Deuces

I have a pretty purse. My mom bought me the pretty purse. And before the pretty purse I had a cute purse. Before the cute purse I had a fashionable over-sized boho bag, and before the boho bag I had a fabulous satchel. I have traded the lovely handbags and bolsitas for a very utilitarian backpack. It started as a reasonable way to carry a small child + a carseat + carry-on luggage + a sippy cup onto a very long international flight. And then the practicality and functional nature of that ugly backpack got the best of this here mommy. Because it's not a fashionable backpack. It's not even a Jansport (are those still cool, kids?  This mommy don't know...) It's totally a multi-zippered, ergonomically-fit, dry-weave, red and black, all-terrain, survivalist camping backpack. It's the pack we picked up on a trip to Yosemite, That place where such a backpack serves a distinct purpose and anyone: man, woman or child would not be judged. But car

The relationship has soured. I started to feel as though I was giving more than I was receiving.  I felt an imbalance, and, at times, consumed by it. The relationship started off like any other. It was fun, exciting, interesting and captivated my attention. But, like many other relationships, The allure faded, and I was left with the reality that I had come to rely on the relationship too much. The complacency, The way I started to feel like a drone. So we have parted ways. It's a trial separation. Do I miss it? Can someone miss Facebook? I guess so. But not so much. Not just yet. As I explained to my girlfriends just this afternoon, I decided to part ways for Facebook temporarily. Going dark for the summer was my way of giving Sayler more of mommy's attention. It was my way of facing the reality that the grimey grout in my shower was not going to disappear on its own and my way of staring down the shelves in my fridge and letting them k

Sometimes I miss yesterday. Sometimes I miss being naive, not knowing what I know, not relating everything to something else. Sometimes I miss people. I miss who they were, naive, not knowing what they know. I miss when we weren't political, or knew that religion could divide us more than unite us. Sometimes I miss the me that didn't know what it felt like to have my heart broken. I miss her because she didn't question people, or the certainty of the future. I miss the days when all things seemed possible but I didn't think about the possibilties because, like, huh?  I didn't have time for, like, thinking about possibilities and I didn't have to worry anyway. I miss that insecure feeling I would get when I forgot my pager at home and totally swore I was missing the most important page of my life and couldn't wait to be reunited with my pager. I miss not worrying about the effects of not wearing sunscreen. I miss the summers w

A full year. The response is always "it goes so fast, enjoy them while they're little..." But really, I feel like I really, really lived this year with you and held my breath numerous times and watched and held and snuggled and cried and escaped to the closet when I needed a moment to myself... and I laughed so loud and I giggled quietly and shook violently while lauging quietly, holding all that noise in when you did things that you shouldn't be doing but I just couldn't help but find it hilarious and do my absolute best to not let you on to me thinking you were funny... and I panicked and I read instructions to baby toys and built and bickered with my husband on how it was best to soothe you and I tried and learned and I tried again and I learned and I failed and I tried again and I conquered and I nursed and I changed a diaper million diapers. and I watched you sleep in the dark and blinked my eyes in that dark to see if I could see your

"I have baby brain... did you have that?" ... The question left her mouth effortlessly, begging me to wonder whether she did, in fact, have baby brain.  I stared blankly back at my friend as we continued in our conversation, knowing the answer in my head and unsure how to put it into words. "Vocabulary" I grunted. She stared at me a moment... wondering where I was going with the response. I reached for my coffee and took a large gulp, hoping it would help me find my words to explain. "I've lost vocabulary... whole words.  They're gone." She smiled, reassuringly, to indicate she knew exactly what I meant.  And I believed, in that moment, she knew what I meant, depsite not being able to clarify it the way I could have a few years before. Doctors probably have a name for it, but moms call it baby brain. Baby brain is when you build a baby for 9 months and in the process you lose vital nutrients and information that o