gross.

by Liz on 03.07

All of the sudden, my face has decided I’m 16 again.

I’ve sullenly determined not to venture out into society for fear of assaulting the eyes of those around me. I cower away from the opened windows and hide my shame.

I never really have skin-related issues, other than the small brown spots dotting my face and arms. The last time I needed to address a zit, conventional wisdom suggested smearing on toothpaste (which makes me sound both old and naive all at once).

Not to sound dramatic, but that’s sort of a metaphor for my life right now. I might write it into a song. Acoustic, naturally, with humming somewhere in the middle.

My life is like a zit on a usually clear complexioned chin.

It’s catchy right? You just need to imagine the humming.

It seems like the stuff I don’t normally need to worry about is flaring up into something terrible and gross and that I’m not normally accustomed to handling.

And as with my nasty, pubescent-style skin maladies, I blame the winter.

I’m aching for a breeze through an open window, warm sunshine on my face, or for an iced-coffee-fueled walk to the park. Or else, I may flare up and explode into something terrible and gross.

 

 

Spring, you’d better hurry the eff up.

 

Category: staying home, winter | Comments: 11

all about mommy.

by Liz on 02.25

Babies come with a whole ton of responsibilities.

There’s the obvious poop and feeding and things. But any small pet needs that kind of care. That’s basic maintenance.

Babies require something else.

They demand documentation.

If you follow my overachieving mother’s philosophy, that includes recording all of your “firsts,” keeping a log of the many cute things you’ve said and done, a “baby” book (that, no lie, is so extensive it ends with a page about your wedding day), a box of artwork, a binder of birthday mementos, twelve (12!) albums of photos, and eeriest of all, bits of your hair and a few teeth (ew mom).

The macabre aside, all of that is a whole frickin lot of writing and recording and saving.

So, my son has… a baby book (and a pretty crammed Instagram feed, let’s be fair). Yet, even though I whittled the recording and saving down to the bare minimum, I still managed to drop the ball. Two years later, the baby book is still mostly empty (and still wrapped in a plastic cover).

I’ve tried making up for lost time. I sheepishy pulled the nurse aside at the pediatrician’s office and asked for his height and weight records. I spend late nights Googling how much things cost way back in ye olde 2011 (that’s a section in the book! Can you believe it?).

But inches and pounds and the price of a postage stamp aside, I didn’t expect an “All About Mommy” section. It’s a huge, impatiently empty page. And I have no idea what to write.

The obvious stuff is, well… too obvious. Former teacher turned painter? Even if I change vocations by the time he’s old enough to know what a “vocation” is, he’ll probably know that much about me.

Do I list my own brief history?

My likes and dislikes and interests and hobbies?

My stance on specific political issues?

There seems to be a bunch of stuff that it’s likely he’ll already know about me, and then a bunch of stuff that he won’t know but won’t care to know. And very little in between the two.

The fair truth of it is that I’m drastically overthinking this blank page. I could easily scrawl, “She loves you and Daddy very very much!!! xoxo!!!” and call it a day. Who knows if he’ll ever even crack the spine. But there feeeels like a lot wrapped up in this title. And if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s feeling things.

(Heyo!)

(Not like that, perv.)

 

 

All About Mommy.

It’s self-definition and identity stuff. How do I summarize myself?

But it’s also legacy stuff. How do I want my child to remember me?

Those questions are a little frightening.

 

 

 

If you, being your adult self, were rooting around in Mom’s attic and found a dusty pastel-colored book full of baby info, what would you hope it would say about her? What would you be interested to read?

 

Category: little ones | Comments: 14

quiet.

by Liz on 02.19

 

There’s been little time for quiet these days.

But, I realize lately that that’s been a matter of choice rather than necessity. There’s a lot to do, sure. But… isn’t there always? For everyone?

The major thing I’ve been noticing is that there’s sort of a correlation between how much technology is in my life and how “busy” I feel. In fact- as silly as it sounds- I’ve noticed that the more time I spend checking my email and looking at my phone, the more I bite my nails. Kind of funny, right? But also a sort of clear indication.

It makes some sense, when I think about it. Everything moves fast on the internet. There’s always something new- always one more article to read, that links to another, that I need to share on Twitter, and then prompts discussion. More information to consume, and more to “catch up on.”

I like to be prompt with email response. But, whether I check my email seventeen times in one day, or I set aside an hour to tackle all of them at once- the outcome is still mostly the same. The only difference, is one is “busier.” One is more time-consuming and harrying.

So, no, I’m not declaring a screen-free week or a hiatus from the internet. I probably couldn’t right now, even if I wanted to.

But I am trying to find more time for quiet. For stillness. For thought and solitude, rather than flooding information and clamor.

How do you make time for quiet?

 

 

 

 

Category: hmmm | Comments: 5

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