Beginning strong, ending . . . not so much

"That isn't negative defeatism, just an honest appraisal of the situation based on years of congruent data." - Fedaykin.

Saying it creates it, though, right? Like if I appraise myself and say I find an emotionally overgrown self-religious, brain-off, overweight, anger addicted and physically undesirable girl, does that make it okay to SAY it and call it truth?

Recently I came across the first two chapters of a book I was planning on title-ing "The Princess Theory." In it I had come to the "unshakeable" understanding that not only was I a divine person ('divine' like a daughter of God and also like a chocolate truffle - Wildbound knows the one's I mean) but I had a large hand in CREATING that state, as well as the awareness of it.

I understood that I could choose my emotional responses. I could physically create and package my body: actually BEING who or what I wanted most.

Though recently I have thought that I could talk about myself any way I wanted, because I knew the truth of me and no one else did. It was okay to say negative things, as long as they were true.

But what CREATES that "truth?" Don't I, as a powerful being capable of creating my own life, don't I? I can, yet I do not.

In the interest of being "honest with myself," I have ceased to be kind to myself. Many people fall into this very pointy trap. It's like a raccoon trap. You know the kind. Put a shiny object at the bottom of a can, and stick a bunch of nails in the can so that the hand can reach in, but once a fist is made around the shiny prize, you can't pull out.

The "prize" is the "hard truth we all have to face" in order to live in "reality." What's so great about reality, you ask? We'll I've asked myself the same question for years, or I have asked that question of the many who have watched me in disgust and wonder.

I still don't have a good answer. Because I have yet to square the broad definition of "reality" with my own personal definition of "reality."

The worst part? I am so sleep deprived that my brain no longer does it's function-y things in the brilliant way it used to.

So I fall back on the "hard truth" and accept it because it's easier than working at creating my life.

I'm just so damn tired.

That reminds me of a funny story: My sister and two brothers were in the drive thru at Taco Maker. My younger brother gave the teller a hard time trying to figure out if they had pink or regular lemonade, (though I believe he finally settled on root beer). So when they finally pulled around to the window and my elder brother wanted my sister to ask for fire sauce, she was hesitant to make any more proverbial waves. My brother became very quiet and he merely said, "Do I have to get serious? Do I have to say, "I want fire sauce, Damn it?"

Always it is making me laugh. Alwaaaaayyyss. Now Lemur wants me to play with him and I wanna: having completely forgotten what I was talking about. Testimony to the lack of sleepy-things.

Time for going. I hope that soon it will be time again for thinking. I miss thinking. I miss being brilliant and loving and having people go: "Wow, you are so beautiful and so smart." As all cycles, it will come again. Most assuredly after I have had more sleep and something something.

Seriously: what day is it?

Super Hot Husband Alert!

I think these pictures speak for themselves.

Again, "Rose" is a lovely model. Yay for overcast picture excursions.

I'm not really a poet, but . . .

If eye were to see
the open
I
What would eye behold?

A child enveloped
in womanly flame
to ne'er again be told.

This child held up
eye can see,
by a man so long fortold

This man so warm
can see this
I,
and hand he came to hold.

The heart of
I
within the eye
the beauty there retold.

He see's in eye
the imagined
I
worth far more than gold.

With such an
I
his eye gives love
softer past the bold.

The worth of eye
that sees the
I
never can be told.

And the
I
welcoming the eye
Forever will
I hold.

A fond farewell

I hate to admit it, but the time has come and it must be faced: I have grown up. Well, at least grown out of the need for stuffed animals, no matter the emotional attachments to them. So, in stead of holding onto them, I have taken a few parting pictures, and will send them to DI for another generation of children to hopefully enjoy.
This is Slither. A puppet my parents gave me for Christmas. My other siblings got bug puppets . . . I don't know why I got a snake. Pretty cool, though, huh?
Ellie the Elephant was a gift from my sister. I think I was nine.
Lucky the Lion came in a balloon the summer I broke my ankle. With it was a card from my parents: "We hope you get well soon. We're not "lion!"" Corny . . . but adorable.

River came outside with me to take these pictures, and stared playing with the other animals we had accumulated. Then she stood up!

She's holding "Pap Freed" the bear, beaming in her glory!

"Now you listen to me, Mr. Bear." Looks a little intent, doesn't she?

And then there were a few picture moments with Mommie.
Good times. Good times.

A day with the kidlets

Begins with a bath. But this time, before I knew it, Rivulet was neckid and making her way down the stairs. I thought it would be "fun" to get a picture. This is the face Lemur gave me when I told him my intentions: "Um . . . sure." he said when I asked if he would let me "get a shot of Rivulet." He looks just like his daddy.
River was mainly happy to try on my glasses. She looks just like me (see last photo).

This photo was taken with Lemur's toe. It wasn't until this morning that Muad'Dib reminded me we had a timer on the camera. Oops.
"Make a silly face!" orders my son as he prepares to take his first picture of mommy . . . hair courtesy of Rivulet who was only moments ago sitting on my back, as though I were a horsey.
"Awwww, do I hafta?" Yes, Rivulet, you need to don a diaper. Breaks my hear to see her like this, but worse to find a "gift" on the carpet.

TAKE NOTE! ---->

Please note the video additions to the side bar of my blog. The one labled "this is insanity!" does not bear false witness. It is my brother (in a blond wig-thing) and a friend of his lipsinc-ing to "Suddenly", my favorite parts are at the end, like when I get to hear him laugh. I miss my brother.
The one labled "My brother in China" is just that. An Asian took a video of my brother's show in the Venetian and posted it on YouTube. THANK YOU, STRANGER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH!! So, CountryHopper is the man with the goatee (if you can't recognize him from the other pictures I've posted then boo on you) who is normally in the center. He says the sound doesn't do it justice, and I believe him, but it's still neat to see what he's up to over there.

Now a family of five!

Born? I don't know. But he weighs over a hundred pounds and sleeps through the night. So, that's good right? Proud Papa. Well, actually I do most of the grilling in the family so far . . . But he's still super handsome.
Beef: it's what's for dinner. Or so I've been told. The sizzle of juices was quite intoxicating. Little did I know that Chuck steak is actually not much good for grilling. I guess one can't judge a book by it's cover or a meat by it's title. "Chuck steak." Bah!

The new addition to our family: I think I will call him Fluffy, the Grill Who Only Loves!
Ahhhhh, a second burner . . . the possibilites make my head spin!
And, the univited guest. This little (and I use 'little' as a derogitory term, not as an accurate measurement of size) bugger was poking his ugly, eye covered head out at me as I began grilling. Muad'Dib and his can of poison made short work of him, though. All Muad'Dib had to say about the massacre was, "When a bird's feather is caught in the web, you know it's a big spider."

An Interview with a Productive Mother: Tonight at 10

*fast paced, digital music playing in the backround while well enunciated words seem to come from no where*

It has been said many times and by many people in so many words that there must be opposition in all things. Or "every rose has it's thorn" or "we all have good day and bad days" or "seasons come and seasons go" all meaning that sometimes things are good and sometimes they stink.

So what was today for Sayyadina?

IT WAS FREAKING AWESOME!!!! Ha, ha, fooled you! Thought this was going to be an "emotional vomit" day, didn't you! "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders!"

*Serious, newscaster voice asks* "So, Sayyadina, what made today so great?"

Well, Chuck (as most interviewers are named in fantasy sequences), it would have something to do with productivity. My productivity.

He gives me a curious look, as though this idea were novel to him, "Really? How so?"

"I have spoken before,"I reply as I toss my lovely copper hair over one shoulder and straighten my posture "about how useless I feel when a day has ended and I have done nothing to be significantly proud of; I feel like I have accomplished nothing."

(He continues to nod as though I were very wise.)

"Today, the difference was that I was Super Freaky productive in my sphere."

Chuck leans forward, intrigued by this proclamation, "What do you mean, 'in my sphere?'"

"Simply put," I say as i lean forward as well, making sure he misses nothing, "What I did today, what fills me with this indescribable joy, would matter little more than a hill of beans to anyone else. Not even my husband could be as excited as I am. My sphere = my change, my joy. Do you get what I mean?" I laugh good-naturedly, leaning back quite at ease.

Chuck chuckles as well, "Surely I do. You are a mother and home-maker, correct?"

I nod in the affirmative, "No prouder profession."

He agrees with his platinum grin before he continues, "So what was it today that gave you your feeling of freedom?"

I clasp my hands over my knees and look up to the ceiling, remembering it all in divine detail. "The day began slowly. I had been up so late last night, and my daughter kept waking up every hour and a half! So I rolled over and cuddled my husband until my son crawled into bed with us and I had to face the fact that morning was really here, and I had to face it. I am MOM, after all,"

"After all," he conceded.

"I made breakfast, and sent Muad'Dib off to work with a delicious and quirky lunch, packed with love and a note to prove it. Before he left, he gave me one task to accomplish." I stop, sigh and grin. "Then I accomplished it."

"But what was the task?" Chuck asks with too much curiosity (it's then I realize he gets paid to ask these questions.)

"I was to clean out from under the bed."

Chuck waited for a moment for me to continue, but I did not. So he dutifully prodded with another question, "And how did that make your day so 'awesome?'"

I gave him a sly look and began using my hands while I spoke as the excitement poured out of me, "Because I didn't just clean out from under the bed. I took the bedding, the mattress and the box springs off the frame. I cleaned and vacuumed. I lifted the heavy, solid wood headboard (that I have wanted to get rid of for months now) all by myself and removed it. I then moved my chair to a nook nearer the window and moved the dresser to a less conspicuous spot. After that, I set up the lamps and continued to vacuum every square inch of floor and baseboard in my room." I grinned with pleasure, for Chuck seemed impressed. "And I didn't just 'remove' the headboard. I single handed-ly carried that thing down the stairs. I maneuvered and lifted and scooted it all the way down to the living room and out of my way."

"Where were your children?" he asks, eyes wide, chin resting on his hand in wonder.

"Behaving like absolute angels!"

"Well, " he says, obviously pleased with my story, "That must have been wonderful for you."

"You have no idea." I replied, looking pointedly into the camera as I continued, "There may be some who will hear this story and think "Gee, I did so many more important things with my day. I'm not on the news for it." But I say to you that I in my sphere remembered something very important that I had forgotten: I AM WONDER WOMAN!!! I have strength and creativity and home-building skills that I had forgotten over the past few weeks. But the cycle has come full circle, Chuck," I say, turned my attention back to the imaginary man who shows so much interest in my life, "as they always will."

Yes they always will.
And now, being exhausted from working hard all day (yay!) I will go to sleep.
*contented sigh ends this post*