My Jamester

I knew I was pregnant with you

on a Sunday morning in August.  

Four years to the day

that I had found out 

I was pregnant 

with your brother.

I don't know how or why

but I just did.

We went to the fair that night
and rode all of the rollercoasters
and I ate deep fried oreos.

One of my favorite pictures
of your dad and I
was taken in a photo booth
that same night. 

We are laughing
and you are there too.

Those months were hard months.

You grew in my belly
beneath my broken heart
and tangled breath
and much of those days
are a blur.

But the night you were born
I woke up.

***

Earlier that week

I had been dismissed 

from the hospital

for false labor,

so that Sunday
I refused to go back

until I knew for certain

that you were really coming.

When I was admitted at 11:30pm
it was too late for an epidural

and so you came into the world

quickly and loudly

at 12:46am on April 7th.

Mine and your screams filling the air
on the same date as Clinton's birthday
at the same hour and minute as your brother
who had also been born at 12:46.

Seven pounds
and seven ounces
on the 7th.

777

My new lucky charm.

They brought you to me,

placed you in my arms

and the moment our eyes met,

I knew we were meant to be.

Later that morning

Grandma brought Lucas

and we sang you happy birthday

over a candle lit cupcake

and I sat there

on the hospital bed

with both of you on my lap

and we were whole.

You had been

the missing puzzle piece

and I hadn't even known it.

***

James Maddox,

My curly-haired sweetheart.

Master of make-believe.

Conductor of giant emotions.

You are funny and fiery

and greet me hello

with an enthusiasm

that feeds my heart.

You are sweet voiced and gentle,

tender hearted,

and tempermental.

My sweet boy...

Sometimes at night I creep into

your room

to watch you sleep.

Becoming drunk

on the small hand

that still grips my finger.

The soft breath,

peaceful face

and curled eyelashes

of the one

who brought the sun.

Happy 5th birthday my love.

You are wonderous and amazing

and I don't know how we ever lived

without you.

Love,

Mommy

A Zillion Weeks of Fotos

In no particular order,

here are weeks and weeks

of fotos.

As the the seasons have changed

although the temperature 

has not gotten the memo.

As the boys became

a 3rd grader 

and a pre-schooler.

As we ate grilled cheeses

and made forts

and baked bread on lazy Mondays

when we were all off.

As I became obsessed with "Game of Thrones"

and posted up on the couch 

which I never do

and actually kind of love now.

As first handprints 

and "Back to School" night

and car dance parties

continued to fuel that part of me

that wonders if it is in fact possible

to die from too much joy in your heart.

The sun is setting earlier,

Halloween is popping up here and there,

I hope the weather cooperates soon

and Fall makes a legitimate debut.

There are apple pies to bake

and cuddles to make.

I'm sort of obsessed with the new album by

The Walkmen.

I don't need perfection,

I love the whole.

The Walkmen - We Can't Be Beat

Happy Weekend. xo

Friday Fotos on Monday and Life in General

Paul is quizzing Lucas

on subtraction flash cards

as I type.

They are getting frustrated with each other

and it is hard not to intervene.

There is chocolate chocolate chip 

banana bread in the oven.

James is with his dad until 6pm

and I miss him on quiet, lazy days

when I bake and am totally relaxed.

I wish he was here

to stir and eat and be kissed.

All last week I felt like this video...

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

I think I was a gypsy

in a past life. 

It would explain why

sometimes when life is 

really, super good

or really, super hard,

I feel like the roots that ground me

are also strangling me.

A good friend and fellow blogger

wrote last week about "keeping it real"

and I totally understood.

Because so often times 

we of the digital age 

are inclined to share 

a sanitized version of our real lives.

The good days,

the pretty Instagrams,

the laughter and the love and the joy.

Today I can write about the past 2 weeks

because I am no longer in the midst 

of the past 2 weeks.

The truth is sometimes

it's really hard to be a mom.

I have one child who is constant energy and opinions

and another who is a crier;

and sometimes I don't like them very much.

The truth is I am in a relationship

with a really great guy,

and I love him and it is so god damn good,

and good and great

are not synonyms for perfect.

The truth is I bear the scars of every non-great guy from before,

and my head is loud and it doesn't always say nice things

and sometimes I have to fight myself

not to burn it all down.

The truth is I suffer from depression

and other forms of soul sickness

and sometimes for no reason at all

I wake up and I am painfully

uncomfortable.

It used to be that if I felt like I was feeling recently,

that I brought everyone else into the ring with me.

I am so glad that that is no longer the case.

I am so glad that I'm not immobilized.

I'm so glad I still managed to do all of this:

Work...

on a boat...

on a beautiful day...

and not throw up.

Spend a Saturday morning...

...finger painting with all three of my favorite guys.

Find moments of sweetness...

...and humor...

...and love...

...and more humor...

...and ice cream.

 Pool parties...

...and being thrown never getting old.

Photo booths...

...and night swimming.

Time for warm bread.

The Elephant in the Room

It's the last picture

I have of them

on my phone.

I took it

at the Santa Ana Zoo

and it was

one of the last times

we were together 

as a family.

I don't talk about him

because there is

not much to say.

Or at least...

not much that is not

tainted by my anger,

sadness,

and resentment.

We were together

on and off for 

almost 5 years

and most of it

was horrible.

The only light...

our beautiful son.

I was my ugliest 

with him.

The most dishonest,

the most insecure,

the most demanding,

the most lost.

And our break-up

was long.

And it claimed 

more hearts

than our own.

I have not known

how to deal

with such 

consistent hostility.

He spews hateful words

in response to simple questions.

Continues to attack me

as a mother.

Fails to meet 

financial obligations.

And still blames me.

In his eyes

it's has always

been me.

And sometimes I wonder

if he even knows

why he hates me.

I took the bait

for so long.

Signed up

for every fight

he sent my way.

I don't do that anymore

but it's still zero fun.

I have asked

for co-parenting counseling.

Outside help to assist

our navigating 

this odd dynamic.

But he refuses.

I hate who we are

as parents.

Paul and I 

did not have

a custody order

until Lucas was 4.

Even then

most of it stated 

that decisions 

would be left to us 

to deal with

on a case by case basis.

The lawyer said

we were the easiest

custody case

she had ever seen.

Even when we

didn't like each other,

we were still able

to discuss and agree upon

schooling, vacations, sports,

and the like.

This is not 

the case with James.

With this round

I stay in bed at night

on the verge of a panic attack

worrying about

how we are failing our son.

He starts school in September,

and if we are not speaking,

how will his homework get checked 

and weekend projects completed?

How will we manage

any discipline issues?

How will we sit

in parent-teacher conferences?

James can be 

so sensitive

and so unsure of himself.

I worry that he

feels unstable

and insecure.

I want to fix it.

I want to love him enough.

I wish we were capable

of a friendly exchange.

An open dialogue.

Really the elephant in the room

is not James' dad,

it is my feeling of failing my son.

It is my awkward silence

when Lucas asks,

"Mom...

why can't my dad

be James' dad?"

What can I possibly say?

Ready or Not...Here I Come

Recently I heard about a couple
that decided to break up
over their mismatched views
on having children.

One wants them,
one doesn't.

They are lovely and awesome
and I hope they realize
they can't live
without each other
and decide to have
3456398465 babies.

Or at least one.

I also know of one couple "trying"
and one couple getting ready to "try".

All of this got me thinking about
my total non-choice in having children.

I think being a mother was something
I assumed I would do when I grew up.

After college and trips to Europe,
gin soaked vacations,
my own apartment,
and a decked out wedding
with the man of my dreams.

In my mind the idea of motherhood
lived in the land
of Far Far Away.

The last thing I did was plan it.

With Lucas,
I found out I was pregnant on a Sunday.

Labor Day weekend 2003.

It was the middle of the night
and I was high on a cocktail
of too many things

I am still too embarrassed to name.

I was living in a big house

full of drunken strangers.

I wasn't really speaking to my family,

my best friend had just moved away,

and the other half of the chromosomes

wasn't spending any time with me

in the daylight.

I've told this story dozens of times.

About how suddenly at 2am

I realized I hadn't had my period in awhile.

About how mysteriously there was a

pregnancy test under my bathroom sink.

About how when that faint pink line appeared

I blamed the drug haze
and my blurred vision.

About how the next morning

there were two more tests.

Brighter lines.

Clearer vision.

I know the first person I told
was my roommate.

And then maybe I told a few friends.

I know I went to Barnes & Noble
and died a thousand deaths
trying to find a manual
on how the fuck I was ever going to do this.

I settled on
"An Idiot's Guide to Pregnancy & Childbirth".

I know I called my mom
and tried to nonchalantly
request her presence
at an upcoming Dr.'s appointment.

And when she asked why,
my nonchalance crumbled into
whispers and sobs.

I know we were supposed
to meet for coffee that night
but we never made it out of the car.

And within weeks
I moved out of that crazy house
and back into the room I grew up in.

I gave up all of my bad habits.

It was less than ideal
and I have been so painfully imperfect,
but there was never a moment
when I doubted my choice.

Something in me just knew.

And when I started spotting
at 8 weeks,
I experienced that first
ferocious instinct
to protect my child.

My introduction
to the ever present parallel
of fragility
and tigerish indominability.

My pregnancy with James
was a surprise as well.

I do not know
what it is like
to plan for a baby.

Ovulation charts
and schedules,
financial and emotional preparedness
are foreign to this mama.

A part of me
still wishes I had had
that experience.

And another part of me
smiles knowingly
at the false sense of security
those things provide.

Because with all of the planning
no one is ever prepared
for a hurricane.

Friday Fotos 6/29 (Better late than never)

Faith and fear

are battling it out in my

tummy and mind.

Faith is winning

4 to 2,

but these last few days have
been tough.

I think
it was quite
a plunge
from the high of a weekend away.

The car is back
my wallet is lighter
I am in a state
of flux.

Only in a Palm Springs thrift store can a girl find a $1.99 turban.

He said these are the stars in space.

Frozen watermelon, orange juice, and a banana.  Delicious.

He is the consummate bus partner.

I've been escaping in books again...

No Car + Walking - Waiting for the Bus = Sunburn

Homemade pizza.  We like fungus.

Me and my people.

Bus days.

Bus days Part Deux.

Lumineers - Ho Hey

I've been trying to do it rightI've been living a lonely lifeI've been sleeping here insteadI've been sleeping in my bed,I've been sleeping in my bed
So show me familyAll the blood that I would bleedI don't know where I belongI don't know where I went wrongBut I can write a song 
1,2,3 I belong with you, you belong with me you're my sweetheart

Exactly.

Happy weekend folks. xo.