The Bold…The Beast and The Beautiful

I stood for awhile tonight at my bathroom mirror. I actually stood and peered into my own reflection…looked into my own eyes to see what lies behind the flesh and bone. Someone told me recently that my eyes sometimes talk and I wanted to know what they said. They didn’t talk. Maybe I have to be looking at, or thinking of something before my eyes say anything. I actually twisted my face around to see what would happen. Not many wrinkles. No spots…just a couple of left over bug bites from a trip through the swamps of Chincoteague. Does my skin bounce back? Am I getting old? Should I get a face lift?

Ugh…those of you that really know me know that my beauty regime is minimal. Wash my face, brush my teeth…maybe do my hair…why the hell am I staring at myself in the mirror? Am seriously about to let my hair dred again cause I so do not feel like messing with a brush.

Because a face tells many stories. It’s the beast and the beautiful in all of us.

Colin watched me contorting my face in the mirror.
Him: “Mommy…there are 16 lines on your face!”
Me: “Really? Where?”
Him: “Beside your eyes…they’re funny when you laugh.”

Laugh lines. Only sixteen? I did count and he’s right on of course.

Laugh lines…awesome! From here out…every stress will bring on another laugh line. Every down moment will elicit a humorous outlook…every bad thought will cause an equally hilarious thought to cross my mind. I want 72 laugh lines before I’m forty! We’ve got 5 months.

Tomorrow I’ll stake up my lilies so their beauty will show through the scrub.

Tomorrow I will be beautiful despite what the beast inside me tells me I am.

Tomorrow I’ll kiss someone just for the hell of it.

Tomorrow I might dance some more…kitchen parties rock.

Tomorrow I might imagine the future.

Tomorrow I will laugh like crazy at anything I can find.

The beast won’t find me.

It’s all good.

Even when it’s not.


tiki tiki tembo no sa rembo chari bari ruchi pip peri pembo

It occurred to me tonight that I will be the parent of a teenager in approximately one and a half years.  Liam and I were watching some wierd health show on Discovery and it was just the two of us.  He oughta be a pediatrician or a teacher or a OB/GYN or something that involves hanging out with kids.

I don’t know if I’m ready to parent a teenage boy.  Teenage boys and I have a very short history.  I dated a few of them and that is about it.  They were rock-n-roll “heads” full of themselves.  Skinny kids with ripped jeans and a penchant for trouble.  They loved ZZ TOP and Deep Purple. They were always getting in trouble and grinning their way out of it.  They drank wine coolers and beer, smoked cigarettes and barely passed classes.  I am sure that one of them is now gay and the others happily married complete with kids and corporate jobs.  That is my experience with teenage boys.

 My husband was once a teenager.  He fits the above discription fairly aptly.  He tried his best to get out of the house and do what he wanted.  I think he managed to break up a firehall BBQ dinner by setting a back woods shed on fire once.  The biggest loss there was the collection of beer cans that he and his cronies had accumulated.  My guess is that the ashtray didn’t burn out enough and the walls went ablaze.  He also got his head and hand busted by getting smashed with a baseball bat during a party he decided to throw at his parent’s house while they were away.  Silly man.

 My 11 year old son is already eyeing our in-law quarters and planning what great parties could be held there.  Ironically, this kid gets sick every time he gets remotely close to being in trouble!!!  I think he knows I can smell a keg from three miles out and wouldn’t tolerate too much idiocy.  He’s way too anxious to pull it off.  He’s also got a lot more respect for us and his friends than to consider it seriously.  I think.

My 11 year old son also has a girlfriend.  She is absolutely beautiful and really cool.  She’s got him “whipped already” as Andy says and Liam is really smitten.  It’s been nearly 18 months since we started hearing about Alicia.  She’s been to the movies with us, football games and basketball games.  She did this cute thing for Valentine’s Day with hearts and XXXOOO and cool metallic pen designs on it for him.

tiki tiki tembo no sa rembo char bari ruchi pip peri pembo

google it.

It’s the honored son’s name and it means “the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world.”

ode to sushi and girls


I went out for sushi a few nights ago.  I love the stuff, but my last fix was so long ago that I had begun to feel like a sushi virgin.  A dear friend suggested it and I’m so glad I went! There’s something about the prettiness of the food that makes it taste so much better. Granted, I’ll probably die of mercury poisoning within a week, but it’ll be worth it.

That night out also got me thinking about friendship between women.  There is something about hanging out with the girls that makes life so much more tolerable than if we surround ourselves only with our husbands and children. Where else can you talk about your neurotic nature without judgment. Let’s face it; women are all a little nuts about something or other and we all understand that in someone else. Where else can we talk about our bodies (and other people’s bodies) in explicit detail and not feel embarrassed. We’ve all got the same parts and since we’re required to pop out babies and then breast feed, we no longer feel as though our bodies are our own. Our girlfriends “get” that.  Women that have had those pleasures simply don’t mind talking about boobs.

Another great positive about hanging out with the girls is that we’re all different. The men we’re married to are so similar to ourselves. (That happens after the first week of marriage). It’s nice to be with someone who you could never live with but yet are willing to spill your guts to. 

For example: I am so disorganized and laid back about my living spaces. I haven’t decorated my house in the four years we’ve been here. I haven’t bought new furniture or painted more than one or two walls. Yet, many of my friends live in perfectly coiffed homes and spend time cleaning each day. Not me! We could never live together.

My sushi buddy and I are so alike in so many ways, and so different in others. I am short; she’s tall. I hate exercise; she’s paid to do it. I’m a home body; she travels a lot. I love gardening; she’s not too sure. But…we both like big cars and wearing sweats all day. We both drink too much coffee. We both have drive and desire to succeed. Our sons are interchangable and I’d trust her with mine and she trusts me with hers.

And, we both love sushi.

All women are so much alike and yet so different. We pool our resources and our passions and mingle in this place of total acceptance regardless of who we are and where we’re from. We relish other’s life experiences and ponder over what it would be like to be someone else for a day. We care very deeply for our families and yet we’re all “the worst mother in the world” at one time or another. We all “get it” when no one else can. 

We could never live together; but we’d die without each other.