For example, there are a million mom's who take a photo of their beloved baby with a messy face, wearing heels, or in the bath. "How adorable!" Because, really, it is adorable. And there could be a stamp made to express our love to Mom, Sister, Lover, Friend. Something you personalize with your signature only. The signature is yours, but what about your name? Mine is Jenny. Jen. Jennifer. It doesn't specifically identify the person I am. When I place pen to paper and scratch out my name, Jenny translates to me alone. So our declarations of love and devotion, captured images of those we love and adore, the songs/poems/movies we associate with our images of personal connections may all sound exactly the same. "You are more than any daughter could hope for! My sister, my friend. I love you forever my dearest. Thank you a million times over for your support and laughter." Except that it is my voice in her ear. Shared laugh lines. My kiss on his cheek. My arm on your shoulder. This is what makes those unoriginal words and sentiments organic and true. Your sigh in my ear, your pen writing my address, the treats you fed him on his breath, the messy face God delivered(and the face you anxiously await) for you to tend. It is you. It is me. Your heart is true, the sentiment your own. Your personal relationship revealed, replenished, revitalised, revisited, repaired, retired, rededicated, reclaimed! I am feeling it, baby!

sneaky blog

My family is sleeping--I just got home from work--so I feel like I am sneaking online.
Oops, I hear the floor creaking. Its my hubbinator! I'm busted!

silly sally upside down

Our girl with curls (until she sleeps or puts a hat on)
A coat from Mella.

My window to the world.

This fella can take off his pajamas, but likes to be prepared for weather.

Theo asked me to read a book to him, but I said, "Just a minute, buddy, I'll read it to you after this." Umm...bad Mom! But had I done it when he asked, I wouldn't have had the joy of hearing him "read" it to himself. Oh, now he has moved on the the red, ripe strawberry story. I love hearing him play, talk to himself, sing...the purity of a child! I am not neglecting both of my children, his baby sister is sleeping.