Deuces

I created a new Pandora playlist- It's my Emeli Sandé station.   Love her. It's been a banger station, hit to hit as I transition into this week back from some much-needed time away from my computer- a week away from the noise raging in my head- a week away from the mail I haven't looked at for a while that sits in wait on my desk. The one word to describe my trip to England... Necessary. Though there are so many layers to the trip I couldn't fit it into a blog.  The layer that involves necessary time with extended family and friends, the layer that revolves around the unique time I spent with Sayler in the confines and freedoms away from WiFi and work, a layer involving time with my husband as his passenger- because it's a great feeling to be a passenger, both literally and figuratively.  To rest my head for a short while and let someone take lead.  And there was the layer of focus on creating a great and memorable experience for Ariel on

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 stop thinking about how wh

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.