lit by love or something near it
eyes sparkle with a secret dying to spill it

lines tracing features where before there were none
but a laugh or a tear behind every one


the curve of her lips still strange to see
the gap in her teeth teasing
"you can't catch me"

this face has been studied
has been graded, dismissed
has been treasured, envied and missed

and after twenty some years, has finally grown on me.
or maybe I've finally grown into it.

Anywhere But Regret

It was folly and it was new,
I opened my car door to you
and as I drove we laughed and both separately hoped
the night didn't lead to regret.

The word of a friend
was all I had to go on
but I never got that feeling in my gut
the one that has always been dead on
when a man who could hurt me
came into my view

I led you up the stairs,
and I listened to you.
Sometimes you struggled for words but felt you always spoke true.
 I led you to my room
and your hands told me even more about what kind of man there was in you.

And the night led to anywhere but regret.

Found trouble at home
so I looked to the road
for another place to be
but trouble found me

found love in a man
but found that love doesn't stand
all on its own

placed heart in his hands
but found it's way back to me

why didn't I see?

the trouble with love
is the hart doesn't always
want what it needs

and the trouble with me
is I keep thinking
it should be easy

It was no great secret to the rest of the world,
and maybe not even to me
the love of a man don't leave you the same,
but love of a man wouldn't leave me

It's hard to find home if you don't see where you've been
but I wasn't looking for home, or at the scenery

And the more I was shown, the less I could see
the more I was loved, the less I could breathe

Then he was gone, and yeah, maybe I cried
but in the light I could see
the love of a man cold bring tears to my eyes
but losing a man wouldn't break me

and it was no secret to the rest of the world
and really not even to me
the love of a man don't leave you the same,
because loving a man isn't easy

For Aidan

I wrote this for my son almost 7 years ago and just stumbled across it.

I'm looking at your tiny, nine month old body. You're legs tucked under your belly , butt in the air and your arm draped over that bright orange teddy bear. Do you still talk to God?  Could you put in a good word...?
I worry myself sometimes (who am I kidding, ALL the time).  Did I kiss you enough today? Did I miss out on an important part of your infant-hood? Will you remember how much of your day I am gone?  But you lay silent except for that almost raspberry sound you make through your pouted lips as you breath (which is inherited you know).

Most days I still feel like I'm 17. I'm still clumsy and akward and scared of my own shadow. But now, I'm responsible for you.  And it's for that reason, that I've created this new version of myself.  It's the part of me that gets up every morning, knowing that it may be a struggle to get through the day with my sanity intact.  I try to remember your appointments and to make sure your teeth get brushed and your socks match and there's nothing stuck to your face, though heaven knows if I'll find a moment to do the same for myself.  And I do it all because of the sight of your smile (so big for such a tiny man), and your laugh (that tames my wanderers soul).  I do it for myself.  So that you will know how much I love you and that I've changed the course of my life and fought my nature for the sake of you.

You plucked away at my heartstrings today, little man.  I held you in my arms and we made animal noises.  Then you looked into my eyes with that big toothy grin and shouted "MAMAMA!" Immediately followed by "DADADAAA!".  How is it you could know at such a young age that the two names were meant to go together? And how can I ever explain to you that, for this family, they do not?  I guess that all I can say is...that not every two people fit.  I just wish, that for your sake, I had figured it out a little earlier on.  I wish that I could give you a Daddy.  One that can teach you all the ways to grow to become the right kind of man...and I still have time.  But until then, you have your Papa, and he will show you all the things you need to know.

When you were my tiny newborn man, you used to look up at me like I had all the answers.  And I think I looked at you in the same way.  I imagined that in the secret of my womb, you pondered the riddles that my heart whispered to you, and when you learned to speak, you could fill me in.  I, on the other hand, never did have any answers.  I won't lie to you, little Man, I'm winging it.  Every now and then I get some good advice or I find some time to read a bood that directs my steps.  But every day, you teach me how to be your mother, and show me what you need from me.

I heard someone once say that pre-infant angels look down on us to pick their parents.  Did you know how much I needed you to direct the course of my life?  To make me want to be that better version of myself I've never before had the courage to set free?  I know I needed all the things in my life that you represent.  Your unconditional love makes me brave where I would otherwise falter.

One night, when you had been in my belly for about 9 months, I had a dream.  The colors of my dream were so vivid, the dream felt so real.  I was asleep on the couch, and I heard a voice in my head the echoed and reverberated, both forceful...and gentle. In my dream, I knew it to be God.  "Don't worry," the voice soothed. "I have a purpose for you, and it is greater than any purpose you could imagine for yourself."  suddenly, I was bestowed with a pair of great white wings, and the voice spoke again. "Come, and I will show you."  I flew to the ceiling, akward but steady on my angel wings, and down the hallway to a bedroom that I knew was empty. But inside, was a nursery, and in the crib, a sleeping child with blonde hair and blue eyes. At peace with the world.
"Take care of this child," The voice directed me. "And the child will take care of you." 
I awoke with a sense of confidence in what I had dreamt. After all of my searching, my purpose had been revealed.
It was you.

I remember this dream mostly when the anger  or the "why me's" come over me like a cloud.  When the days are too short, the nights are too long and I wonder if there is any trace at all of the girl I used to be, left inside me.  And suddenly, it all falls away the second I look down into the crib of the child from my dream.  I know that you deserve a mother that is warm and accessible.  One who has been to the dark place and back and can show you the way home if you over lose your way.  I may not be the person I once was, but now, I'm so much more. I'm your mother. And I'll always be greatful that you picked me.

2006

Today I found sleep, though chaos knows my given name.
you're gone, and the comfort lies in the knowledge that you'll be back.

It was almost too much to take in, when you rediscovered my planet.
I gave you harsh words for ever being gone, but this time, I watched with a non-chalant shrug and a secret smile as you hung your life upon my walls.
"welcome home" I sighed to myself.

Shame on me for letting you in once more,
like I could ignore your melodic knock at my door.

I can't say I can keep the promise I made to never again cry over you, but you're deep in my world for now, if not for forever.
I'll take what I can learn and let my world be changed by you. And maybe this time, when you go, empty won't be all that I know, because I took my fill of you.

But how odd,
to be at peace and at ease, when I know that love (in whatever form) has left it's mark on our door.

For despite what mothers say, or girlfriends relay,
Love does not always equal together, as together, does not equal forever.

But teach me to love, while I'm open to learn and I'll promis not to think so much or miss your touch when you go.

Something Like the Stars

Reminders of opportunities missed hang heavy around my neck this morning. The days race away from me like a moving target and my day to day goals, sometimes hit, sometimes miss, leave no time to attempt an aim at something beyond. Something like the stars.

A million years ago I had dreams of being a photographer, a singer and musician, a world traveler. There was a time when I lived only for these dreams. I have journals filled these ambitions, the struggles to acheive them, and the dissapointment of them being out of reach.

I am an adult numerically, but a child spiritually. I have more dreams than responsibilities. But because I'm easily overwhelmed by dissapointment, I move forward at a snails pace. I'm stuck in a rut.

My world has been shaken up a bit these last few weeks, and I'm starting to evaluate my accomplishments. I'm a bit dissapointed with myself. 

It is imperitive to be an active participant in one's life. And surprising when you think about how few really are. Some let decisions choose them. Riding out deadlines like a game of chicken until choices are made for them. I'm guilty of this. It's very easy to wait for things to happen. To see where the day takes you and pray to the universe it's something you've been hoping for. Easy to deal with dissapointment when it's "beyond your control". But there are others, people with a better grasp of their abilities, that wait for nothing. Ones that make things happen, who don't wait, and don't care if the universe had them on it's agenda today. And those are the ones who gain it's favor, because they don't need to be led by the hand and comforted or  guided through each step.

Is it fair that some of us are given the tools early in life and shown how to utilize them, while others of us are not? Hell no. But it's the responsibility of the individual to find time, the energy and the motivation to be trained. Few people have it in them really. I refuse to be one of them.

I was told early in life that I could do or be whatever I wanted, but I was never told how.  I was never told how hard it would be. How much effort it would take.  I just assumed that if I wanted something bad enough, I would get it.  Well I can safely say that for people like me, the stars don't fall in your lap. And if they did, they wouldn't be worth nearly as much.

Steady as she goes

Wake to limbs half numb, another nights sleep gone wrong
but I shake shake shake the dreams away, and I turn my face towards the new day.
stumbling, tumbling I make my way, passionately surviving on the ghost of come what may.
pouring stories from lips and memories from pen, losing touch with what could have been.
Steady as she goes, lighting fire with spite, waging war on forever though I can't be bothered to fight.

My Favorite things

So I was thinking to myself yesterday, about how it's been a long while since I found Joy in random things and unexpected moments. I found this in my Journal. It's from about 4 or 5 years ago, so I'm leaving out references to the Ex, but the rest still holds true.  I just forgot to sit back and enjoy these things like I used to.

My favorite things:
The last few drinks of a blended coffee...always whipped cream. Playing morning games with Aidan. Getting letters in the mail. Walking barefoot in the grass. Hearing the ocean waves pulling stones away from the shore. Finishing a poem. Recognizing my new favorite song. Meeting new people from far away and finding what makes them awesome. Losing the butterflies and finding comfort. Feeling the butterflies again, along with the comfort. Playing my first ever song on the guitar even though it only consists of two chords. Kissing my mothers hair. Hearing that I'm beautiful from a stranger for no reason at all. Singing in the shower.  Coffee in bed. Beer in the tub.
Walking in the rain.

Love of a Musician

A man of words where I had few
he sang a song my heart beat to
with a glint of memories passing by
in the freflection of neon in his eye

in this tiny town strangers pass through
this tiny bar every soul I knew
the stools were worn and the carpet gray
old men come to drink life away

This soul in the corner, guitar in callused hands
and a loging deep within me to know this man
the secrets of his smile and the story in his song
a wish to walk away with him, though my mind knew it was wrong

the heart of a musician is never free to give
and the love of a musician never lasts enough to live

a drink and a smoke and a tear in my eye
the love in his song would do to get me by

Between Her and Me

She was mostly consumed by the desire to figure it all out...that girl I used to be. Too young to be tired but too old not to see that the world was not handed to people like me. And behind the mechanics where things aren't always so clean she lingered, curious and and anxious to see. Where life is dazzlingly seedy. Smoke filled and neon. She ate it up and called it life though whatever it was slipped right between her fingers in mockery of her nonchalant acceptance. And the pictures will show you the joke was on her. Bright eyes so out of place in a realm of vacant stares. And when times changed and her world shrank into not easy but something close to comfort she got to know tired. She got to know gravity. She came to know balance little by little and that girl became me. I look at the pictures of a smile before it came to know joy and still find myself envious. Because what she had was simple. But if a person lays in the dark as many hours as I have searching the corners of my heart as I have... You don't wake to the morning in dread. You groan and you work out the stiffness of the new day and then you dive in and you seek out your joy. You don't let it find you.
That's the difference between her and me.

The Picture in My Mind

Randomly puzzle pieces seeking me searching for a place to be.
But my memory is shaken, they seem to be mistaken.
I have no answers in the form of a question
or faintly remembered high school lesson
to set the chaos to order in me.

I seem to recall a haze of grays
three degrees colder, three shades darker than I pictured in my mind.
Now here he stands with outstretched hand,
three inches shorter, three miles farther than I pictured in my mind.

But he's mine.
And I don't need to understand why
he's mine.

Midnight Song

Midnight song playing in my ear tangled against crazy perfect dreams, suspended in the dark.
I hear your voice beyond it all, singing loud coaxing sleepy smiles from my lips.
"Where you at?" I long to say. But what I mean is
"where will you stay?"

Drew

Where the call's from, I don't know but he's carrying my heart in tow.
He might suspect but doesn't know, that I want to be there too.
I dreamt a dream of friendship on fire, fingers singed from their desire.
Of open hands to hold my heart entire, but dreams always fade too soon.
I feel you wander, drift away, to call again some other day.
And what I feel I will not say. Your ears have no more room.

The March

marching in place but making time, wrap you in thoughts laced with iron and wine.
page upon page penned secret at night, lovers untouched and hidden from sight.
shit isn't bad, but burning it's worth, while your anxious laugh is turning the earth.

and here we go marching, making time but not ground,
making memories from words under the nose of the hound.

the names and the faces merge into one, the others like you,
left me standing
but still  spun.

Wash Away

washed away the day because it didn't go my way
washed away washed away
brush my teeth before I sleep, because there's not much left to say

pull back the sheets, slip in my feet, pray to the "lord" my soul to keep
but it's still just me, and me, I'm beat.
and none of this matters anyway...

when my day is done, and the race is run
I may not have won...today

And most days dont mind, got tomorrow on my mind,
but tonight I want it all to wash away
wash away

empty space where my finges fold,

the place reserved for his hand to hold

but he's left my fingers to fall where they lay

cold and lonely like today

close my eyes and count to ten
don't open til I can breath again
what is lost to me belongs to them
and the rest just wash away...

Old song I wrote... couldn't remember the tune, but I wrote it after waking up from a dream about my first love.

not unlike a summers day
when love was still poprocks bursting over out tounges and hands helping hands

you remembered me
in an instant we were back to being meant to be
you belonged to me
and yesterday didn't hurt anymore to see
you remembered me

I spent too many hours
waiting to belong to you and I still do
I sometimes hate that I let you go
even though I was too young to know that I could ever belong
belong to anything not just anyone

but there you stand with grown up hands
not needing mine to guide them but they do
because they remember you
and what it felt like to be known by you

you remember me
I remember too
we smile like we know
like we always do
like it's new

and in my mind i cross through time
to where she wasn't where we are
and your hand never held hers, but only mine
but you cant bend time
so I let it cleanse my mind

erasing memories and moments it might hurt to find

Signs of Aging

Warning: This post contains content that may cause followers older than I to groan collectively and roll their eyes, and those younger than I to furrow their brow in dismay at what is to come (but don't because it causes wrinkles).

This coming month will be the third into my 28th year. It was brought to my attention by a close friend's mother that I am no longer "pulling twenty" but "pushing thirty". I attended my 10 year reunion. Pictures were posted to facebook that revealed the aging process in all it's graphic horror to me and 245 members of my friendslist. The calls of "girls night out", "let's hit the town" and "dude! Party at so-and-so's house" are becoming less and less appealing.  No longer can this girl pull an all-nighter and drag her sorry behind into work the next day. I've experienced two out of the top three worst hangovers in my life these past few months from a few nights of social drinking at the house with friends. My alcohol tolerance, once something to boast about among references to my irish heritage, has been replaced by a "light-weight-Mconebeer" reference.

Could I be getting *gulp*.............old?!

I suppose the previous paragraph may lead one to conclude that heavy drinking was once ranked in the top of my priorities...but in all honesty, I'm the mother of a 7 year old. I've been lucky if I made it out once a month, though once every two or three is more accurate. I must confess however, that after every stressful workday or the end of a long week, I was known to bemoan my responsibilities and express longing for a night out. Now, I just pray for a nap during evening football practice, and look forward to the quiet between my son's bedtime and my own.

The flip side of these shocking revelations being, that the swiftness of the passing time no longer goes unnoticed. I have taken stock of the velocity of my life and google mapped my progress.
I'm only about oh........a billion miles from where I had intended to be.

That being said, my path may not have been paved with shiny gold stars proudly pronouncing my worldly accomplishments but I will tell you what I did stumble upon along the way.  A Scarecrow, a Tinman, and a Lion! Just joshing... But no really (and here comes the gooey stuff), I was met by an amazing individual who taught me how to overcome the insidious giant of discontent. One who gazed at me with assuming eyes, and ordained me something awesome. I was entrusted with the care of a child grown from naivety and narcosis, who in turn granted me the experience and clarity that I lacked. And in return, I gave him my heart entire.

That and financial support for the next 11-15 years. Then he's on his own.
The point of my blog being this really, that the color of young adult-hood blanches over time, to be replaced by something amazing and oftentimes as painful.

The end.

"Are you pondering what I'm pondering Pinky?" "I think so Brain, but burlap chafes me so!"

It's really difficult to form thoughts with the Animaniacs playing in the background. Half of me wants to throw the t.v. off the balcony and the other half wants to sit down and watch the entire episode and attempt to decipher what my son finds appealing.

This d.v.d needs to mysteriously dissapear.

So I survived my cousins wedding. It was a back yard affair with hay bails and lifted pickup trucks. Lots of homemade eats and beer being consumed while waiting for the cerimony to commence. It was casual and fun, with a perplexing mix of humanity in attendance.  The bride was beautiful and happy and real. Sometimes when women put on a wedding dress, it's hard to spot them under the foof and flowers...but there she was. Smilin' big and hootin' her way down the aisle to her man. Her mom confided to me the day before that my cousin was waiting for someone just like her step-dad. And she found him alright. Sweet and goofy and totally aware that his bride was utterly amazing. I spent the cerimony planted in the middle of the aisle with a video camera trying to capture everyone's expressions, and the look on his face was proof of that. He knew he'd hit the jackpot. I mean, I had to wipe the couple's slobber off the camera lense for pete's sake!

My cousin has always been a person I admired. She is charismatic to the max. I mean, wow! This girl has personality. She is hilarious and has brought me close to needing a new change of drawers more than a few times. And not only is she fun...she is downright sickeningly sweet.  I can't recall a time I've heard the girl gossip or make a snide remark.  She is comfortable with herself and lives her life admirably. Her two children couldn't have chosen a more loving mother.

This has got to be the first wedding I've left with a bit of optimism about the possibility of finding someone who might be a match to my own crazy/awesomeness someday. Stranger things have happened I suppose...

Blessed domestication and other fairy tales

Today is the first day in months that I have most of the day to do what I will. I of course feel obligated to get things in order for school to start next week. However, I'm finding it difficult to muster the motivation to get moving.

I'm one of those self diagnosed ADD individuals that like things clean and orderly and routine, yet am baffled  by how to make it happen. I stare at my trailing list of things to do and I balk like a deadbeat dad in the face of child support enforecement. It's awesome.

So forgive me as I stretch this post out while I enjoy my coffee and Slacker Radio.  The kiddo knows that when mom is typing she's in time out.

Tonight my younger Lady Cousin is getting her hitch on.  We have children close to the same age, though now she has a second awesome baby cousin riding her tail.  Things are working out for her just like she hoped and this girl is super stoked for her.  There is something about weddings that could make even ghandi insecure. I am single mostly by choice. My choice being that I find good times on my own and refuse to be with a d-bag.  Sometimes I try to picture myself married and another 9 months or so of being a mobile incubator. All I can say is it would take a damn incredible man to convince me cohabitation is not a method of torture. But then I'm a closet idealist. If such a man existed...I wouldn't take much convincing.

"And now, cried Max, Let the Wild rumpus start!"

I promised to  name my blog after the first song I heard that made sense to me.

Entire. Inspire. Down to the last wire.
She was a fountain pen.  -Sufjan Stevens "Woman at the Well"

I don't claim to be a writer. I don't claim to have much in my head worth reading, but I do know that these thoughts that filter through my noggin need direction and so here. we. are.

I won't waste space today on my history or which roads I took to get here, because this is where I stand and that's all that matters.

The thing that is on my mind tonight is refuge. I wear alot of hats. No more than most moms my age, but today I found myself needing a space all my own, and since that isn't a physical possibility, I'm clearing out some clutter in my mind for room to just be still and be me.

Sometimes I forget that I have a responsibility to preserve the parts of me that I'm proud to be. The parts that maybe don't get their time in the sun like they should. The artist and the dreamer and the out there girl that has learned to be mostly happy in her skin after a billion or so years of fighting it. Somewhere outside of this screen I'm busy being all the things I'm needed to be. I spend days at a time wearing scrubs and my hair restrained in a pony tail driving a car filled to the window sill with football gear, movies to be returned and the debris of a million other errands to be ran.It's a full on MARATHON keeping up with Mr. "Wild Thing". 

 I'm not the "with-it" kinda mom I brush elbows with at school functions.  I have the best intentions, but somehow, I'm always rushing. Always a little behind schedule and missing half the things needed to get through the day. But we do it. We're that 2nd place team happy to be getting a participation trophy. We survived the season and found a little bit of fun among the chaos.

I envy them, the moms that can find BOTH shoes in seconds flat. I have a plan to get there in the near future....it of course starts tomorrow.