My boys...

Holding Christopher at home in my apartment on the 1st floor of the building and wondering what I would do to protect him from "intruders" as I sat there fresh from the birthing process my own damn self, and figuring that IF he were sleeping I might fit him into one of his father's cast off shoe boxes in the back of the closet and that would keep him safe while they (the intruders) murdered me, but at least he'd be safe and out of harms way...

I know, weirdo, you are thinking... but at least I wasn't booby trapping the windows and doors. I was simply sitting there, holding that sleeping infant, uncontrollably weeping as he slept, at just how much (unspeakable, unfathomable amounts)
I loved him, and how I wasn't going to be able to protect him from everything, but I was going to very damn well try.

And, now he is more than 1/2 way around the world if you head East - if you head West, well then he is much closer...

And, how did I feel when I held John in my arms? I felt awkward, and anxious...

I held John almost a full 24 hours before I realized that I hadn't actually really touched his skin... save his lips to my nipples for nursing. I realized that maybe I hadn't touched John because I was afraid of betraying Christopher, were I to properly bond with this new baby and welcome him into my heart, I might be squishing Chris out. But, I knew how much I loved the 1st born, and I was already loving my second.

And, so, carefully and with full conscious consideration, I unwrapped John from his blankets and laid his mostly (save diaper) bare body against my own, with his head at my heart, and his body nestled between my breasts, and his toes around my navel, and I stroked and caressed him, as he slept and softly snored (mmhm, even little babies snore). And, I again cried at my ridiculous selfishness.

I held John and knew as I had always known that there was room enough for both in my heart.

To watch each grow has been an amazing adventure. They can be so different and yet the friendship they share, at times, leaves me sobbing for joy. They enjoy each other, they laugh, and have "in-jokes" and quote lines from movies and poems and songs at each other, and when they get angry with each other and they do, they seem to have room enough to forgive one another and move on. They are a continual gift, a continuing privilege, regular moments of bliss.

My two very different, very unique, very wonderful little boys, who've now grown to big and almost big men. I still can not protect them from "all things". I can not protect their hearts from aching, I can not protect their bodies from injury as I could when they were little (for the most part), I can not force anyone else to love them or appreciate them or value them as I do.

What I can do is love them and appreciate them and enjoy them and let them know, as often as they'll allow, just exactly how amazing I find them to be. I can encourage them to pursue their dreams, and acknowledge their talents and abilities.
And, so I try, and I endeavor, and I attempt the same.

My sister's Birthday Present Part II

You weren't even a glimmer in my eye yet...
Ty was two, I was a big ol' 6.
We lived next door to Nana and Sweet in a quad-plex on Cloverdale between Olympic and Pico near La Brea.
I don't know how many times this happened, but I know it was more than once.
Saturday mornings I'd wake up, and wait, mostly quietly, for Ty to do the same, then he'd start bouncing in his crib.
He would bounce and bounce, and finally, Nana would creep into our room, and pick Ty up out of his bed, and
motion for me to come to her side, and I would race to embrace her around her legs, and then
the three of us would creep out of our apartment across the corridor to hers, to be met by Sweetie, singing in the kitchen.
It always felt like magic time. The TV was always on, and he'd be cooking bacon, and eggs, and toast, or sometimes
pancakes.
He'd serve them up to us while we'd sit on the floor with Mouton and watch Saturday morning "whatever was on".
They were joy. They were exciting. They were beautiful.
They loved us with big, warm hugs, and loud voices, and cheery greetings.
They made us think there was nothing else more important.
We were cute.
At some point we'd be returned to our parents.
Ty would nap.
I would play, quietly (sometimes).
But, I lived for those Saturday mornings, and to this day,
because of our Nana and Sweetie, and that Saturday morning ritual
I am never happier than when I am in the kitchen, on any morning - be it a holiday or weekend - making breakfast for those I love.

a statement of account

I didn't know I'd been "Swimming with Sharks", but I had been.
Now I am working on maintaining my self esteem, my sanity, my stuff.
Here's how it breaks down.
I have cute toes, I just took the time to attend to them.
Haven't done that since before the holidays, funny right, we always,
as women, put ourselves on the back burner,
and I've been really, really depressed.
Now my finger nails are colored as well.
My makeup is almost complete, my aunty used to say "I've put my 'face' on".
It's almost on.
These observations may sound completely random, crazy even, they aren't.
They are "stream of consciousness",
the thoughts that occur as I go about writing the rest of this particular post.
So, with that said, here are my additional attempts at "posting" today.
I cut my own hair today, out of boredom, the need to be creative, and a lack of funds.
It looks passable if I work on it with some product.
Fortunately I have a good face for crazy hairstyles, and the stomach for same.
Further, I have been working toward a specific set of goals in the job search department,
getting a specific number of good resume submissions out the door,
however, truth is I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
This is a problem. It really is.
Save, helpful.
What I want to be is helpful, and self sufficient.
If I can achieve self sufficient then I can be independent.
Independent is freedom to love my boys, and the man I love, the way I want to
without asking permission from anyone, including him.
And, we can only love people if they allow us to.
This was an interesting lesson to learn. Truly.
Back to what else I want... I want to be acknowledged as a participant,
and as a beacon of light and love to those I care deeply about.
I want a job that pays well enough.
I really have only ever wanted to just pay my puny bills,
and have a bit left over to buy treats that entertain.
It isn't so much to ask for, it isn't alot to even strive for.
Well, now I want medical insurance, or at least enough in the funds department to
pay for any necessary medical procedures, chiropractic for instance, dental for another.
Maybe that's my trouble, I don't want "enough", haven't wanted enough,
and as I get a bit older each passing day, I find I actually need more.
I guess I'm not ambitious enough for the mainstream, Macro culture,
that is Los Angeles, California, or even the western United States of America,
and let alone the family that once was.
However, here I sit, typing. I am going to continue.
And, I am going to keep on. That's what I am going to do.

critical mass now achieved

it is time to attend to the me that has gone into hiding, and needs to come back out and face the music.
it is time to care properly for, resurrect, nurture and nourish the wee me, that longs to be...

wowzie!

so here it goes... trying to live my life. One day at a time, trying to keep it interesting not just for me, tho' I guess in the end that's who it should be for, but also for those around me, my love, my sons... I read other people's lives and they seem so much "more" than mine. So much more worth it, so much more interesting, so much more satisfying, so much more scary, you name it their's seems so much "MORE". And, yet mine is awesome... I have two amazing sons, they are, you have no idea. Their drama's are nuttin' honey, they are smart, kind, cute, caring, all a mum could want from one son, and I've got two like that - KRIPES! and the love of my life is "a once in a lifetime event" and that suggests [as my youngest noted] that everyone will encounter as I have a being like him, and they won't, because he IS that amazing... and I am not. And, so I have guilt, what'd I do to deserve these amazing beings? "nuttin' honey" absolutely nuttin', and I feel guilty about that. I feel like I "should" be doing something amazing to justify the incredible good fortune which I actually and currently enjoy. Yet, here I sit... noting that, in fact, I simply exist, and fortunately am aware enough, conscious enough to know just exactly how fortunate I actually am...

Terrified

...the New Year approaches, and I have to ask "what is to become of me this year?"
I enter it with great pain, both emotionally and physically. I do not know how I will proceed.
I may chronicle it here, I may choose to only remember my sons and their most amazing childhood personalities, as discovered and revealed by them to me... we shall see...

Life IS Beautiful

...no, truly, and tho' there is heart ache, and heart break, still I have so much great fortune in my life.
Gifted with two sons who each in their own way are positively spectacular!
Both poets, each with their own voice, and so very magnificent those voices are.
It matters not that they be published or no; it doesn't alter their talents for putting words to the page in such a way that what they write creates the visual pictures, the metaphors, the emotions that those words are intended to spark, enflame, and feed.
What matters is that they never stop, that they continue creating, expressing and sharing that which they provide to us their fellows on this planet to further enhance our mutual experience of the day to day.
That's all, save I am regularly moved to tears by their magnificence. By my fortune at having the privilege of calling them my sons, though the time has come that they become "our" sons, and enter into the broader community to enliven, enrich, contribute and participate in the "bigger" schema of this moment, and this one...