*slow, heavy, breathing* You hear the mostly even regimen of your partner’s slumber as his S shaped body is curled away from you. With the pillow between his arms, his dark, tousled hair spikes in contrast against the off-white pillow case still half adorning the bed. His broad, curl sprinkled chest keeps rhythm with the deep, dreamland encompassed breathing. You watch captivated in almost silence, as the lone audience member unbeknownst to the performer. The sheet has fallen to cover only his midriff and one partial leg. You see the crescent shaped scar that sits atop of your love’s muscular bottom. You tenderly trace the scar, knowing it came from accidentally sitting on a rusty nail poking up from a rusty bench during his adolescent years. He makes jokes and comes up with a different origin every time it’s seen or mentioned. Your favorite is the one he told when you were camping early on in your relationship. You were a tangle of limbs, courageously naked, on top of a blanket, with the stars as our canopy. I couldn’t decide which was more gorgeous, the sky, or the new body conformed to mine. I was dizzy with the newness that was us. I was caressing your bottom, and finally found the strength to ask you what had made its mark on you. Without hesitation, you pointed to the matching crescent in the sky. You brought my hand up to point with you. “There, right there.” You said. “The moon graced me with a tattoo, so I’d remember this moment for all of eternity.”. I couldn’t figure out whether to smirk, laugh or kiss you. The intensity in your gaze made up my mind for me.
I moved to the beautiful waves cascading his back. These came from his monumental growth spurt his freshman year of high school. They used to be an angry red color, and even though your partner was genetically gifted with an athlete’s body, the stretch marks caused him embarrassment, so he routinely covered his body, even during summer swims with the rest of his pimply faced, hormone raging friends. They’ve faded with time to a dull beige, just slightly lighter than his natural skin tone. You migrate up a bit and notice his lip and brow are wearing a light layer of perspiration, so you tenderly roll over, and gracefully stand. You pause to stretch out the kinks from laying in an awkward position. You then walk around to his side of the bed where you turn the fan to the middle notch, knowing it’s his favored position. You turn the fan so that it’s hitting his legs, and not tickling his nose. In your haste to see to his comfort, you didn’t notice his eyes flutter open or his arm reach out for you.
Shift in perspective…
You awaken as the bed creaks in movement, and the warmth leaves your side. You reach for your love in your half asleep state of mind, and as you do, your partially opened eyes become transfixed by the sensual art piece in front of you. Your breath catches as your body stirs to life. Her back is turned to you. She’s standing, strong, vulnerable, feminine. The light floats down, and streaks of sun soften her dark ringlets as they bounce in response to her light neck and core stretches.
Her hair has grown quickly… Just a few months back, we were having relationship problems, and I moved out. When she agreed to meet up with me, I almost didn’t recognize her. She wore a short, spunky hair do, had new clothes, she was leaner, and an attitude that told me she no longer needed me resonated off of her. It scared me. With our pause, I realized how much I’d become comfortable. Too damn comfortable. We met on common ground, at our favorite coffee shop. She was keeping busy by staring intently into her coffee mug. I got the feeling she was using its very warmth just to keep her going. It was a long and hard discussion, one that took courage from both parties. We had to break down walls we’d worked diligently as a team to put up together. We both felt like failures. When she found the strength to meet my gaze, I knew. I knew she was still mine, and I hers. Her eyes are the most expressive eyes I’ve ever encountered, and I would choose hers every day for the rest of my life.
As she turned, her dancer like body seemed to glide across the room. Even in the sticky humidity, with her unruly bedhead reaching to the ceiling, I’m mesmerized by her beauty. Her physical beauty is obvious to all. It still manages to catch me off-guard. She teases me sometimes, and tells me my jaw should have a hinge on it in order to keep it shut. That’s what I love most about her, her ability to play. That, and her kindness. She just got up to turn the fan on for me. She could do without. She did it for me. As she walked to the bathroom, I watched intensely. The way she moves, lithely, with purpose. As I heard her start the shower, my mind raced for ideas to help show her I appreciate her.
Breakfast? A silly poem? Join her in the shower? Ummmmmmm. I performed an internet search, found the song I was looking for. I quickly located my small speakers amidst my messy closet. I scrounged to find her favorite candle. I went downstairs to peruse the fridge. Nothing screamed romantic or sexy, so I opted for toast with her favorite jelly and a cup of oj. Got the coffee pot started. I brought her snack upstairs, lit the candle, and laid it on the nightstand.
I took a deep breath and decided to go full cheese. I brought the speakers and my phone into the small bathroom. I peed and then hooked everything up. She peeked out once, but kept her curiosity at bay with a questioning glance. I pushed play on my phone. Incubus’ “Wish You Were Here” blared with harmonic clarity from the small speakers littering the limited space on the bathroom floor. The song has kind of been “ours” since the beginning of our relationship. I stepped into the shower to face you, and with perfect timing, embraced you while mouthing the words in alignment to Boyd’s soulful singing, “And in this moment I am happy. Happy. “.
***To quickly update my newest readers(hi!), I’m a full-time, single mama of a 2 and 3 year old.***
It’s like 52 card pick up, only it’s toothpicks and toddlers.
Today’s task to accomplish: Blow the massive piles of leaves littering our yard over the hill.
That’s it! Simple, right?! Right… *ahem*
Ok, to be completely upfront, this was yesterday’s task. I even promised. I failed. I could say it’s because I stayed busy all morning cleaning and organizing(truth), put the littlest down for a late nap(truth), and as I was contemplating whether or not the leaf blower’s loudness would wake the baby, my 3-nager, who’d just fallen asleep on the couch, woke up dry heaving(truth). His earlier complaints of his stomach hurting made me rush to his side, but not quickly enough(of course…). Couch, check. Shirt, check. Blanket, carpet, and mom’s cupped hands, triple check. I got him stripped, cleaned up, and the couch sprayed. I got him situated again, and then the littlest woke up. I said to myself, “Fuck the leaves.”.
After breakfast, flirting, and heaps of procrastination, I headed outside. I quickly decided I’d picked a really stupid day to blow leaves. It was drizzly and the leaves were wet, but at least it wasn’t bitterly cold like it had been earlier in the week!
My snapchat account is only really used about once a week. When I do remember to check it, the munchkins normally demand to participate(because who doesn’t like to be made into make believe characters and have funny voices?!). Today, I decided to show off my greater intelligence, by snapchatting part of my leaf blowing experience. Immediately after, you guessed it, I lost my phone amidst the army of leaves.
Insanely stressed Randa was then on her knees, hand searching through a wet yard full of rotting vegetation. I got the ingenious idea to call my phone. Here’s where that idea gets tricky…
1) The phone I lost isn’t connected to a conventional phone plan. I bought the phone secondhand online. I use it for its awesome picture taking capabilities and its ability to connect to wifi. When connected, it DOES have a texting/call app. I was hoping that the lost phone was close enough to the house to even pick up internet signal.
2) My normal cell phone was not only dead, but it doesn’t get service where I live. I seriously have to like stand on 1 foot with my tongue attached to a makeshift antennae with the phone precisely in a very specific spot in order to get 1 bar of service. Difficult to accomplish when it’s attached to a cord charging.
3) I just recently downloaded the phone app, so I didn’t have my secondary number saved anywhere, including my other cell phone.
4) I couldn’t send a message(because charging and no service) or get a response to find out what my number was(is) in order to try calling it from the house phone.
5) I have a toddler handled tablet. Which means it’s dysfunctional as all get up. I tried, and I mean, I REALLY tried to send out an S.O.S. to Facebook land in search of anyone who knew my “other” phone number. I couldn’t get past, “Hey, does anyone know my $$$%/”. No matter the direction I turned the tablet, I couldn’t get it to type numbers. This isn’t including the multitude of times I typed incorrect letters because the tablet is broken, and I couldn’t remember which direction the tablet had to be facing in order to backspace…
6) I gave up all hopes of finding the number and calling my lost phone.
I went back to being the frazzled looking woman wandering her large yard and inconsistently moving leaves/sticks/small mounds of earth around with her hands.
I’m sure I looked sane…
And then there’s the toddlers. Prior to me losing my phone, they were super good “helpers” outside. After I lost my phone, they were long gone inside reeking toddler havoc in the house. While I was trying to find a way to call my phone, they were busy hunting and gathering fruit snacks. They tried really hard to get me to open them, but I was on a one track mission to find my phone.
Sometime during my search, I decided the universe was possibly telling me to rescue Bella’s thorn imprisoned soccer ball from our long forgotten, late summer game. I also thought the universe(please read: my brain, possible Gods, higher spiritual beings, etc) was telling me this was a good lesson in not being so reliant/dependant on my flippin smart phone! I went and grabbed the hedge cutters, and went to town hacking the thorn bushes that were fiercely protecting the long lost soccer ball. I saved it! But my toddlers were now outside again, carrying unopened fruit snack packages. Oh shit, my youngest is barefoot! And I’m being hugged by thorns I previously cut down… I managed to accrue a few war wounds, hopefully didn’t rip any new holes in my winter coat, and brought the ball and munchkins to safety. Once I decided to stop being selfish and open my baby loves’ snack, I went back to searching, in the rain, did I mention it was raining?!
I FOUND IT!!!!!!!! Saved by the leaves from the rain. Hip, hip, hooray!
Once I got my phone to safety, I realized I still had a task to complete…
With the tots waving, signing, and dancing to me from inside the floor to ceiling window, I blew, blew, and blew some more(leaves…). Oriana came outside barefoot again. She wanted a nap, but I was determined to get my chore done. I picked her up and continued on. I got a full body work out kicking and blowing leaves, while toddler holding.
I washed about a billion loads of laundry today, got zero put away. Argued intensely with headstrong toddlers. And still managed to feed them a semi healthy dinner(that was a fight, too). My youngest just passed out for the evening, and my 3-nager is still mad at life.
Somehow, I managed to type this out. On my once lost, deeply treasured phone. I also transferred a yard full of heavy, wet leaves down the hill. I feel accomplished even though my dining room table is overflowing with clothes. *shrugs*
I heard faint, play filled giggles as I hung the worn out dish brush to dry and turned the faucet to off. *drip…drip…* “Dammit, I need to remember to have Mario look at that.” I quickly dried my hands and wiped the seemingly endless amount of droplets off the counter top as I left the puddle of water to accessorize my new shirt.
I tried to retrace my child’s footsteps. It didn’t take too long. As I continued to follow the distanced laughter, I shut off the buzzing ceiling fan and unnecessary light in the play room. I picked up a barbie who’s hair I cut off haphazardly when I was not much older than my daughter, a harmonica, and dirt streaked mismatched socks queen B had taken off prior to her newest barefoot expedition.
I knew I was rounding in on the infamous queen herself. I opted to creep silently, to give myself time to prepare. My gap toothed, curly~blonde headed, four year old, tiny tot was a brazen force to be reckoned with. She was as unpredictable as a full fledged hurricane deep in the throws of her fury but also as breathtaking as the heavy aired, distinctly rain scented, grey smear of portrait perfect clouds with the most picturesque rainbow peaking out as its golden ray accentuated centerpiece. Yes, she is the storm and she is the calm. She is my daughter. My Isabell.
***Dear readers, this is my first real attempt at a short story. I’ve been craving a new creative writing piece for several days, but with my full work and single mom schedule, I rarely find the time or energy. Today, would have been my dad’s 62nd birthday had he survived. I’ve been thinking of him off and on all day. This is in his honor. I’ll write at least one more chapter before I commit to my pillow for the evening.***
(imagine this as a spoken word piece)
Shake hands, nod, smile pleasantries, and then, sit.
Face to face, shoulders and backs aligned, here we go, your eyes on mine, my eyes on yours.
Breathing nervously, breathing fast, breathing slower. Ever so aware, of my breath, of my pulse, of my very own heart’s rhythm…and now yours.
Nervous twitches in and of my mouth, fidgeting fingers, still ever so aware of my breathing…and now yours.
I feel the soft and slightly scratchy material of my retail bought “grandma sweater”. I wore in layers. For style, for comfort, for security. While holding on to the sweater sleeves as if my dear life depended on it, your piercing gaze was effecting me in more ways than one.
I felt as if you were seeing all of me, by looking into my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I rewound until you saw me as a mere child, creating appetizing mud pies and unbeknownst to my parents, making Barbies…kiss. You saw adolescent Miranda, in all her frizzy haired, pimply skinned, out-dated hand me down clothes, prepubescent glory. You saw my adult triumphs and my soul shattering weaknesses. You saw me fall, and then you saw me stand.
With a tear in my eye, and a shiny, skinned knee, I meet your gaze. Ever so aware of my breathing…and now yours.
I see the hidden stress just barely visible on your face. It’s in your expression, your posture, your breath. You’ve stayed strong for one day too many. No one really looks into your eyes anymore. Our society has made it taboo. Well, I’m looking now. Really looking. I see anguish. I see longing. I see need, and I see relief. I breathe in my awareness, and I breathe out yours. I see how the wind just barely tickles your hair into your face. You debate on whether or not to acknowledge it. In another lifetime, another moment in time, I would have had no second thoughts. I’d have lovingly replaced the hair back into its place, but we aren’t to touch, simply look… and breathe.
I see your face alight in laughter. I see joy, passion, and kindness. I sense your strengths, and I feel your worries. You’re a strong warrior, but even warriors need their wounds tended to and their cups refilled.
With dampened rag in hand, and a pitcher for your soul, I see you.
So very aware of my breathing…and now yours.
I casually slipped into conversation that I was going to go solo to the fireworks display later that night. I couldn’t seem to find anyone else to join me. I asked if you had to work. You said you were … Continue reading
Today’s question of the day was, “What’s your creative outlet?”. I was having a really “on” morning. Woke up on time, smile in place, make-upped, coffee high…just an all around feel good morning. So without social anxiety to creep up … Continue reading
Catch with 2 toddlers consists of a lot of dinosaur type poses. Picture an adorable, roly poly, flexible, one year old as said t-rex. Now picture her arms angled a little more outwards, lots of lead footed scampering, curly hair flying, giggles, and an endless supply of high, ear piercing shrieks.
Amidst this joyful game of “catch”, there’s strategy(I mean, duh, because toddlers…). Mostly, once my tie-dyed dino gets the pink bouncing ball back in her paws, an intense game of keep away ensues. There’s toddler babbles, toddler attacks(this includes slobbering and occasional bites), fighting over whose turn it is(it’s hard to play “catch” with a baby who won’t throw the ball), and laughing and screaming hysterically every time anything, anything at all happens. Oh, you dropped the ball, insert insane laughter. Oh, you’re running away, insert my wish for ear plugs. Oh, you’re an adorable, chubby T-Rex, I smile, which translates to you shrieking even more.
I love catch.
I was on the shitter when I heard the front door slam and moments, later baby giggles outside.
Ohhh mannnnn. Do I continue to empty my bowels, or do I go save the day? And by save the day, I mean half drag, half carry my two tots into the house, all while they are screaming and crying to stay outside(ya know, to taste test rocks and fight zombies and shit).
I decided to continue pooping as quickly as humanly possible. Yes, selfish, but I made a choice, by golly. So while I’m attempting to play Speed Racer in the toilet race of the century, all I can think is that my one and two year old are going on a walk by themselves. This means, my clumsy youngest will probably fall down the initial big hill. Once there, she’ll either cry or go to town chowing down at the all you can eat buffet commonly known as gravel. There’s a decent chance that a neighbor will find them and make a call to the officials leaving more sustenance for my abusive ex to use against me in any possible future squalor.
Wiped clean, raced(yes, sans washing of hands…) to the door, to nooooot find them wandering the neighborhood, to not find them greeted by a concerned neighbor. Nope, biggest was playing in the car, and littlest was exploring the immediate yard (That may or may not have consisted of taste testing non edibles.).
It was then that I sternly reminded my stinkpots of the deal we’d made prior to my bathroom excursion. Socks and shoes and outside time AFTER MOMMY GOES POTTY!
“Ohhh yeeeeah.”, the cutest little two year old voice says, as he erases my fears and fills me with smiles.
Time to go wash my hands…
Hashtag, World’s Most Okayest Mom(thanks, Would).
I remember once in junior high, we had a mock trial. I don’t even remember what the trial was about. What DO I remember? The shocked faces as I passionately drove my case home. I was told by more than one(teacher included) that I should become a lawyer. I laughed it off and said, “Nah, I’m an actress.”.
Let’s take a pause and talk about why that memory excites me. I’d like to believe it’s not fully ego based. Sure, we all like to be recognized and validated by outside sources for what we feel and/or believe we’re good at.
Life’s about sharing. At least the life I wish to live in.
That passion I unknowingly exuded and shared with others was informative and contagious(to both me and others!).
What desires am I currently delighting myself and my surroundings with?
What passions do you hold dear that have the ability to light up a room? Maybe a bouquet you arranged, or a picture you drew, a note you left, a smiley face fingered onto some dust, freely dancing in public, giggling with a toddler… I’m sure there is something you share with Mother that bring others peace and love.
Please, (re)find and share your passions with the world.
And then tell me all about it!!! ❤