Archive for » September, 2009 «

Beautiful Mess by Diamond Rio

Beautiful Mess is the story of the band Diamond Rio. If you’re familiar with country music, you’ve probably heard of this band. For twenty years they have kept the same core group of musicians. Through ups and downs, they have stuck together in a tough business….

This is a book review. You can read the rest of it by clicking here.

Category: other writing  Tags:  Comments off

Mom as Jungle Gym, A Modern Art Piece

I was in the dining room, squatting down to look at something on the bottom shelf of our baker’s rack. I didn’t even see it coming.

Whack!

A very large car starts moving over my back and shoulders.

Wait, let me back up. My son is obsessed with cars. It’s really anything with wheels. If an object has wheels, he must have it.

Earlier this month, he threw a fit over a rain gauge that had a tractor on it. When I finally figured out what he wanted, I got it down for him. And then he threw a fit because the wheels wouldn’t move on the stupid thing. It was the funniest and most pitiful thing, all at the same time. He was so disappointed that the wheels were immobile.

So we have these cars (Ridemakerz, which we LOVE) that have been sitting on top of our stereo since last Christmas. After we got home from Missouri, the boy noticed them. As in, would not stop until we got them down for him. Point, whine. Point, stomp feet, whine. Repeat. I really don’t mind him playing with them, so I got them down for him.

And they have not left his side since. He even sleeps with them now. These cars are not small. They’re about 10-12 inches long. But he loves them and runs them all over the place.

Me, included.

So this car starts running across my back. I’m leaning over enough that he can balance the car on my shoulder and it will stay. So he leaves the car there so he can go get the other one. He brings it back and runs it all over my back, too.

I’m amused, but also glad there are no cameras around.

I think that I’m my son’s favorite playground. He’s constantly running his hot wheels cars all over me, too. Or when I’m laying in the floor, he crawls across me. Over. And over. And over.

So I’m a jungle gym. Or a car track. Or just a really soft play toy.

And I actually love every minute of it. Being a mom is so cool.

The invisible woman

penpaper I’ve been a writer for almost as long as I can remember. If you were to look in the back of my closet, you’d see stacks of notebooks and journals that I’ve filled over the years – and many more waiting for my pen. Since having my son 22 months ago, I haven’t written as much. Mostly I’m too tired. And too busy writing other things that help us make a living. By the end of the night, I’m spent. The words swirl around in my head, but my hands are too tired to record. And my journal sits there, quietly accusing me of neglect.

Will my son wonder why I didn’t write as much after he was born? Will he wonder if I had nothing to say about him? As you can see from many posts on this site, that’s not really true. But who knows if this record will even be around by the time he finds my papers?

I’m not even sure, most of the time, why I write. I feel compelled. It is not something I can ignore. I am me, therefore I must write. I process the things in my head by writing. I quiet the tortures, the demons that swirl around and tell me to worry about the things which I cannot control. I quiet the voices that tell me I’m not good enough, not pretty enough, and too lazy to really accomplish anything of worth.

Lately some of those voices have been louder than my pen.

And I wonder what my future family members will think of the gaps in my journals. Will they be able to put together a picture of my life? Will they find me interesting? Sad? Pathetic? I mostly hope they’ll see me as a complete person. Not just mom. Or grandma (someday, hopefully).

I guess I really want to be known as more than just mom because I’ve been feeling like that is really inadequate lately. After my son was born, I became invisible. I’m no longer an interesting person in my own right. I feel fat. Dumpy. Uninteresting. People look right through me.

So I hope that writing pulls that veil back a little bit. Even if it doesn’t make me visible right now, maybe it will later. Maybe not. I write to leave a record. I was here! I may not leave a big impression on the world, and few people may remember me, but I was HERE dammit. I mattered.

Here I am. The invisible woman. I may not change the world, but I hope I can change my world with my pen. Letter by letter, word by word. (Or should that be Bird by Bird?)

image: cohdra from morguefile.com

I remember

I remember this day 8 years ago.

I remember my husband called home to tell us to turn on the TV.

I remember calling my mom in disbelief and — while I was on the phone with her — hearing on the radio that the 2nd tower fell and telling her that it had happened.

I remember going around in a daze all day, unsure what had occurred.

I remember crying for a week, thinking of all the people we lost, mourning for their families.

I remember my world irreparably changing.

I remember the silent skies.

I remember a fear of flying.

I remember those families.

I remember those lost.

I remember.

I will not forget.

I remember.

Category: miscellany  2 Comments