The other day at the park with Lily, I found this written on the bench. Thanks, Universe. I needed that.

Steve and X were out of town this past weekend, leaving Lily and me to fend for ourselves.

Now, in past years, being left home alone would freak me out. I'm a self-confessed scaredy cat and I don't like being home alone at night. The first time I was left alone, a lizard snuck in through the back door and I freaked the eff out. I called Steve and made him stay on the phone with me while I built an elaborate trap in the kitchen. Then, with the lizard trapped between shoe boxes and a stack of magazines, I called my friend to pick me up. It was the middle of the night, but I didn't want to sleep at home and risk waking up with an escaped lizard on my face.

The second time I was left alone I slept with all the lights on. Yes, I'm scared of the dark and sleep with a night light every night. Because I think ghosts only come out when it's dark. And I always avert my eyes when passing by a mirror at nighttime because of I'm scared of Bloody Mary. And when I stay up late watching TV, I make Steve sleep on the couch in the livingroom near me because I think killers only attack when you're alone. And I pull the covers tightly up to my chin in bed because I feel like the blankets are like some some kind of magic shield that the boogie man can't penetrate. And no body parts can stick out from under the covers lest they fall prey. Yes, I'm ridiculous. Also? I look away and plug my ears whenever commercials for scary movies come on the TV. Because I'm nine.

Sadly, I'm not making any of this up.

But this past weekend, you would have been proud of me. I didn't call my friends to rescue me in the middle of the night. I only looked over my shoulder a couple of times when walking through the dim rooms. I was able to stay up late by myself without being freaked out by all the weird nighttime noises I heard throughout the house. AND, I slept with only my trusty night light and no other lights on in the house. Yeah, I still avoided mirrors and wrapped myself in an armor of blankets, but that's just good sense.

When Steve got back on Sunday night, I told him, "I'll be alright if you ever end up leaving me."

And he was like, "Huh? What? Can I at least put my luggage down before we get into whatever craziness you're talking about this time?"

Labels: crazy talk, in other news

"Surround yourself with people who are better than you in a hundred different ways and allow the force of their character to inspire you to change, grow, and strive to become the best version of yourself." - Matthew Kelly

I believe in the power of positive association. And, at the risk of sounding lame, I've actually been yearning for it lately. To be around other creative people - artists, singers, actors, musicians, dancers, writers. To be inspired by their work and their desire. To see them go after their dreams. See them in their element, doing what they love and live to do. It's contagious. It motivates me to do and be the same.

I've been thinking that maybe I should join some kind of club for creative types. Or start my own. I probably won't because of my social anxiety, but it's fun to think about.

Labels: dream on

I know I'm getting old when:

1) I hurt myself doing things that shouldn't hurt to do. Like when I pulled a neck muscle while putting my shirt on. I pulled my shirt over my head, reached my arms back to pull my long hair out, and felt a pull. Stiff neck for the next few days. From putting on a shirt. Seriously?

2) My body parts start to get faulty. All of a sudden my ankles click or my knees creak when I walk. Or, after sitting for a long period of time, I have to do the old person's walk when I first get up - all bent over, shuffling my feet - until my joints loosen up and I can straighten up and walk normally. At 35.

3) I insist I'm still hip. There are two problems here. First, I'm probably not hip if I have to inform someone that I'm still hip. Second, the fact that I used the word 'hip' automatically means I most definitely am not.

4) It makes me happy when the Starbucks cashier calls me Miss. Instead of Ma'am. Yes, I realize you're probably just humoring me, College Boy. You probably know exactly what you're doing. But I don't care. Big tip for you!!

5) I can't stand listening to the radio anymore. I often catch myself thinking, This isn't music, it's just noise! Who am I? I find myself cringe when I hear lyrics like, "Call me Mr. Flintstone, I can make your bed rock" and "You gon' think I invented sex." Even though I used to sneak listening to N.W.A. and 2 Live Crew CASSETTES on my Walkman back in the day when my mom thought I was listening to Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam.

Speaking of cassette tapes...I was trying to give my son ideas on sweet things he could do for this girl he likes, and I started thinking, he should totally make her a mix tape! Er...CD? Wait, do teenagers even use CD players anymore? Maybe he could make her a mix playlist? It's SO not the same. Mix tapes were the bomb back in the day! And then I felt old.

Speaking of back in the day...a couple of weeks ago, our internet went out and stayed down for a few days. Since my son's lifelines to the outside world are AIM and video chatting, he was all panicked and like, "Dude, how am I going to talk to my friends??" And I was like, "Use the phone. The old-fashioned way!" And he looked at me like I was crazy. And old.

Labels: fab five

So on Saturday we went furniture shopping. It was a family affair; we were even ballsy enough to bring along the crazy toddler. At our second stop, we got out of the car and started walking toward the store entrance. X was leading the way, followed by Steve who was holding Lily. Lily watched me as I tagged along last, adjusting the strap of my purse.

And then I scrubbed. Big time.

It happened so fast that I didn't have time to stop it and I can barely remember how it happened. But one part happened real slow motion, like how you see in the movies. It was that split second before I hit the ground and I was thinking, "Oh shit, I'm going to fall. I can't believe I'm falling! I don't have time to regain my balance. Seriously? Am I really going to scrub right now?"

Next thing I knew, Steve was rushing to my side. "Oh shit! Babe, are you OK?!"

And Lily was laughing and clapping her hands. Because she thought I was joking around. Even when I showed her my bloody hand.

And X was trying not to laugh at his little sister laughing at me.

Anyway, I shook it off, bandaged up, and kept on keeping on. We went into the furniture store and shopped around for a bit. Then, out of the blue, we turned around and saw Lily laying on the floor. The hell?

When we got home, we found out what she was doing because she did it again. I was retelling the story of how I fell to my brother, when all of a sudden Lily goes, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" and throws herself on the floor.

Hardy har har.

It was actually pretty damn funny. So we got it on tape for your viewing pleasure.

Labels: parent 'hood

"How we spend our days is how we spend our lives." Annie Dillard

I read this quote in Artist in the Office, a book I just bought. It struck me because, until I read this quote, I didn't realize that I've been spending my days like my life was on hold. Like, I just had to take care of A, B, and C, AND THEN my life could begin. But A, B, and C have been on my to-do list for a while now. And life was happening whether I was on task or not. The quote reminded me that this day-to-day stuff is my life. So, how am I spending my days?

I first heard of Artist in the Office from one of Alex's websites. The name really intrigued me because that's how I felt, like an artist (stuck) in the office. So I went out and bought it. It was an easy, fun read. At times a little cheesy for my taste, but overall very inspiring for this artist stuck in the office. But the funny thing is that the author actually wrote against the mentality of being an artist stuck in the office. She wrote about how most of us need our day job, how our day jobs are valuable and important, and how we can still be an artist with a day job and not feel "stuck." Well, that's what I got out of it anyway.

The book was full of fun ideas and simple things to do each day that let you be creative even at work. Some ideas are things I already do, like when I wear my bling bling cocktail ring to the office. Not your typical work attire, but so fun. Some ideas are new things I can't wait to try, like making doodle art collages. I know there might be people who think these things are silly. But some of us might find these things are like creative life lines in a day full of meetings and reports.

So if creative days equals a creative life, I will try do something creative each day, even if its simply sneaking in a little lunchtime adventure between the 9 to 5.

Labels: dream on, soapbox

Probably the number one question I get asked is, "How's Lily?" And the number one response I give is, "Crazy, as usual." People probably think I'm exaggerating, or embellishing, as storytellers are wont to do. But really? My daughter is crazy. (This is where Steve would chime in, "She got it from her mama, she got it from her mama!") Not only is she a stubborn, hot-tempered little drama queen, but she's crazy obsessed with me. Like fatal attraction obsessed. Like, will scream bloody murder outside and stick her fingers underneath the door while I use the bathroom obsessed.

I'm not trying to give you TMI, but here's a bathroom story for you. I had to use the bathroom, you see. So, I thought I'd be slick and sneak away while she was engrossed in Sesame Street. Not two minutes after I closed the door did I hear her pitter patter down the hall. Uh oh, here comes trouble. Then she was at the door knocking. And when I didn't open up, she started with the tears, etc. This was not the ideal bathroom-using situation, but I blocked out her cries and just tried to handle my biz, as my brother would say.

Then it suddenly got quiet. Now, any parent knows that when your kid is quiet, your kid is up to something. I perked up my ears and I heard the bathroom trash bin rattle around. And here is where I entered the Five Stages of Good Grief.

1) Denial

She is NOT trying to get into the garbage can right now! I cracked open the door and peeked out to see that, oh yes she WAS trying to get into the garbage can. She doesn't know I see her, but once I bust her out, she'll stop real quick. "Lily! Do not touch." She looked over at me, then turned back to the garbage unfazed.

2) Anger

So I tried playing the disciplinarian. "Lily, NO! NO, Lily, that's dirty! Lily! Mommy said NO! LILY, I SAID NO! LILY!!!" I used my most commanding, threatening, no nonsense voice. I gave her the evil eye. I wagged my finger. She paused for a quick second, weighed her options, then kept on keeping on.

3) Bargaining

When it was evident that she knew I was in no position to physically stop her, I turned to pleading. "Lily, no sweetie. Noooooo. Do you want to watch Sesame Street? Go watch Elmo. Be a good girl, Lily. Okay, you can keep that Old Navy tag you dug out. Now go watch TV, honey."

4) Depression

Homegirl didn't hear a word I said. She knew there was nothing I could do at that particular moment. She had me right where she wanted me. I sat there, helpless, thinking, All I want is to handle my biz in peace for once in my life. Is that too much to ask? Why oh why didn't I close the bedroom door?

5) Acceptance

Then Lily pulled an old toothbrush out of the trash. "Lily, no! Dirty! Give that to Mommy!" I reached out my hand and she sprinted away as fast as her little legs could carry her. I sighed. Fine. Whatever. So what if she puts it in her mouth? She eats off the floor, what's the worst that could happen? I let it go and let her be.

Well, after one final "LILY, DON'T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOOOOOOOOOOOOOUTH!!" that echoed through the house...and fell on deaf ears, I'm sure.

Labels: parent 'hood