Just Write: Eye of the Tiger

Eye of the Tiger is playing on the radio as I sit here writing this.  This song is what my husband calls a “blast from the past” and we both turn it up when it surprises us on the iPod or the car stereo. He waits for me to put up my boxing hands and punch the air ceremoniously, which I do every single time, no matter my mood or disposition.

This song makes me want to kick someone’s ass.” I say  it every time out of habit, our own inside joke, and we laugh because the thought of me kicking anyone’s ass is completely out of character( although my husband would probably tell you that depending on my mood or disposition I’m a formidable adversary.)

Our sons, especially Jacob, have begun a love affair with the Rocky movies. Which is what I thought of when the song came on this morning when I could not lift my hands into boxing pose because I am sitting at my desk in high heeled shoes in a black baby doll dress. But most importantly I am working in a corporate office and doing it would be odd. I want to do it, want to punch the air or something else, someone else perhaps, to release the sadness and rage that has been building up behind my non- confrontational facade of the past few years.

Jacob is an actor, pure and simple. When he wasn’t doing so well on the soccer field a few weeks ago (staring off into space, not being aggressive with the ball, more worried about grass stains on his shorts instead of the game) he came off the field, dejected. I pulled him aside, stroked his hair back and kissed his temple.  “I think you need to just pretend you’re a soccer player, buddy.” He didn’t say a word; he just looked up at me. “Yep, you need to imagine that Mrs M. (his drama teacher) has given you the role of a good soccer player and then get out there and be one.”

He nodded and kissed me, “yeah Mommy, I can pretend to be a soccer player.”

I am envious of his talent to immerse himself in a role or a life. I have seen him transform himself into Scrooge, into Harry Potter or into King Peter, Billy Joel or most recently Rocky Balboa. It becomes more than a recreation of a person. He mimics, of course he does, but he also takes on the mannerisms of every person he plays. Drawing pictures of his idols to keep their lives fresh in his mind.

I want to be someone else lately. I yearn to take on a role, like Jacob has, and change my life. Even if it’s only for an afternoon or a few moments where I can look into the mirror and hold my own eyes. My son is fearless right now, completely comfortable not only in his skin but in other people’s too.

How long has it been since I have been that unafraid or valiant?

When I told my mom about Jacob’s new obsession she immediately set to finding a silk robe for our little boxer. I call her “The Enabler” but secretly I love how she celebrates his imaginative spirit. She has procured scarves and gloves, sticks and top hats, feathered pens and every sort of magic wand to advance his varied roles. She found one of course, a short satin paisley robe that my father had worn when they were newlyweds. My dad, ever the fashionable clothes horse, of course he had a cigarette jacket and considering it hits Jacob somewhere around his ankles, I can only imagine that it stalled at mid thigh on my father.

My mom had kept that robe. She brought it to Jacob in a white grocery bag and my son hasn’t taken it off for days. He swears he needs to be naked (with only boxer shorts on) underneath it when he’s Rocky or he must be dressed in full pajamas and then the robe over it to go to sleep if he is channeling Ebenezer Scrooge. I tell him he’s going to melt, he laughs and closes his sleepy eyes, drifting into dreams convinced he is a man on the verge of redemption.

Eye of the Tiger is over; there are playing a song by Chicago. An old boyfriend passed off this song as a love poem to me when I was 16 and I unfolded those white lined pages over and over again reveling in the gift until I heard the song on the radio and realized the lyrics were my special poem.

I dream of redemption…

And realize I still desperately want to kick someone’s ass.

Linking with the Extraordinary Heather for Just Write 

I’m Listening {Happy Mother’s Day to my Incredible Mom}

 

 

Kir&Mommyat2yrsShe’s telling stories.

A sip of bourbon and a push of her glasses, she can relate, it seems, to whatever trouble you’re having. Or whatever funny moment you found yourself in the middle of.

Where she grew up, boys she dated, meals she burned and how she knew, beyond a doubt that she was pregnant again and not just disturbingly sick with a stomach virus. She’ll regale you with tales about high school, summers cooking, cleaning and learning at her grandmother’s house and how my infertility probably stems from her own mom’s struggle to conceive, carry and eventually have just her.

An only child with enough wisdom, vitality and knowledge to fill half a dozen people.

Life might have been lonely for her growing up but when my mom starts telling the stories you realize her life was anything but boring. Nursing school hazing, the cross country trip that doubled as a honeymoon and really how many of you know where and when you were conceived? Because I do.

It’s those stories that are woven into the fabric of my life, the epic tellings of where I came from. I know how my parents met in elementary school and how they fell in love much much later after my dad came from Vietnam; I know the family secrets on both sides and have seen inside the groaning crevices of their childhoods. So that when I think that perhaps I had a hard time growing up I remind myself they had it worse. They had it worse and yet made a house and home for us, where we all grew up together, navigating the hurt of the past, trying desperately to heal it with laughter, dancing and trips to the New Jersey shore.

We were a family of people who talked too much. A short story takes us at least fifteen minutes and a long story? Well maybe I ought to offer you some bourbon too.  Like many traits, it’s a gift and a curse. Sure we can talk to anyone, but the truth is that “anyone” probably wants us to shut the hell up. Wound into my DNA is the urge and ache to be amazed and interested in the lives of other people, passed down to me by the greatest storyteller I know.

And that kind of memory and willingness to share is a useful outlet when you lose people. Even in the middle of our enormous grief and unimaginable loss we’ve learned to keep people (my grandmothers, my dad and of course, now, my beloved brother Benjamin) alive by talking about them, divulging their memoirs, becoming the mouthpiece of their narrative.

It will never be the same as having them here of course, but I’m glad for the loud, boisterous and unapologetic way in which we convey our feelings, grateful for the words that come together to form their anecdotes. From the time I was little one of my favorite things to do was simply eavesdrop on the stories I heard dropping from every corner of my family tree like small leaves carpeting the floor of our life.

She is a master at it and I was an engaged apprentice soaking up every last lesson in an intricate game very much like photosynthesis.

I might know every history by heart, but somehow, when she starts telling stories…I settle in, settle down and smile.

I’m listening.

BlogKir&Mom2014

****Happy Mother’s Day Mom. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for teaching me  about the power of words and the healing that comes from telling a really good story.****

Be. {Pour Your Heart Out}

It didn’t start out as a mantra.

In fact, if we’re truth telling here, it started because I had yelled the night before.

So deep in frustration and beyond a reasonable reaction to the fact that my son could not recognize the word “my”, I stood in complete disbelief as he stood still, staring at the two letter word as if he’d never seen it.

My son could spell and recognize Harry Potter and Christmas from memory, but “my” was going to be a game changer?

Over my dead, word-loving, body.

So I ranted, raising my voice half an octave before stopping short of admonishing him which was, admittedly, not my finest hour.

We all went to bed that evening with sore throats and sore hearts.

The next morning, as I am apt to do, I crept into their room to shift bodies and sheets, wiping tiny whorls of hair away from sweaty, foreheads to kiss them goodbye before I ran off to work.

I whispered, “I love you most” into their ears, hoping my deep affection for them would creep in among their dreams but that day I added, “be smart” before I told them I’d love them forever and ever. Their sleepy selves’ readjusted, small hands and legs entwined as if they were back in their NICU incubators, and I could only hope they’d heard me.

But as we drove to work, a lump formed in the back of my throat and I found tears threatening.

Be smart.”

I’d meant it to be motivational but in that moment I worried that it sounded condescending. Didn’t I already think my son’s were intelligent little people?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

So the next morning when I sank to my knees at the edge of their bed and smoothed cowlicks away and kissed their sticky cheeks, I whispered, “Be kind. Be smart. I love you most.”

There is a power in kindness I wanted them to hang on to as they drifted from their dreams into their busy little boy days.

The days stretched into a week and a weekend when my sons (as little boys are apt to do) acted out, ignored simple tasks and sent my blood pressure soaring with their back talk and tom-foolery.

So on Monday morning when I found myself leaning over their messed sleep I found myself murmuring,

Be kind. Be smart. Behave! I love you most.”

No guilt with that one, reminding myself that I wasn’t unlike any other mom who knows her children, inside and out, good and bad. Asking them to behave throughout the day wasn’t a bad thing; it was simply a necessary request of growing boys.

And my little prayer for their day stayed that way for a week or so, until one morning, feeling very sentimental while starting down at their restful, dozy sleep, I found words just tumbling out of my mouth into their ears as grateful tears rolled down my cheeks:

Be kind. *kiss* Be smart. *kiss* Behave. *kiss*. Believe.”

It wasn’t until one morning, teetering on my three inch heels and hurrying through the incantation when I realized Gio’s mouth was moving in time with mine, even as he drifted in and out of his dreamy state.

Believe.” he repeated with me in a sleepy voice.

My wishes had found purchase in the minds of my children and I smiled as I imagined a life where our family prayer was always one of kindness and intelligence sprinkled with the certainty of magic.

Linking up with my amazing friend Shell and her weekly meme that allows us to Pour Our Hearts Out.

You can link up here too.

 

The Nuk

Sorting away laundry the other day, I found a wayward nuk in the bottom of a drawer. I picked it up and hooked it around my finger wondering how it had found its way to my underwear drawer and then tilted my head, trying to remember if I was the one who dropped it there in a desperate attempt to hide it before Jacob changed his mind about giving them up.

I was at BlogHer’12 drinking, chatting and completely uninvolved when the Nuk Fairy (aka: John) visited and rid our family of the small plastic accessories. My sons’ deep and abiding love of the nuk started in the NICU when a nurse popped a pacifier in their tiny, just born, mouths.

One suck and they never looked back for four long years.

I bought nuks as often as I purchased diapers and formula and there were moments during that time when I worried Jacob might never relinquish his ownership of the brightly colored soothers. I myself have been orally fixated my whole life; my thumb sucking providing the best medicine for a variety of maladies from migraines to depression and even simple boredom, so I understood the fascination and comfort they offered.

It’s hard to give up something that offers you that kind of unconditional serenity.

But as the mother, I also knew it was my job to help them relinquish the nuk before Kindergarten or at the very least in time for the junior prom. Which is why that task landed firmly on my less sentimental but obvious ingenious husband.  It’s been almost two years since letters were written and their plastic friends were placed, with much ceremony, into a box for “other babies, who need them more.”

Since then there have been other findings by the boys in various and unexpected places, much like my own that evening, where  I would wait, breath bated, to see if there was any tiny spark of nostalgia or even a hankering to pop it into their mouths like their much beloved ring pops.

Nope.

Instead they would run, full force to me and drop the pacifier into my lap rambling off a list of names, children younger than them, for us to bestow them upon. I was reminded again how resilient children are, how eager they are in letting go of some things once their minds are made up.

I twirled the nuk around my finger, contemplating a walk to my bathroom trashcan, but instead I tucked it back in among my silky unmentionables.

I am a little worse than my children at letting go of some things, I suppose. 

 

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Just Write

also linking with Mel and Melissa (those awesome gals) 
for Ketchup With Us

olddognewtits.com

Just Write: {NIAW)

I often need to be reminded, not so much about the issue but about my place within the group, as if I need to constantly be told, “Yes, you belong here.”

My voice is not loud and boisterous (it never really was) and my story is not current. Honestly, sometimes (although I’m ashamed to admit it) I forget.

Until I read the posts and see it trending on twitter or I hold the announcement of a long awaited (and long fought for) baby, and then I remember.

I’m infertile.

Much like I do when news of a pregnancy is announced, my stomach knots and aches when I read about two people who take to their bed, or romantic hotel room or even the backseat of their car and the result is not tears, blood and heartache but rather ultrasound pictures of  “BABY, due in September!” or “spontaneous twins!”.

I am still utterly surprised (and angered) that the mere act of sex can produce children. Even after all this time.

And yet, when I try to talk about the lump in my throat and through the tears stinging my eyes, I am faced with the survivor guilt I have been carrying around in my heart for six long years.

I am infertile and the mother of twins.

Little boys with no allergies or lingering respiratory issues, twins who beat the odds of autism, cervical openings and 24 week contractions, children who are healthy and smart, the right size for their age and alive.

Alive.

My children are living, breathing miracles; my greatest accomplishment wrapped in my body’s greatest failure.

I cannot talk of the success of invitro-fertilization without mentioning the four years of 28 day failures I endured. I cannot hide my jealousy and complete awe at the ease others have in the arena of procreation, but I also cannot hide the delight and happiness for my dearest friends when they announce their news.

I am a conundrum of feelings that span the distance from one ovary to another and wonder where my story fits on the spectrum of infertility.

I am infertile, of this I am sure.

Even today. I am still (and always) infertile.

I still wish for a third child.

I still daydream about conceiving my children in a way other than one involving stinging needles, expensive medicine and dimly lit operating rooms.

Yet.

Yet. 

I harbor gratefulness in my heart for the gift of my sons.

I am so incredibly thankful for stinging needles, expensive medicine and dimly lit operating rooms.

So I hum my fight song, the song of trains and angels, for the people still struggling to make their own wish of parenthood come true:

I won’t give up, if you don’t give up.

 

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 Just Write

a stream of consciousness

a free write with :

Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary 

 

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This time of spring, when things are budding and rebirth is a word tossed around like an Easter egg

is also National Infertility Awareness Week. (NIAW) April 20-26th. 

Please visit the NIAW website and learn more about this disease or how you can help someone in your life struggling with infertility.

Resolve was an encouraging , informative and helpful partner in my own journey to parenthood.

Remember, Goodbye Doesn’t Mean Forever {TMT}

My Skewed View

 

I don’t like Goodbyes.

I prefer to think that there are no goodbyes, just one door closing and another opening that will eventually bring the people we love back when it’s time.

I am missing people lately.

Some have passed on from this life and some have just moved, physically, emotionally or otherwise.  Even life and all its chaotic beauty  can keep us from some people we love.

The pain of those losses is the same.

So I thought a lot about songs that bring those people to mind and about songs that embrace the fact that goodbyes don’t always mean forever. 

Twisted Mix Tape is going away until September and while I am sad with this loss, I also know that it just a sabbatical, a little rest (a nap!) and before we know it we’ll be sharing tapes with one another again.

So let’s not say goodbye, let’s just say…See you in September.

(the big bold highlighted lyrics tell the story of how I feel)

I’ll miss (all of) you but look forward to our reunion tapes in the fall.

love ya, Jen.

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And I miss you, like the deserts miss the rain

And I miss you, like the deserts miss the rain

Everything But The Girl: Missing 

Flyin’ me back to Memphis

Gotta find my Daisy Jane

Well, the summer’s gone
And I hope she’s feelin’ the same

 America: Daisy Jane 

Wait a minute baby…
Stay with me awhile
Said you’d give me light
But you never told be about the fire
Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
And now it’s gone
It doesn’t matter anymore
When you build your house
Call me home

Fleetwood Mac: Sara

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
It’s not warm when she’s away.
Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
And she’s always gone too long
Anytime she goes away.

Bill Withers: Ain’t No Sunshine 

This last song I specifically added for you Jen, to remind you that it doesn’t mean forever and to hit us with our 70′s fix for the day.

(When TMT comes back, I’d be honored to co-host if you need one.) 

You must not slip away
I know it’s hard believin’
The words you’ve heard before
But darlin’ you must trust them just once more
‘Cause baby, goodbye doesn’t mean forever
Let me tell you
Goodbye doesn’t mean
We’ll never be together again

David Gates: Goodbye Girl

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You can join the party and say goodbye (for now)

Just click here, make your own mix-tape and link up. 

And You Can Tell Everybody This is Your Song: TMT {Twisted Mix Tape}

My Skewed View

 

There are only two more weeks of Twisted Mix Tape (for now)

 I’m feeling all the feelings of losing a place where I learned things, heard stories and music, felt the pull of a community. (Cue teary eyes)

This week the prompt is :
“Those lyrics are genius!”

Of course that’s a bit subjective isn’t it?

Because maybe the  songs I find most prolific you look at as just pop nonsense while I struggle to understand or connect with  the songs you might choose for this tape.

But as a lover of words, I envy those who pen lyrics.

They tell a story in 3 minutes, they move me to tears or the dance floor with their words.

Lyrics can make you powerful, they can change your mind or your perspective.

They can help you fall in love, or ease you out of it .

They are the heart of any song.

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Sirius XM has a new BILLY JOEL channel and I am addicted.

I love the stories behind the songs, the reasons that made him sit down and weave a tale for me.
I could have chosen a dozen Billy Joel songs for this prompt.

I find him prolific, honest and the voice of some of my earliest music memories.

But I decided on Vienna because I am at this place in my life right now.

The chaos of marriage, parenthood and yes, unfulfilled dreams roaring in my ears.

Yet, I know, Vienna waits for me.

Slow down you’re doing fine
You can’t be everything you want to be before your time
Although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight (tonight)

Vienna / Billy Joel

One of my favorite songwriters is Van Morrison. His music tends to set my heart on edge, I need to listen to it, to hear it.

The song “Did Ye Get Healed” is fast and fun, dance-able, and yet underneath it asks all the important questions:

I wanna know did you get the feelin’?
Did you get it down in your soul?
I wanna know did you get the feelin’?
And did the feelin’ grow?
Van Morrison: Did Ye Get Healed

Ah, Babylon. I remember hearing this song for the first time and thinking it was so deep and moving.

(I still feel that way about this song)

When I look back on my 20′s, on college, on my single days, this song comes to mind over and over again.

I have a few people I’d love to sing this to…do you?

 

Only wish that you were here
You know I’m seeing it so clear
I’ve been afraid
To tell you how I really feel
Admit to some of those bad mistakes I’ve made

If you want it
Come and get it
Crying out loud
The love that I was
Giving you was
Never in doubt
Let go your heart
Let go your head
And feel it now

Babylon: David Gray 

I have a true love for the songwriting ability of Sara. She continues to produce songs that are funny, introspective and brave (pardon the pun, just this once).

Her latest song has brought me and my hopelessly romantic heart to tears more than once lately.

It is this line that I love most and the reason I chose to showcase it here:

I am not scared of the elements
I am under-prepared, but I am willing
And even better
I get to be the other half of you

 Sara Bareilles:  I Choose You 

And finally, because I can’t talk about INCREDIBLE LYRICS and not mention my girl Adele.

I am knee deep in the writing/revising/obsessing over my Kimmy and David story while I take a “Write Your First Novel” class, so I am also knee deep in Adele’s music.

This story of love lost, gone astray and the two people who are meant to be together but just can’t seem to find their way to their happily ever after yet, is what brought me to share this song.

Forgiveness and a second chance at love is on my mind and so this song really speaks to me right now.
Plus, it’s Adele. Who is my go-to love song lyricist.

But we had time against us,

Miles between us,
The heavens cried,
I know I left you speechless,
But now the sky has cleared and it’s blue,
And I see my future in you,

I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to love me again,
I’ll put my hands up,
I’ll do everything different,
I’ll be better to you

I’ll Be Waiting: Adele

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Next week will be the last of Twisted Mix Tape Tuesdays for a while.

Why don’t you join us for the theme :

“Missing You”

I’m missing TMT already.

Seen {Just Write}

I’m not sure what she saw.

However, if you’d bothered to ask me, I would have pointed out all the faults.

Weariness.

Smiles that never quite reach my eyes anymore or even the new haircut that is too new,  thus causing me to touch it too often, resulting in cowlicks and strands that vehemently ignore gravity and hairspray.

It had been a trying morning. Such that all my emotions were stuck somewhere between numb and passively combative.

And this Saturday morning had been decidedly frustrating. There were arguments, bribes, ultimatums, talk of consequences and a compromise that was only reached because I simply gave up.

I was tired.

I was tired and it was only nine am.

So by the time we squeezed our foursome into a booth(about 4 hours later) , negotiated the “who would sit next to who”, (complete with loud whimpering and allegations of “he always gets to…” ) handled the knives that were thrust aimlessly at me as tiny fingers struggled to dislodge them from the crayons that were the true prize and I took a nice deep breath, turning my attention to the pretty girl who stood ready, pen in hand, to take our order, I’m pretty sure all she saw was chaos.

It was nothing new; this is how our many outings go on the weekends. It doesn’t matter how much care, thought or planning I put into the order of our errands or destinations, it doesn’t matter if they are well rested, well fed or even well loved before we leave the house it always seems like my children want me to remember that they will interrupt a conversation, will fight over the two red crayons I was careful to pack (one had a pointy tip, one did not) and will be the reason I am close to tears or exhaustion by the we arrive home.

I offered up a weak smile,  muttered  and apology over the under –his- breath singing from Jacob while I  spent the better part of a minute begging my children to make a decision about their choice of beverage. I made polite conversation and thanked her for being patient, helpful, and kind to us. I congratulated her on the pregnancy news she shared as she rubbed her belly and I fear I asked her for far too many things to accommodate us.

I saw our table being the one she wanted to serve and move toward the door as quickly as possible.

(And honestly, who could blame her?)

But she must have seen something else.

Even when I asked for extra straws (so Jacob could use one as a wand to play Harry Potter). Even when Jacob then neglected his lunch in order to eat off my salad plate then demand one of his own only to then refuse to eat it , then push himself out of the booth and perform One Directions songs and dances for the nearby tables as we hung our heads, “Shh”d him and promised things between clenched teeth if he’d only “sit down!”.

Gio not to be outdone, crawled under the table, wanted to sit on my lap while I munched on salad  and then quizzed John on hockey stats until he announced he needed to poop “RIGHT NOW!” just as the adult food arrived.

I took the boys to the bathroom, where they tried to cross streams and then got soaking wet insisting they would wash their own hands at a sink much taller than them. When we returned to the table John was sitting with our food in boxes and bags and he was holding a piece of white paper that I could only assume was the bill.

But as we approached, he handed it to me. I read it as tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks.

BlogRubyNoteMarch2014

She had witnessed my family, in all our natural dysfunction, and saw all the good stuff.

A loving reminder of how the universe will care for and comfort you (and pass it on) just when you need it most.

 Writing out a stream  of my thoughts about our encounter with our incredible, thoughtful (and possibly life-saving) waitress during lunch on Saturday.

You can join JUST WRITE by clicking here

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olddognewtits.com

 

Michele and Mel (two great gals)  invite us every 1st and 15th of the month to

“KETCHUP with US”.

(click the link and you can join the fun too!) 

If I Can’t Have You… (TMT-Twisted Mix Tape)

My Skewed View

 

 

Forbidden love is a hard subject to tackle because  I believe all of us, at one time or another, have wanted someone (something) we couldn’t have.

I think that it somehow makes the chase  sweeter, more delightful and dare I say it,  wonderfully sinful before it turns bitter and your world falls apart.

Or you never find one another, living only to pine for that fateful day when your unrequited love or unconsummated love can come to fruition.

 Isn’t that what the great works of romantic literature show us?

Sigh.

This week Jen asked us to share songs of Forbidden Love.

I know a little bit about the subject but it doesn’t make these songs sting any less…

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Let’s start with my favorite decade of music and in the same vein of Chris Rea’s “Fool If You Think It’s Over” this song by Rupert Holmes talks about choosing between two people.

Him him him, what’s she gonna do about Him?
She’s gonna have to live without him,
It’s him or it’s me, me me,

 

Did Barry Gibb write a bad song? Ever?

I don’t think he ever did, even if you want to disagree about the merits of disco (I LOVE IT!) or sappy, romantic love songs (Love them too!).

When he teamed with Barbra their voices were like butta. Guilty is not an emotion I feel very often because I’ve learned that if I truly don’t want to do something I just won’t instead of hiding from the shame.

Let’s put it this way, in forbidden love or love triangles you wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t want to be.

You got a reason for livin
You battle on with the love youre livin on
You gotta be mine
We take it away
Its gotta be night and say
Just a matter of time
And we got nothing to be guilty of…

In my 20′s I went back to college and my degree bears a “Minor in Women’s Studies” on it. I was finding my feminist self and Ani DiFranco found me. Her lyrics are so deep and rich, her songs so haunting and in many ways healing too.

My 27th year was the one where I heard this song for the first time .

Breakups and wronged hearts would never sound, feel or taste the same again:

I could make you happy, you know
If you weren’t already
I could do a lot of things
And I do

Tell you the truth I prefer the worst of you
Too bad you had to have a better half

(Careful there are a lot of adult words in this song…)

I remember the first time I saw the movie Jerry Maquire sitting in the dark theatre and holding a hand I knew I probably wouldn’t be holding for the rest of my life.
I want to be loved like that“, I remember thinking .

Then Bruce came on, and relationship that should have never happened, two people from two different worlds came together in the middle of the street.

You’ve gone a million miles
How far’d you get
To that place where you can’t remember
And you can’t forget

She’ll lead you down a path
There’ll be tenderness in the air
She’ll let you come just far enough
So you know she’s really there

I’m a Broadway baby. I love a good musical and Wicked blew me away.

Idina Menzel’s voice coursed through me for three hours and I felt for her green faced Elphaba in the way you do for a girl who wants to find love with the popular boy.

He wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but he did.

Leaving your heart to ache for them and their doomed love affair.

Don’t dream too far
Don’t lose sight of who you are
Don’t remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
I’m not that girl

Ev’ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been
But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in

Does heart hurt a little? Yep, mine does too. 

Thanks for stopping by!

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Are you sharing your own songs with Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday yet?
C’mon, join us!

Random Rules! {Old School Blogging for March}

What is the last thing you watched on TV?

I love TV. The last thing I watched yesterday was the ‘almost-ending-of White House Down” but  just before I actually started to get behind the fact that Jamie Foxx could be the POTUS I had to go upstairs and put my children to bed because they kept creeping back down.

(John! How did it end? Who was the villain??)

I watched TV this morning but the NYC News (even though it’s NYC!) is boring.

When did you last step outside? What were you doing?

This morning. Coming (running in 3 inch heels) into work because I don’t wear (or like ) coats and it was a cold walk from car to door this morning. Brrr.

What is on the walls of the room you are in?

Pictures , quotes, The “Ultimate Guide to Writing Better”, 3 different calendars and quotes all over the place.

I am in my cubicle at work, but I’ve decorated it so that I have everything and everyone I love around me while I (have to- ahem) sit here.

If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?

I wouldn’t even know where to start.  I mean a house on the beach? Yes! Take care of my entire family? Yes!

But if it just happened overnight and here we are this morning??? I’d probably buy a limo ride to work and treat everyone to breakfast AND lunch, while I cleaned out my desk. There would be time for the beach houses, new cars, a big ass closet for my shoes along with a very large check to charities later.

Tell me something about you that most people don’t know.

I’m very transparent in my real life, most people who know me, know a whole lot of my secrets.

But I think that if you met me in real life you expect cute and friendly and the sarcasm and quick wit is a little jarring until you just start giggling with me.

Who made the last incoming call on your phone?

My mom. My mom is normally the only person who calls me on my cell and honestly, the only call I will pick up. Everyone else texts or emails me.

If you could change something about your home, without worry about expense or mess, what would you do?

I’d have our basement finished. It’s great right now for storage (and god knows I need it as I decorate for every season) but I’d love to have a place to send the boys where they’d be inside and safe. I had a playroom growing up in our house and I’d really like them to be able to have one too. (They share the space in our office but it’s not entirely theirs, you know?)

Or I could avoid the whole thing and just say I’d just make our home bigger. Bump it out, add another bedroom and voila, playroom and more house.

What was the last thing you bought?

Hmm. Rye toast this morning in the cafeteria and Andra Watkins new book:  “To Live Forever” on my Kindle app. (I just started it and it’s excellent!)

Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving?

Neither. It’s not that I’m afraid. I mean I’m not overly fond of heights but the reason I wouldn’t go right now is my fibromyalgia and migraines. Both of these activities could trigger a pretty bad reaction or flare; so no big jumps for me anytime soon. ;)

If you could eat lunch with one famous person, who would it be?

I always give questions like this a great deal of thought because I know that I’d love to sit down and break bread with a lot of people, Jesus included.

There are singers/songwriters I’d love to sit across from and ask questions about how it feels to be full of music and lyrics, authors I’d sit in awe of and listen as they told me the stories that never make it to the books (or maybe the ones that do) and celebrities that I’d be tickled to sit next to whether that be because they are so good looking or because they are simply such a force of energy in one way or another.

But I think that if I had to choose one person to share a table with for a long, delicious afternoon it would be Dr. Maya Angelou. I believe that there would be introspection, honesty, laughter and humanity at that table and I would soak in the all the goodness she had to share.

Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?

Right now, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t need a whole lot right now and I’ve been purging in many areas of my life lately. I love JCPenney and NY& Company for clothes, Payless for shoes and Hallmark for all things cards, trinkets, jewelry and tzchatkes. I am a true believer in the power of retail therapy so I’m having a hard time deciding how/where to spend until I feel better. ;)

Is the glass half empty or half full?

Being me, it’s half full.

For most of my life I’ve been the most optimistic gal I know and I’ve always loved that about myself. Lately, I’ve been feeling empty and lost but I am hopeful that at the heart of me , the core of who I am, I am still the girl who believes the glass is half full and it’s a wonderful, delicious concoction in there.

What’s the farthest-away place you’ve been?

Aruba.  Ah, I miss Aruba. (We have a timeshare there)

What’s under your bed?

Pillows and comforters, bedskirts for different seasons. Also I have a Tupperware type box full of sheet sets. Right now it is full of summer designs, but I’ll be pulling them out to wash them and replacing them with the flannels that are now in our hall closet. I also have a Tupperware of sweaters I rarely wear but am keeping. For now.

What is your favorite time of the day?

Early morning. I like the calm, the peace of it. Especially on weekend mornings when the house is quiet and all my guys are sleeping. I watch my DVR’d shows, I scribble away in the notebook I keep on my nightstand and I read my Kindle. But it’s the promise of the whole day ahead of me that I love at that time of day, the hope that exists in the thought “I can still make anything happen” that I love the most.

It hasn’t felt that way for a while, my heart hurts most of the day and sleep is my escape but I’ve always really loved early morning.

What Inspires You?

My incredible amazing friends,  my sister, my nieces and my children, love stories and romantic comedies. My mom and her incredible spirit and wisdom. My family. Words and books, sports movies and quiet churches. All of the women who have come before me and trees budding in the Spring. The love of Christmas and the patriotism of Memorial Day.

The complexity and compassion of the human experience. 

 

Old School Blogging is hosted by the awesome and lovely Elaine of The Miss-Elaineous Life. This month her wonderful cohost is Kim of Co-Pilot Mom.

You can answer these questions and link up too!

C’mon, join the party and get to know someone new. 


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