Bottles on a Shelf

I've been listening to your personal jam session with Rock Band for the past hour and it makes me want to bottle you up so I can enjoy this moment over and over. Oh the shelf that bottle would sit on! It would be nestled in among thousands of other tiny glass jars--the ones holding the sounds of your baby giggles or the one that holds the image of your smile the day of your first tball game.

If only I could have a shelf like that. One that I could visit any time to relive those experiences again and again.

Tonight you're five. You haven't mastered reading yet, so you sing the words you know by heart and fudge the rest adding in woots and yeahs as you see fit.

No stage fright. No performance anxiety. You haven't discovered those yet.

There are tears in my eyes and my heart feels like it's ready to burst just listening to you sing without a care in the world. I wish I could keep the world this way for you forever--the way it is right now. But I can't keep those bottles on the shelf and I can't stop you from growing up.

My hope however is this: No matter how old you are you'll always sing with abandon and be exactly who you want to be regardless of who is watching.

I Googled Him Today

We haven't talked in such a long time. It's been even longer since I've seen him.

If you ask me, I'll tell you that I don't have any feelings about him at all.

None.

Really.

I can summon nothing.

He is part of my past like kids from elementary school who moved away, like that shirt you had to have in 7th grade and only remember now when you leaf through the photo album at your mom's house.

He was there one day--such an integral part of my life--and the next he was gone. The pain in the beginning was fierce, but when it subsided the relief erased everything. No more drama.

So why? Why today?

Why was the last thought I had before falling asleep last night one that suggested I should google him today?

I felt dirty just typing his name. I was embarrassed. What if someone found out I had looked for him? Was I really "looking" for him, or just wanting to know if he was still out there?

My upper lip is pulled up in a scowl as I type this now. I'm disgusted that I did it. Thinking that by admitting it here I will cleanse myself of this thing--this act of typing twelve letters and pressing Enter.

You'd think by my description there was abuse. There wasn't. Well, unless you consider abandoning your 10 & 12 year old daughters with no notice abuse. Most days I don't. I've often considered it a favor.

He just walked away one day.

His name doesn't deserve to be uttered. It most certainly doesn't deserve to be written. And I think that's why I'm so repulsed by the fact that I did. I think I'm worried that just by mentioning him by name he will somehow manifest from thin air, and I REALLY don't want that to happen.

So Many Interests, So Little Time

My desire to learn about so many things and to master (okay become proficient) a number of skills has reached epic level.

And this whole oh yeah I'm a political consultant thing can get in the way some days.

Plus? Sleeping?

How am I going to become a world famous photographer/knitter/gardener/well-read/self-actualized/uber-Mom/social media maven/baseball parent with all this work and sleep taking up my time?!

I've already given up the laundry, cooking and most of the cleaning (until my parents come in town or I'm hosting a real party), and still there is never enough time. This doesn't even take into account the roots and eyebrows that constantly require maintenance.

Oh and also I should have added "organized, beautiful home-owning and fabulously fashionable" to my list above.

Shit.

Guess we're all going to have to settle for friendly chick.