Jinxed

In the early dawn light, just before the sky began to fade from inky blackness into the azure hue of morning, she felt his arm snake around her waist and pull her into his warmth. She sighed her happiness into the silent still air around their bed as he bent into her shape and together they dozed.

With a kitten’s purr, she shifted her shoulders to fit against his chest and let their contentment settle around them.

The alarm wasn’t due to ring for another 30 minutes but she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep now. With his breath against her skin and their legs tangled together, she felt herself slowly drift awake as the world outside slowly shifted from its own drowsy state of motionlessness.

She loved this time of the morning. When the breezes in the trees outside rustled the leaves with a gentle hand and the deep breaths of the sleepers ever-so slightly disturbed the silence. When everyone else remained asleep but, with her eyes closed, she was awake and thoughtful.

Drawing the cool sheet up against her chin, she lay there still, listening to his breath draw in and out, wondering if he was dreaming and what of. If he saw worlds of color and odd dancing figures or if his dreams were more realistic.

She felt him move slightly and smiled as he bent to kiss the back of her neck.

“Morning,” he said in his sleepy voice.

His deep, vocal bass rolled against her shoulders and her skin prickled excitedly. Hearing him first thing in the morning was one of the things she adored most, both for being the first to be greeted by him but also for the sleepy, thick pitch when he was just rousing from sleep. She smiled and greeted him in return.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Not really, just resting I guess.”

“Anything on your mind in particular? Or are you just being selfish and hogging the blankets all to yourself again?”

Snorting quietly, she adjusted the excess of fabric she never realized had gathered on her side. With the blankets rearranged and their bodies resting in the warmth of the cocoon they built, they both settled for a bit, trying to lengthen the early morning in the hopes of pushing away the day ahead.

But he was right, there was something on her mind. A question he had asked recently, one that would change their futures. She hadn’t answered but he hadn’t pried. He was giving her space and time.

She didn’t need it. She already had an answer. And a suggestion.

“Hun,” she started in a whisper. “About the other night…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you know my answer is yes.”

Without a glance, she felt his smile beam across his face, like a child on Christmas morning. His arms squeezed against her in a tight embrace and he kissed her shoulder. Biting her lip, she continued.

“But I was thinking, what if we used my mother’s ring? You know, the one she passed on to me.”

Before she could continue the shifting of the pillow case beneath his head rustled as he shook his head in response.

“Nope. We’ll go out and pick out a ring. A fresh start, something new.”

She bit her lip. It would be nice to have her own but she was practical, logical. There was a perfectly fine ring not being worn just waiting for someone to use it. It seemed wasteful.

His body was still and she knew he was gauging her hesitation. He cleared his throat.

“I just think you could use a ring that’s uniquely yours to start this off right. Doesn’t need to be fancy but something that’s your and only yours. Besides, we don’t want to jinx us before we actually say ‘I Do’.”

Chuckling she responded, “I never knew you to be the superstitious type. What’s with this ‘jinx’ business?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see just edge of his face, enough to notice the smile had faded. Furrowing her brows together she turned to him.

“Well, it’s just that…” he began with hesitation. “I think it’s a good idea we start fresh and not with something from a past that isn’t what we want for our future.”

A deep breath collected in her chest. She knew what he meant. Pain circled through her heart as her pulse quickened and tears sprang to her eyes.

She knew exactly what he was alluding to.

Not long after they started dating, a deep rift tore open within her family and the ring she now had in her possession had not been worn for some time. It was simple and gold with bands twining around each other, housing a diamond at it’s core. It had become a symbol of so many feelings, both good and bad. Her childhood had been beautiful and filled with great memories. But the dissolving of her parents’ marriage had cast a shadow over the lovely diamonds and the tightly wound circle, symbolizing eternity together, a bond never broken.

The little girl in her still held onto the ring, wishing to wear it as her mother had in the heyday of their marriage when together they were a family, whole and solid. But the woman now laying here, agreeing to her own future with a man she loved dearly, saw the ring as a broken promise.

He was right, the ring would jinx it. Why carry on a past into their future that neither of them wished for?

Rolling into his arms to face him completely, she saw the grief lined in his face. But it didn’t reach his eyes. There she saw the love he gave her unconditionally. The light of future plans they had together, or dreams and wishes she wanted to make come true with him. Together they had weathered the storm and found they were stronger together than apart. While she watched and suffered along with her parents, he stood by her side, held her hand and let her cry in peace.

Smiling through her tears, she nodded and he nodded back. His smile was gentle and comforting as he reached down to wipe away her sorrows. She took a deep, cleansing breath.

“No more talk about that ring, ok?” he said reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out.”

And together they settled into the quiet morning, their arms encircling each other tightly.

We Are The Jetsons

I sat with my finger nails pressed firmly between my teeth as I read through the current chapter of the book in hand. It was intense and I couldn’t figure out what the author was going to do next, both a wonderful yet annoying feature of this particular writer. While I loved the joy of being surprised, I squirmed in anticipation to know what would happen next.

I silently bit down on my nails and thumbed to the next page with my free hand, my eyes scanning to the top and finding my place with ease. Reading was a pastime I enjoyed thoroughly and books to me were collectors pieces. My bookshelves were packed with the books I’d read, standing like figurines in a shrine to all things literary. A shrine I revised often, adding new pieces and reverently returning to those I’ve finished only to read again.

I kept on, my right leg dangling from the couch with my left foot tucked underneath my thigh. And there, on top of his thigh rested my left knee, the single point of contact between us as we read next to each other.

Plock-plock went his stylus as he flipped through articles on his ereader. He was quiet, his head down and his eye flickering across the illuminated screen in his hands, picking up information about new gadgets or reading his own books there in the black type of the computer aged book.

Without warning, a small snort issued from my nose. It surprised me as much as it did him, causing him to look up at me with a question. I smiled and giggled.

“What?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I chuckled slightly and leaned my head back against the couch.

“Nothing, I just had a funny thought,” I responded.

Shifting beneath my knee, he kicked his legs up onto the couch and turned to face me, curiosity winning him over. His dark eyes rested on my face as he brought his head to rest upon his fist.

“No seriously, what’s so funny? And you can’t say nothing.”

I smiled back, biting my bottom lip, knowing that what I thought was silly and slightly stupid. Sharing with it him will only be a disappointment when he realizes it was nothing but a passing thought.

Looking down at my book, I placed my finger between the pages. Closing it gently I smiled to myself. Who could resist that look on his face?

“I was just thinking that we are really in the future now.”

A wave of confusion washed over his handsome features and he crinkled his brow at me.

“What do you mean?”

I laughed again.

“Well,” I started. “Here you are with a ereader in your hands and you flick through the pages like it’s a book.”

“And…?” he asked, trying to see my point before I made it.

“Well, we are the future. I mean, hell, you are reading articles and books via a screen with a pen that turns the pages. We’re practically the fucking Jetsons. All we need now is teleportation and a flying car.”

Me smiled at me the way my parents did when I told them a monster was under the bed and I loved him for it. I loved him for his ability to accept me, my weirdness and my weirdness’ weirdness.

He patted my leg and turned back to his reading, shaking his head and sighing.

Opening my book again, I turned to the sentence I’d left off on and started to read again, smiling at the thought of us reading next to each other on that couch, knees touching, for years to come.

Letter To My Son: Another Year Older

Every year, I tell your birth story. The story of how you were born. Every year it begins the same and ends just as it did the year before and the year before that.

Your birth story begins with uncertainty, fear, and worry and ends with love, pride, and joy.

The best part is that your story, at its end, is only just beginning.

You were born on a drizzly day. It had rained much of the night before on our way to the hospital. We worried about your Aunt Jen making her way up safely from San Diego to be there to welcome you.

Not long after you entered this world did you begin to explore. With your eyes wide open, drinking in every sight, every sound, you looked around to see what was going on. The nurses worried because you weren’t crying. They needed you to cry and clear your lungs but you were calm, peaceful.

Fascinated.

The warmth of a body and the beat of a heart put you to sleep easily. You never took to your crib and always found your way onto someones’ chest to sleep away your baby cares. Listening to the steady rhythm of their heart.

We were in awe of you, you and your dark hair, long fingers and long feet. Your full lips and your strength. You never ceased to amaze us.

As you grew, your personality began to blossom and the strength you showed while in my womb with all your movement translated into pure joy and happiness as a baby. And a very strong will.

You laughed, giggled, snuggled and smiled your way through your days. A silly boy, a willful explorer.

My wish for you my little love as you turn 6 years old is that you never stop smiling. That your inner joy always shines through and that your eagerness to see everything and understand all there is in this world and beyond continues to guide your learning.

I hope for you a life of imagination, pretend and of make believe. To see the world as it is and as it could be. To guide your strengths to build a better future for yourself and for those around you with the help of your wild spirit and your determination.

You are more than I could have asked for in my first child. You bring me joy and lots of room to grow as both a parent and as a person. Through you, I’ve healed my past and built a future with you that I could have only dreamed of. You woke in me the little girl who believed, just as you believe.

Happy Birthday my little dragon.

And here is to the many many years ahead.

With love,

Mama

The Anti-Valentine Poem

There you sat

my (heart) in your

Hands

and said

“Imagine a bouquet of flowers,

right here.

That was my plan, to surprise you.”

But I don’t see any flowers.

No roses of red, daisies of white.

Instead I see you

and all I can think is

“No, I’d rather have you

there,

sitting the way you are

so:close

instead of flowers.”

No flowers.

Just You.

Letter To My Son: Here’s To The Holidays

Jake,

As we pull into our garage, another day behind us and a new evening ahead, you fuss with your seatbelt as you anxiously wait to be free of the car. The quiet engine is your cue that it’s safe to unbuckle and you waste no time.

Your backpack rests on the floor of the backseat, forgotten along side your lunchbag as you abandon the car and rush through the door to the house. You race up the stairs, shoelaces flying untied and unruly as ever.

Your voice flies behind you, leaving me to guess exactly what you’ve said as you disappear at the top of the stairs.

I unbuckle myself from the car and gather into my arms all the items left behind. Sighing, I kick aside the dirty laundry as I follow in your wake, stretching from under the mound of things threatening to topple from my arms so that I can close the garage door.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I turn the corner to find your socks and shoes kicked about the room, removed in motion as you had made your way to the Christmas tree. I drop the load in my arms and search the room.

There you are, leaned over the arm of a chair, reaching for the socket to plug in the tree. You are singing Christmas songs, Rudolph your current favorite.

The tree flickers and comes to life, blue and red twinkling lights strung about the evergreen branches blink out at me from across the room. You’ve managed to turn on one light over the kitchen table, otherwise the room is dim and the sudden lighting of the tree in the corner has the walls dancing with bright colors.

You pop out from behind the small table there and roll off the chair next to it to sit on the ground in front of the tree. Your tree.

The tree is littered with memories and ornaments. Lots of snowmen hang about the boughs from our first tree when I thought it would be neat to decorate in theme. Then there are glass bulbs we unintentionally break one of every year. And special ones, ones made by you in preschool and others personalized to commemorate something special like your first Christmas and your favorite movie when you were 2, Cars.

There you sit, barefooted and in your school uniform staring at the magic and beauty that is the tree you helped decorate. In your opinion, it’s the best thing ever to have a lit tree in our home. And everyday, without fail, you make your way clumsily through the backseat of the car and clutter, over the laundry waiting to be washed and up the stairs to plug in the magic and spirit of our tree.

I love your unwavering joy and holiday spirit. You embody everything that this time of year means. Giving and gifting, thinking of others and of course, making wishes for a beautiful new year and for a few things you’d love to have.

I’m blessed because while you wish for a new dinosaur or a new toy truck, you also consider things to get for others and ways to help spread the love and cheer. If it were up to you, my son, I’d be baking all day for every friend and family member.

If it were up to you, a shopping cart would be filled to the brim with toys and goodies for boys and girls too ill to celebrate or go home from the hospital. You’d fill boxes with clothes to donate to those who find themselves struggling to make ends meet.

Jake, your heart is big, full of love and this never ending joy I can’t fathom. You surprise me constantly and I fall in love with you over and over again as I watch you grow into a kind and considerate person.

My son, I’m blessed to be your mother and, as you read this a grown man celebrating your holidays however you wish, I hope you always remember the joy you felt when those tree lights sparked and lit the room up from the inside out. I hope that your holidays, though all grown up and with different meanings, still hold a little magic and lots of love.

All the love to the moon and back,

Your Mom

May the beauty of the holidays, however you choose to celebrate, fill your heart with joy and love.

Happy Holidays from our family to yours.

2011

 

Love’s Second Chance

Life is huge.

It’s bigger than I ever believed it to be as a little girl, even with my wild fantasies and my huge imagination. Under that curly mop rested a mind that could fathom anything. My days were centered around what imaginary life I could live in the wild enchanted forests with my imaginary friends. Reality was for the birds. I wanted adventure and magic.

I thought I had it all down, that I was open minded enough to understand what was in front of me, to believe in what was made up and a little wiggle room for all the stuff in between. That nothing would surprise me because I knew it all.

At 7 years old, I was awesome and nothing could bring me down.

Now I’m grown and my curly mop isn’t so curly and my imagination still runs wild but reality has a firm grasp on my day to day life. They’ve swapped places. I now live in reality while I make room for my imagination.

And in this switch up as I’ve grown and become wiser, more grounded, I find I actually know very little.

Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

I’ve been a lover since I was very little, chasing the people I liked and wanted to be liked back in equal amounts of adoration and kisses. Holding hands and sneaking smooches under the slide on the playground were elementary school hobbies for me.

I chased love only wishing it would chase me back.

I thought love was all one needed to feel good, be strong and to take on the world. That when someone loved everything about you that was good, unique and wonderful, that it was enough to make all your faults fade away.

Then I grew up. I got my heart broken a few times and I learned a lot. A lot about myself and my needs, about my faults and about how honestly quirky I am. I also learned that there is more to love than just a quickening pulse and sweaty palms.

Love is not enough to fix the broken. The broken has to want to be fixed for any love given to make an impact. It’s not enough to keep people together. There needs to be a willingness to make it work, to cling together and make it through any storm. Love is not enough to change a person’s thoughts. The mind is powerful and once settled, it can be hard to sway.

Love is only a portion of the whole equation.

Yes, it is the stuff of fairy tales and of romantic stories I believed as a child. And yes, I still believe deep down that love is beautiful and powerful and awesome.

Kinda like Santa Claus, whom I still believe in to this day.

But now I understand how to let it come to me. How to take what I’m given, place it in the ground and let it grow with honesty, tender care, and lots of encouragement. That chasing love is like trying to catch a butterfly and while waiting for it to come to you is tedious, chasing after it will leave you breathless and tired and quite possibly far away from the path you were on.

I’ve also learned not to shut the door so fast at the end of a situation. Second chances may not always be an option I want to give but sometimes, just sometimes, having another go may be what is needed.

I may be older and wiser, but I’m still a child at heart, believing in the beauty of love and wonderment that belongs in a world of make believe. And along with that is now my new found knowledge that love needs attention, room to grow and can’t be rushed. That it can’t bloom on its own without a little help and a little imagination. That time does heal the wounds of the heart.

And that second chances may be just the magic needed to let love blossom when all else fails.

Where Have All The Fairy Tales Gone?

Once upon a time, when I was 24, I had a birthday gathering. It was a Princess Party. We wore colorful feather boas, fake sparkly tiaras and wonderfully gaudy costume jewelry. My friends joined me at the Holy Cow in San Francisco and we danced and drank and had a blast while we celebrated my 24th year of gracing this earth with my presence.  A good looking young man even took the time to ask why we were all decked out and ended up asking for my number.

One of the two times in my life anyone ever asked for my number. It was a good night and by far my best birthday.

Up to that point in my life, I believed in fairy tales. I believed in happily ever after and that for every girl/princess there was a guy/prince waiting for her to be his.

Silly, maybe. But it was what I wanted. I wanted the fairy tale and magic that all tales possess.

By the next birthday, I was back home celebrating quietly with my family while I felt my son kick and move around within me. I was pregnant and not up to celebrating.

So much had changed so fast. I had gone from eagerly waiting and anticipating my birthdays to wishing them away, wanting not to care and not to be noticed.

And with a baby came those thoughts and fears every parent has. Worried about the future and about what kind of parent you would be. Concerns about education, the state of the world, finances. And in my case, becoming not just a first time mom but a single parent right off the bat, there were more than just the usual concerns of every parent but a few extra thrown in for good measure.

But one issue I didn’t think all the way through. Maybe I couldn’t at the time because I didn’t have any experience to base it on. Or maybe I was just naive.

While pregnant, much talking  happened between myself and others about the issue of dating and possibly marrying someday. In my naive thinking and mixed with my strong belief in fairy tales and the magic of true love, I felt that dating and the future possibility of getting married wasn’t something I needed to worry about. It would happen when it was time to happen. I had other things at hand to work through like legal and visiting rights of my son’s co-parent and my job and health insurance.

Then he was born and another birthday of mine had slipped past without notice. Then the first two years were a whoosh and were gone without blinking. And suddenly I found us clear and available to pursue dating as an option.

But there was a catch. It was no longer ME or I, it was US. This was the issue I hadn’t fully considered.

I was dating for us because no matter what may come, I will always be a mother and any prince that gallops into my courtyard clamoring for the attentions of this faire maiden will have to deal with the fact that I’m a two for one deal.

Relationships have come and gone since then making me realize just how tough it is to date when a child is involved. I’ve slowly started to dread my birthdays, too. There isn’t any more joy about celebrating another year, instead there is the fear that another year has past and I’m slowly becoming more uncertain.

And, as the joy of birthday celebrating becomes mute, I’m also losing my belief in magic. In happily ever after.

In fairy tales.

I never took into consideration that while there would be people out there willing and happy to date me and my son, that I wouldn’t be willing to take the chance on them. I always imagined any road blocks to finding my happily ever after would be because of the lack of worthy candidates and instead find the one blocking my path is actually me.

Reality is a far scarier monster than any dragon guarding a castle.

Now I find myself conflicted between the girl who wants to believe and the woman that doesn’t.

I want to believe in the good and the magic and in love and happiness. But my sensibility is taking over and I’m finding it hard to see beyond reality.

I also want to believe that even a single mom can find a happily ever after that suits her life and the choices she’s made. That even though the gowns and tiaras of yesterday are long gone and now time is spent taking care of herself and her family, that there is room for one more.

That love isn’t a luxury.

But reality.

Unlike Me

It is unlike me to say “I don’t know how I feel” without really knowing.

It’s unlike me to ignore the risks, to be blind to the dangers.

To avoid thinking of the possible future injuries.

It’s unlike me to forgo the precautions and to not take heed.

It’s unlike me to block out my intuitions and turn my back on my better judgment.

But it’s very much like me to do all these unlikely things when love is at stake.

When my heart calls out and yearns so deeply for that connection. That spark…

I’m known to become someone unlike me.

 

Cloudy

I feel as if I’m in a cloud.

A dense fog that shrouds my thoughts and makes it tough for me to think.

Maybe it was a simple glance or a smile. The brushing of my skin or the knowing words that filled in the empty spaces. Or the way it felt when I walked away, like I was being memorized. Soaked in.

But the attention blurred my vision and caused me to lose my sights.

I’m lost in a cloudy mess that has me spinning in circles till I fall, grounded to the solid earth beneath me. My head reels and my eyes close. I don’t know if I’m here or there.

I wish it was easy to ignore. I wish I was stronger, able to avoid these feelings. This loss of balance. I can wish all day that none of it affected me, that I had a cold steel heart beneath my pounding blood and my shifting muscles. I could do it, continue to try, but nothing would come of it. I’ll always have this heart, this open beating heart that loves to the depth and the breadth of the biggest seas. And shatters into a million pieces when broken.

Instead I search for the sun. For the skies that hide behind the cloudy veil that has been cast around me, keeping the horizon from view.

Love Never Fails

click for photo credit

Love.

Love can be found in many different places.

It can be grand and monumental.

It can be small and genuine.

Love.

Love can be heard in many different ways.

In the rhythm and rhyme of a song.

In the soft words spoken by a deeply loved child.

Love.

It has no boundaries. No limits.

It has no shape, nor size, or color.

It has no rules, no guidelines.

Love is what we make of it.

Love is what fills us and gives us reason.

And sometimes, when we aren’t looking,

Love sneaks up and takes us by surprise.

Love.

It has no boundaries. No limits.

Love never fails.