Saturday, August 21, 2010

Car Shoes

Ori and I have been on the journey to much less boob for well over a month now. I'd be lying if I didn't say he hasn't been a bit reluctant to the process, but he also has had some really awesome moments. Once - just once {EVER} - since this process began he actually came to me to just sit in my lap and cuddle so he could fall asleep. It was awesome to feel like something more than the booby - the milk servant to a very pushy, alpha male complex-ified midget. He asks for boob; I offer him food instead. The only feedings he refuses to give up are those after he wakes up. We've gotten into a great routine for bed time and for awhile he would either not cry at all or cry for just a few minutes after I told him good night and closed the door, but something switched in his baby brain and now he cries until he settles. We were really ready to move on to the next stage in our relationship - the one were mommy is there for love and comfort with her shirt on - so most of the time the crying doesn't get to me. I know he's just making a lot of noise and getting his energy out. But then there are nights like last night - when he took a late nap and isn't quite as tired as he should be, but it's nearly 12 and he shouldn't be up that late (bedtime is 9), and he's running around super fast and happy in nothing but car shoes... then it pulls on my heart a bit. Oh the cuteness! The urge to just go and get him can be a bit nagging, but I just think about all the awesome times we have now; the ones were he just comes to me to get a hug or snuggle w/ me while I play video games or whatever it is I'm doing;  so many awesome times when I get to be a person worthy of his affection and not just a juice box... and that really makes it worth it.

Friday, August 20, 2010


That's Bob in there. :)
Once upon a time there was a girl who wrote constantly.
Anything was game when the impulse hit: napkins, restaurant menus, receipts, appendages, other people's appendages... you get the point. Out of this seemingly as necessary as breathing desire to write, an obvious addiction was born - notebooks.
I loved them as much as some women love shoes.
A crisp, new, funky, unique notebook would make me squeal like a 5 year old on Christmas morning.

How I loved them.
There was, however, a problem with my love.
I have this ridiculous OCD thing where if one letter is even in the most minuscule way "wrong" I have to rip out the page and start all over again - regardless of how far I had gotten - that page was officially ruined. So many trees must have died in vain because of my ridiculousness. I tried for a long time to switch to typing but at the time (you know the way back time where everyone only had one family aka shared desktop pc) I didn't have a computer or typewriter available to me when the urge struck and quite frankly typing really didn't feel like my soul flowing through my fingers. Much like one's sword, my pen was an extension of myself; my outlet to emote, to express, to stay introverted. The funny thing is now I would be lost without my laptop... shiny, shiny, laptop.... my PRECIOUS...


But alas, it has been damaged, and must be repaired... I must learn to let go.. but *gasp* I just started writing again! Is everything for naught?
Okay, so maybe it's a little dramatic...
and I really don't want to be sans laptop when Dexter premiers; so I digress.
 For months I've been contemplating buying a few small notebooks to carry with me for when my muse strikes, weighing my desire to save trees with my desire to re-flourish my gift, but for some reason it just didn't happen - that is until the other day. Perhaps inspired by school supply shopping and the notion of new beginnings or maybe a little jealous that I couldn't pick out a Tinkerbell pencil case;  I left the store with two shiny new (recycled and banana papered) notebooks and a fresh pack of the best pens ever.
And so in a few days I'll be packing up my precious and turning back to my old dear... first love - the notebook to blog and write ideas throughout the day then I'll steal H's laptop to post later in the day or in the a.m. to post. You know, when he gets to sleep and I don't. Yeah, sometimes that makes me a little bitter. I never get to sleep. Never. 
But I suppose that is another post for another day.


Thursday, August 19, 2010


I have been {and am} going through ginormous process lately. Mostly lots of thinking and sorting things out silently, with God and myself. There are times when being a mom just really isn't enough for me, there is still that annoying screaming voice urging me that I was really meant to do something so much greater, accomplish something, have great adventures. I'm sure that those mommies that were seriously geared towards being mommies their whole lives would try to reassure me that having children and leading them in the right way really is a great accomplishment (and I'm sure I'd agree, some of the time), but that notion just doesn't make me feel any less trapped, or any less guilty for feeling trapped by these awesome little people that I adore more than anything else. There is this constant feeling that I'm simultaneously failing them as well as failing myself - you know my other self that pre-children or even single-child-having self that teenagers thought was cool, but especially that five year old self that was bound to be a journalist/photographer/world traveler/ Columbia graduate that hung out at coffee shops performing acoustic numbers and obviously questionable poetry. She is the one that I feel so many people owe an explanation to... why wasn't she nurtured? why weren't those dreams supported and lifted up? Recently there have been a lot of very strong emotions swimming around on her behalf - but really when it comes down to it - at this point - I'm the only one that can rectify... or rather change the obvious outcome of what has become her future. Months ago I stumbled upon a homeschooling blog (or maybe she stumbled upon me first) where I found the most "lightbulb" of a quote : "It is never too late to become what you might have been." It really was exactly what I needed to here and since then I've been trying to find a way to implement it, to change and start moving in the "right" direction. Apparently, the real first step was not merely just deciding to change or realizing I had a problem - if you will, it has been sorting things out {a life time of things and feelings, disappointments, and bad and or seemingly forced choices, ect.} and de-cluttering.

...and send my laptop in to get fixed. 
Hello my name is Dani and I'm addicted to the internet.

*Note* My "lightbulb" quote is usually accredited to George Eliot but apparently it's worded numerous ways and it's origin is quite fuzzy.


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