Deuces

Up early to start baking fresh breads for our evening fete.   Up by 7 a.m. to sit by the fire sola, beaming as I concoct the "Thank You" letter from Santa to Sayler.   Sitting idly, warmly, as I think of Sayler, Ariel and my Husband sleeping soundly.   Smiling widely as I remember last night watching Into the Storm with those same 3 and my mom who quipped "this isn't very Christmassy..."   Feeling excited as I picture my mom's face at the surprise gift for her- a hand-crafted table with a careful paint and stain that Lloyd labored over for many days and nights.  Today he and I will deliver it and place the carefully measured table to perfectly fit her kitchen.   Feeling so thankful for all the presents under the tree-a sign that we can afford them for each other-that we are employed and earn and are giving with ourselves and others because we can be.   And though I haven't at all peeked, by my husband's...

"I'm going to call my brother...he'll know... " I huffed.   I had given my husband far too many clues and I knew he wasn't even close to knowing which 1980's flick I was struggling to name.   The phone rang twice before Corbin answered "go".   I smiled, knowing my brother was being humorous.  "2 Things: are you still taking Sayler and I to Knott's Berry Farm this weekend?"   "Yes."   "Great. Second thing... what's that one movie from the 80's where there's a computer game and,   like, a  guy in a trenchcoat and, like-"   "..War Games?"   "YES!  YES!  Thank you."   And there it was.  The reason Jesus made me a little sister to someone (else) who watched too many movies as a kid.   I couldn't get that 1983 flick off my mind.  Lloyd, Sayler and I were on the strangest and sweetest movies-down-memory-lane adventure over the weekend: a tribute du Robin W...

"Please don't fall asleep!" my daughter pleaded as I curled up into the over-sized sofa, the fire lulling me into slumber as we discussed baby dolls and tower-building.   It is only 6:30 p.m. and though the day has been full, from a 7 a.m. run to a late afternoon, very successful, Christmas shopping session I am nonetheless inexplicably exhausted.   I vaguely recollect my husband making mention of much ado about coffee earlier in the day (it's possible I wasn't listening as intently as a good wife should).   And so, moments ago I sluggishly made way to the garage, where I could hear his circular saw whirring.  I peered into the cold, concreted room that houses all his tools- many of them purchased as gifts over the years- often settling on the Bosch tools, seeming to fit Lloyd's capable personality.  I am, quite surprisingly, a bit of a tool-snob.  I momentarily marveled at his latest under-taking- a hand-crafted piece of furniture- th...

Thank you: to all of you who treat me with such love and kindness and read my mundane blog and shared in the celebration of my life.

"Mommy are you sad?" "Yes... yes mommy is sad..." "OH!  ....Daddy, go get D'Schtarbucks for mommy!  Go now!" My daughter knows how to make me happy, even if I'm only suffering from the first world malaise of needing a coffee syphon. It's the little things, y'know? Iced coffee being a little thing. And my daughter makes me laugh a lot when she has my back, especially if it comes at Lloyd's expense. Because sometimes he'll say "no" and she has a way of making him say "yes" to early evening treks to Schtarbucks for coffee. And Sayler makes me so happy in so many ways it is difficult to not lean on her for support when I'm having an off day.  The neediness I feel to be in her joyful presence, the absolute security I find in our quiet early morning bed-lingering where we often stare, sleepily,  at one another, small kisses of the butterfly and Eskimo variety in abundance...   A...

I left them as I know them. At the airport as they stood in line for departure I saw my husband as I have him in my head: His freshly laundered white tee that he had carefully pressed in the a.m. already had a mark front and center where his daughter's mystery hand smudge left evidence.   "I don't know why I bother trying.." He sighed.  But it is him and what he does.  His face bore the look of worry he has every time he flies and his look of fear was that of a man who knows his daughter will get everything she wants on a long international flight.  Whatever game she wants him to play with her... Whatever movie he must carefully watch with her without diverting his eyes, whatever snack he must allow her to feed him while asking with each morsel "Zat good, daddy?" and every color marker she must hold all by herself will be at the ready.  I left him with a new album downloaded moments before we left the house so he could have the latest...

It came to a point where I was able to understand what had transpired.  As I sat up late, washer and dryer still humming despite their long day's work already, I wept. But there weren't tears. My heart wept.  I spent hours meticulously laying out an array of outfits for my daughter, carefully taking register of their comfort and warmth, function and matching-savvy.  Clean chonis and clean socks, hats, mittens, coats and shoes... All of it so carefully planned so that I may put off the inevitable pain of watching her leave.  I avoid.  And oftentimes when I am avoiding the people, the discussions, the interactions and acceptance of certain realities it is because my heart is weeping. And in this avoidance I am restless, oftentimes hiding the discontent in my heart behind obsession over small details of otherwise unimportant things.  Like outfits.  I cannot stomach the pain of watching them leave. I cannot ...

When I was a kid, there was no one that snored more loudly than my father.   And much like the sound of a bear snorting as he slumbered in the woods, it was slightly frightening, quasi-ominous and seemed to forebode that no one in proximity would sleep well. I didn't think I could ever know another who caused so much restlessness... And then I met my husband. Pushing him to his side and huffing "you're snoring again!" is not an unusual occurrence at Caza Birch. He's a good sport, ol' Lloydy is... oftentimes taking heed immediately or suffering the ongoing painful rib nudges I throw his way as the night carries on .  But just when I didn't think I could ever know yet another who could cause so much restlessness... I birthed my daughter. Houston, we got another snorer. And I will miss their snoring.. Just kidding. I won't. But I will miss some other things, surely, as "they" depart in 2-days time for England. ...

It hasn't been but a few days and already I can sense the indulgence and dependability on this #Apple product. I am not good at keeping surprises, so the Valentine's Day gift to Lloyd and Sayler presented itself early.   An #iPad Air.  Something to keep Sayler from my iPhone and texting my customers.  A place for Sayler to watch her movies and YouTube videos instead of on mommy's 'cmpootr'.  And a way for her to learn to take photos from this device instead of taking videos from my phone that she sends to people in my contacts list.  Because getting a text that reads "were you shopping at Costco today? I think you sent me a video..." is quite embarrassing. Oy. It's something Lloyd can record music on and get excited about while deciding to show me all of the amps available on the Air while I attempted an indulgent soak in the tub.  As I lingered in peace, he stormed in with the smile of a 5 year old telling me about the features of...

I woke up in a great mood.   It must have been the great run I had last night, or the surprise flowers my husband brought home which shocked me so much I had to ask "are these my first ever surprise flowers?" to which he proudly replied "yea!".   And I honestly can't tell you why out of all the current songs I could wake up thinking about I started hearing this song in my head  upon waking at 5 a.m.   My mind thinks it's Friday.  I don't have the heart to tell it the truth... that it is only 6 a.m. Thursday... that we have to get off this couch and get ready for work soon.    My mind isn't quite ready for the shock of the emails that are waiting for us.   But tomorrow... sometime after the work bell tolls (you know... I mean, the pretend one in my head...), I will get a chance to visit with girlfriends for dinner and cocktails.  But before then let's recap some of the week's highlights, shall we?   With...

I had to ask my husband the obvious question on everyone's no one's mind.   "Why do you think you still love me after all these years?"   And I was half smiling as I asked it, and he was half laughing as he immediately responded:   "Because I never know what I'm going to get with you".   Which is his way of saying I am a loose cannon, I guess.   But I always know he loves me,   even when I am an asshole, and I'm usually trying to wrap my head around why he can muster up so much adoration for someone who is constantly complaining about how much ditry laundry he creates (and leaves all over the floor...).   And I had to ask him as he found me huddled in bed, my buns and thighs still achy and sore from too many power squats and jump lunges.  I was coccooning.  I was reflecting. And I was trying to hide when he cornered me.   He was wearing one of the shirts I bought him for Christmas.  A maroon-colored...

My husband came home one night recently and said, "there's this song that reminds me of you and Sayler"... and I thought that was a thoughtful sentiment.  Because there are so many songs that remind me of people, and I will often tell them. Just like how a million songs remind me of Ariel, including this  Katy Perry song  which takes me back to the day the album dropped.  Ariel and I cleaning my storage unit...  Her and I, doing the Charleston with the radio turned way up... and all other ill-fitting and old-fashioned dance moves reminiscent of Gatsby days there along the concrete driveway...  We dance a little lame sometimes. It's how people know we're related. But the last time I remember someone saying a song reminded them of me was when Lizzy said Drops of Jupiter  reminded her of me (and, in turn, I think of her every time I hear it). That was over a decade ago. and when Brian and I dated in the yesteryear and he said Nirvana's...

Saturday morning.... Taking breaks from cleaning and purging my home.  This was a good break. Saturday night... Russo's Dirty Thirty Sunday afternoon... Running inspiration from "Dirty Diana" Sunday Night... Pearl Jam Monday... Recuperating and working... Highlight: Pearl Jam playing "Future Days" and Lloyd saying it could almost make him cry. Pearl Jam: Future Days

The tickets were bought, and it all happened so fast. I definitely don't dislike Pearl Jam.  And it's enough that Lloyd likes Pearl Jam to buy their concert tickets for their show this weekend but I suddenly realized that I am not going to be able to sing along to most of the songs that they belt out on stage, and that makes me somewhat uncomfortable. Because usually I can prepare. I like to prepare. I'd like to sway and hold up my lighter and scream with adulation when one of their 'secret' songs come on because true fans can always detect the "B" sides when no one else can. I kind of like to know more than the people around me... or at least just as much... somehow it makes me feel safe. But last night Lloyd asked me if I would watch Pearl Jam's  Twenty  documentary and as I sat and watched him watch the documentary I knew that it made him happy the way rock music just does. I would be lying if I didn't confess that I liked watchin...

It's 2:30 a.m. and I sit in a bath towel. I couldn't sleep. This congested head. This girl waiting for 5: 30 a.m. to come so I can get ready for work. This regret for going to bed too early. This mom who is thinking and somewhat saddened by her daughter's new-found discovery of what it means to be 'scared'. And she started saying it recently.   "I'm scared ". And I didn't think much of it at first... knowing that she just picks up words and expressions lately and may not quite comprehend what those words and expressions actually mean. In fact, she has taken to calling me "Princess" lately, which, obviously, I'm not going to dissuade her from doing. Where did she get that word from?  There's no princess movies in this house. And I've never been called Princess before.  My dad never pulled that bullshit with me.  I never really thanked him for that.  Cheers, dad, for keeping it real. Now... the phrase: "...

My husband hashtags. And he didn't openly tell me he hashtagged but  I discovered it with my own two eyes as I took a gander at his Instagram posting. And I asked him "are you hastagging!?"  I was mortified on his behalf. Because I think he knows how uncomfortable I am with hashtags. And it isn't to say I am openly judging those of you who hash... or tag... or number sign... or whatever you call it in the underground social networking world. #IaintHatinIjustbeSayin It's just that I can't keep up with what's latest or new or trendy or popular and I am still waiting for the MySpace revival to commence so I can get back to choosing cute layouts. Wasn't it only yesterday the number sign became the "pound".  And now it's also a hashtag?  The person who designed the number sign is #turninginhisgrave I do finally understand the purpose of hashtags.  Yes, indeed.  But I can't gather why I want to share a hashtag keyword with str...

We're just about ready.   We are almost prepared to close this year,   and start another.   The three of us.   The amigos,   The trifecta,   Tres Flores,   The trio,   The first of the prime ones...   My Baby, my Husband and I.   The ones I can count on,   When others fail me,   When the rest don't understand   Or remain unaffected,   They are affected.   They support me.   They lift me up when I am down.   She who sees the world with innocent eyes,   and He who sees the world as it should be.   Not through numeric values and statistics   or rhetoric   but with hopeful fortitude, compassion and holding tight to all that is Good.   My Baby, my Husband and I      

When people probe me about what it's like being a working mom, my answer is always easy, joyful and full of pride. "I feel like I'm giving her the best gift." "How so?", others press. "She gets to be around other kids during the day.  She gets to do arts and crafts and go to the park and learn how to follow someone else's rules.  She gets to play with others her age, she learns about how to communicate with these other small children who are incommunicable... She understands that in her daycare provider's home, there are no favorites. It's all the things I can't give her at home, even if I wanted to.  I am over-joyed that there is yet another person in this world that loves Sayler and wants the best for her." Rebecca is our daycare provider.  I feel so happy that there is yet another person in this world that loves Sayler and gets to watch her grow.  Oftentimes when I pick up Say, Rebecca and I will talk about the f...

I hoped for a man that would be my best friend. I hoped for someone who was strong but humble. I prayed for a man that was kind to the world, Talented, Witty, Educated- Who understood the value of hard work, While acknowledging that hard work would never have the same value, as being with his family. I dreamt about spending my days with a person who would show me the world- A partner with an incredible sense of adventure and curiosity about other places, far and wide. I wasn't sure if I would ever meet someone who was confident enough to let me have my own identity, My own hobbies, My own friends, My own opinions, My own career. I waited patiently for a man that wanted to grow old with me, and would do all he could, to give me all of the things I never knew I always wanted. Not just a great husband, But the perfect father. Happy Anniversary, Lloyd... I Love You.

It was almost a year ago that I was disappointed in my husband. And fortunately for our family, it is rare that he disappoints me. In fact, He generally does the opposite of disappoint.... what is that?  ...Appoint?  He appoints me?? No, That doesn't sound right. But if it's the opposite, Than baby, you appoint me. But last year I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I was definitely not appointed. They say still waters run deep, and it couldn't be more true about my dear husband. His ego is small, his heart is huge and although he doesn't always say what he is feeling, you can feel what he is saying. And each year I look forward to the few annual occasions when my beloved picks out the perfect Hallmark card for me that puts into words his love for me. Sometimes the card is romantic and sweet, othertimes over-sized like that of a teenager in love, and most often it is witty and endearing. But it never fails to bring a tear to my eye an...