Somewhere in Morocco

I dislike coasters. I don't really see the point of them because I like coffee rings - specifically when there is only one because you always put your mug in the exact same place every time, but lots of rings are fine. It gives an otherwise inanimate thing character. Which is important because it isn't as if that inanimate thing has a personality that can inform you as to it's character, you must inform it.

I like paint on canvas, but appreciate it less on walls. Unless it is spray paint and outdoors, but that is another topic. I prefer wooden walls and open beams. It makes things a bit bigger and a bit more drafty, but also smaller and homey all at the same time. Paint seems to only muddle or bore due to the fact that most walls are white or beige or someplace in between. No one likes the color beige, it's just fun to say. If you painted on walls as you painted on canvas, that would be something magical. Because paint on canvas is a doorway to the unknown. Imagine if all your walls were doorways, each leading someplace different. That would be lovely.

It's funny, your past builds you to who you are while still not defining you at all. Life is a developing picture. You can take it out and look at it one moment, then let it settle longer for a clearer image. It's almost the same, but it isn't at all. The past is like that. Who am I now is not who I was then, but it still made me who I am and is making me into who I'll be. I think that's a riddle, but I'm not sure. Riddles always seem so much more clever than I could ever be.

I find cliches to be boring and most love stories are cliches, but I find love stories to be wildly wonderful. I think it's because of the details. The big picture is what matters in general, but in a love story the big picture doesn't matter at all. You are not two people in a room full of people in a building in a city in a country on the earth, you are just two people. One entirely enraptured by the other, so ardently that nothing else is of any importance. And that is what makes them.

My preferred method of communication is "in-person," then blog. And maybe email. But the phone is too loud and text messages are too short and Twitter is for hashtags and Facebook is for self-absorption and I hear there are other methods, but I don't participate. Face to face is perfect. You can appreciate the person. The affect in their voice and the motions of their hands, the way their face contorts with emotion or remains still with apathy. You can use all 5 senses and know them the way we have forgotten to know people.

Do you think clouds get lonely? Those dark wisps drifting alone while cumulus collect together at the edge of the foothills. I think they do. Alienated because they're different, isolated drops of water wandering together, blown about by the wind. I wish I could hike up into those distant clouds and whisper into their very center how much they are appreciated, if only by me.

I'm watching Casablanca again, for the thousandth time. It's a coffee ring and a canvas, a riddle and a love story, honest in all 5-senses, a whisper into loveless clouds. There is fresh bread in the oven and a sweet little boy asleep in the canvas hammock hung from the ceiling, my husband is away at work and I miss him. Sam on the piano makes it all seem easier than it is. Idealism and romanticism spun into a web around my heart. I'm worried spring will never come, but I know that all things pass. Life is a constant complicated slur. But then, so am I.

Brown Sugar Chai

My 5 month old is teething. He's grown over an inch in less than a month. He can roll in succession and spin 360 degrees, but prefers to crawl (slowly propel himself forward) at a glacial pace. It makes him furious that he can't get where he'd like in a timely manner. Introducing solids is an adventure that sometimes leads to an upset tummy. And because he doesn't feel well? He wants to be held. A lot. And he can't sleep because he's growing and his mouth hurts. So I don't get to sleep. Needless to say, Mark and I are exhausted.

it . is . beautiful

You read me correctly. Maybe I get 45 minutes of solace while he is napping, but it is more likely that I am doing two days of dishes that have piled up in the sink or finally sweeping the kitchen - please don't talk to me about the bathroom. Showering twice in three days is a luxury and I can never remember whether or not I've washed my hair or not because I'm so distracted by the list of things to do once I get out. Mark and I have opposite work schedules and I miss him. We both need new clothes and Rory needs better winter gear and the amount of drool on everything in our house? Is impressive. I want to work out, but who has the time? Twenty minute work outs would totally work if I had twenty minutes. Ask me how I am managing to blog: Err, well, it has taken me five days to post this.

but , still

Sometimes I do yoga at 4am in my underwear and socks. When it's quiet and Rory and Mark are still and sleeping, they look so much alike. I see more and more of my dear husband in my sweet boy. I drink a lot of brown sugar chai, it's peaceful but charged - just like I want to be. My playlist shuffles between Macklemore, Dario Marianelli, Flobots, Brooke Fraser and JJ Heller. I like that my jeans don't fit and that I cut my own bangs. My nails are navy blue and chipping. I am wearing a tube top and poncho rocking my darling baby to sleep. Sometimes when I see other moms, so put-together and made-up, I wonder who gave me a parenting license.

then i remember

And I get tired of people telling me to enjoy every second of being a mother. Children are changing every second of every day and it is true that if you blink for too long? You'll miss it. It. Them growing up. First crawl, first word, first run, first electrocuting themselves with a fork and a socket (my baby brother). That being said, I do not enjoy the fact that waking up every two hours is equal to a good night's sleep. I do not enjoy Rory jolting up screaming because he had a nightmare or his teeth hurt or he was having growing pains. I do not enjoy not being able to spend quality snuggle time with my husband because of our opposite schedules. I do not enjoy a fussy 5 month old who drools all over every item in our house attempting to find just the right chew thing for his sore gums. Does that mean I don't appreciate this beautiful, wonderful, amazing stage of our life?

no.

I am not under the illusion that the next stage will be any better or easier. Just different. There will be cords to put in mouths, more teeth to cut, not enough words to communicate exactly, sand and dirt, skinned knees, bruises, miscommunications, embarrassing truths spoken at inopportune times, tantrums, and oh, then there are the teenage years. The years I am dreading the most. But all the difficulties simply make the joys a little brighter. For instance: Rory gets grumpy when he's tired (like everyone else I know), but he also starts to laugh at just about everything so it's this mixture of half cries and hysterical giggling. And I could not love it more than I do. I probably have 5 or 6 videos of it on my brand new phone. He also loves to be outside but gets really snuggly and quiet because he's so interested in everything around him and it is precious. He is precious.

and always will be

So, for now, I have nap times and Macklemore. For now, I have navy polish on my nails and crazy hair that refuses to be tamed. For now, I have the occasional afternoon with my Marko and lots of crash-course and wiki-learning. For now, I have videos of my giggly grumpy baby and brown sugar chai tea. And that is enough. Partially because it has to be - but mostly because it just is.

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In other news, there have be quite a few updates on the mission front and our very first email blast will be coming to you soon (assuming you have contacted me and let me know you would like one, ahem). If you would like to be on the inside loop, please let me know.

In other other news, I started writing that book I always tease about. And I actually have a coherent concept for it, which has never been a thing before. Yay me. We will see if it actually comes to fruition. Keep me accountable. Accountability is good.

Annnd I love you. Unequivocally and unconditionally. But my baby has awoken and you come second.