From the Beginning.

It started in 1985. In Poland.

But what if it hadn’t?

What if it was elsewhere?

We fled communism for Munich and awaited our visas to Australia. What if we got them?

In 1989 we moved to Chicago, but if we didn’t?

Evanston found us in 1993; friendships still over a decade strong were forged. Tearstained pillow cases established their home in the middle school years. What if we had never arrived?

1998. Mexico. An incident occurred that would forever change every aspect of how I perceived the world and myself. Who would I be if we had gone to the Bahamas instead?

In 2003 I chose the University of Minnesota over my first choice of Fordham University in NYC for love. If I had gone to New York I would not  have met and married my husband.

6 years ago in 2006 I graduated early and started my job at the Museum. I was going to go to Law School, what if I had?

Had a misstep been taken.  A different plane boarded. Why the possibilities are limitless. Of who I would be, of who you would be. Of how we would cross. Grain against grain. Smoothed to glass or swept to sea.

Each of these moments strung together, seemingly meaningless infinite strands of chance encounters braided, entwine us. Hold us close. The edges may fray. You may tug and pull and attempt to unravel. But once bound we have forever made an impression. Whether fate or chance unknown.

I have known you and you me.

Our paths may change, the stream will flow into the river into the ocean, the current carrying us apart. But you two have made your way into the world, born by me, by chance, by fate, by divine power. With me forever.

And when I asked of you to hold a hand and you held his, I knew that you will have your own path. That you will travel. Together. Alone. Without me.

We will each make our own way through the crevices and mountain tops. Traverses narrow and deep holding our dreams in sweaty palms.

Clinging to hopes, wishes unwished, loves unloved.

I don’t know what I believe in, but I believe in you.

For as long as we are together, let’s make it better.

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This post came to be because she read a cartoon and tweeted it. And she read that tweet and blogged it. And I read that blog post and felt it. 

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I have also used this as a contest entry for a full sponsorship to the Type-A Parent Conference from Brica. Brica’s Motto is ‘Making Together Better’ and you can find Brica on both Facebook and Twitter.

Without Words

I hide behind words. Wielding a large letter S, in Veranda bold 24, I hold it in front of me twisting my body to be shielded. I pour these words out, my fingertips damp with moisture pitter pattering the keys, pools of salty wetness gathering on the table top. They fall and scatter across the page, an alphabet soup on my computer screen.

There is more safety in the unsaid. More loneliness in the unheard.

There is an ebb and flow to depression. Its presence always on the sidelines waiting to be called out to play. When it gets that chance on the court it is in no hurry to find its way back to the bench. Pushing away all the other thoughts until he is the star of the game.

I fight. Throwing a B and F, in Rockwell Extra bold 36, a misthrown G finds its way rolling back to me. I call upon my friends to fill the void of emptiness that is growing. But the lack of words has created a chasm and how is one to jump across when so much continues to be unsaid? How can I fight with no one on my side?

I have left so much unsaid. For I am now frightened of my words. Cowering in the corner as the Z and R, in Impact bold 36, approach menacing from the hall. My words have failed me. Left trembling on my lips with no breath to push them out. Deleted on a page but not forgotten.

How can I breathe with no letters to conjure up the task? When tears have failed and help is misplaced. A stillness fills the air. Silence smothers the words. Buries them deep under the soft ground. My hands worn, bloodied and dirty as I try to dig them out. Without words how will I not be overlooked?

My cursor blinks and blinks but my fingers are frozen and unmoving.

Dear reader, listener of these words, it is a struggle. Such a struggle these days. With no affirmation but silence.

He’s on the court, he shoots, he scores.

Proud.

I very rarely talk about controversial issues. However, I have posted my thoughts on gender and gay marriage before. I have always been clear about it. There is nothing that I find more disgusting then when someone tries to tell another person who they can and can’t love. You have no right to tell my friends who they can be or be with and I will go to my grave fighting for them. One of my best friends, the GodMummy, is getting married in 2013. I will be her bridesmaid. Bear, her godson, will be a ring bearer and if I have my way Bella will be one of the flower girls too. There is nothing that makes me more proud than to be able to stand next to her as she gets married to her wife. As a mother, nothing makes me happier than to show my children firsthand that marriage and love are gender irrelevant.

My mother and I had a big argument about gender on Saturday. As I drove the hour to meet a friend of mine I called her and flouted the idea of me going to Greece with a friend of mine. A male friend of mine. Her reaction was tantamount to me declaring my decision to run a brothel. The problem was not that I was going on vacation, not that I was going without the H, but that I was going with a man. Yes, on the surface I understand why this is perceived as odd. I get it, but her reaction was disproportionate to the situation. Who cares what gender my friend is. He is in fact, just a friend. Our conversation took a severe left turn about the differences in gender and I stood by my belief that there shouldn’t be any.

This is how our conversation went:

Men and women are just different. Men don’t wear makeup.

But they can and if they wanted to, they should.

But that’s wrong.

Why, why is it wrong?

Because it is.

But why?

You’re saying if you went to the bank and the male teller had on make up that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable?

No.

If the H wanted to wear eye shadow you’d be fine with it?

I’d take him to Sephora.

Well would you pee in a store?

Um no.

Why?

Well because its wrong.

Exactly.

To be clear, you’re comparing a man wearing makeup to urinating in a store?

 

Needless to say, we never came to a resolution.

So what do you think: Do you think a man and woman can be friends and go on a vacation together? Do you think men can wear makeup? What are your thoughts on public urination?

The Soliloquy of Motherhood.

I stand here ironing. Rolling this hot metal back and forth in rhythm with the pounds of my heart. Tap, tap, swosh, swosh. Inhale. Exhale.

His words echo in my ears You seem to have it all. My ungratefulness fills my insides with a sickening guilt. I am left with endless longing for so much more than I have. You seem to handle it well. Inside I barely hold myself together. I do nothing for me, and everything for the parade of requirement put upon me.

Having just swirled this special whisk made just for hot chocolate another endless contraption made to lessen the burden of the solitude of motherhood. I kiss the top of your golden head as I hand you your steaming cup, the glee on your face palpable. It should have filled me with something more than obligation.

tap. tap. swosh. swosh. inhale. exhale.

Begging for more marshmellows you both stand at my feet, palms out, awaiting. Rationing them out. Five for you, two for you. You wiggle your butt in excitement yet I feel like a communist officer allowing you your daily allottment of bread and flour. What would you children have done if you had to wait in long cold lines like my parents did with me at their hip? You are spoiled by society, by my guilt. You will never appreciate what you have, always having everything.

I will never be fulfilled by what I have, having had nothing but wanting everything.

I love you both so much more than you could ever know, but some how still not enough.

tap. tap. swosh. swosh. inhale. exhale.

There is so much taking. So much demanding. Never enough giving. Perhaps I am too selfish for this profession? Too bound up with my own needs, my own unfillment to find joy in the mundane. You are chewing on the bell of Santa’s hat. I am too tired to stop you.

It’s not only an exhaustion of lack of sleep. But the brevity of it all. Never enough time. Never enough. Why are there still six unfinished christmas cards when forty have already been completed? Why send wishes of joy when you recieve so few back. Always giving.

tap. tap. swosh. swosh. inhale. exhale.

Please stop taking down the Christmas ornaments. Please stop making so much noise. Please don’t eat that. Please don’t touch that. Please.

I want him to take me despite what it would look like. I want him to not have been kidding that he would take me to the place I’ve always dreamed. To walk along the shores of the Aegean sea, to run my fingertips among the homes of the Santorini. I want to go like an ache in my soul that cannot be dulled.

Please stop picking the cranberries off the wreath. Please don’t yell at your sister. Please stop crying. Please.

tap. tap. swosh. swosh. inhale. exhale.

If he will take me. If he will pay for me. I will go despite your hesitations. Despite the outward appearance of it all. If he will take me I will go and do this thing for myself. I will leave the three of you behind. And spend seven days in quiet. And I will come back, and be better for it.

I love when you lay your baby face on mine. Cheek to cheek. I breathe you in. And it passes faster than it came. The tears rolling in like a thundering from miles away.

tap. tap. swosh. swosh. inhale. exhale. done.

Looking Back and Letting Go

Yesterday, I found myself thinking about my friends from college. I had been talking to three of them and I just miss them, in a way that I wasn’t initially aware of. I thought about the friendships I once had. How we were bound together by time and proximity. Our time was endless except for studying, which was easily given up and I was one of the few that worked.

We lived all together. Within feet of one another. It wasn’t miles, it wasn’t a car trip, it wasn’t a plane trip. It was next door. I’m saddened that I don’t have that anymore. That I won’t have that anymore by the nature of age. My time has become a precious commodity and I don’t have endless amounts of it. We are all so many miles apart on completely different coasts; we are plane flights away from each other. And I miss it because I know I won’t get it back.

For me my friends have always been my family. They are my family. When I was a child, my family were just people I was bound to by blood, but who were never there for me. My friends were my core. My friends were always there for me. When I conjure up the word family it is so leaden with despair and disappointment. But friendship is filled with love, kindness, compassion, humor, excitement and adventure. And I want that.

Even though the family I have now is my own, one that I have created it is such a paradigm shift for me to turn my focus to family and not to friends. It’s hard for me to shift to this thing that hurt me so much and I find myself still relying on my friends who have moved on and have created their own family, their own networks. I feel like I’m left in the shadow of that. Looking back at these memories, yellowing with age, I know I have to put them away and let them go.

Written as a part of Shell’s Pour Your Heart Out