Two days before I left on my trip to Austin my mother flew in from the Midwest.  She came for two reasons, both greatly appreciated.  My trip was very close to my daughters birthday, for which my mom comes into town each year anyway.  But the timing, the early arrival was due to the fact that Mike and I were both heading to SXSW leaving no one here to care for the almost birthday girl.

Here enters Nana.

Of all the grandparents, and K has a complete set of 4, her bond seems strongest with my mom.  Now I’m not K or my mom so I can’t say for certain what’s behind the closeness of their relationship, but the two of them are a sight to see.  My mother’s complete adoration and affection for her only grandchild is not the only thing that drives her closeness to K.  I think it’s also that neither my brother nor I ever had a close relationship with our grandparents.  There were many reasons, all of them valid but none of them needing to be discussed here.  I know that she doesn’t want that to be the case with K.  And K, well she and my mom seem to have a lot in common.  Aside from their love of arts and crafts and Brendan Fraser there’s also slightly twisted evil sense of humor that they share and K revels in it.

That’s why when I left town without her for the first since she was born, we asked my mom to come and stay with her.

All I expected, all I asked from her, was to take care of K.  Oh, and to hem my new jeans and make all the final preparations for her birthday party.  And to clean my kitchen.  Oh and bake a birthday cake.  But that’s it.  Oh… wait no.  Laundry.  I had her do laundry too.  Oh and to take care of Morgan while I was gone.  And…. well never mind.

My point is that mainly I just asked her to take care of K for me.

But the day after she arrived, as I was doing the final pack on my suitcase my mom handed me a small baggy of safety pins.  She’d used them when she hemmed my jeans because she couldn’t find my straight pins anywhere and when she was done she packaged them up and gave them to me.  She told me to pack them just in case.  “You never know when you might need them” she said.

And so I put them in the bag with my leatherman, my extra gum and my rose scented bodywash.  All things I couldn’t leave behind.  There they were promptly forgotten until a few moments ago.

When I unpacked it was in a heap.  I just needed to get it done and get back to normal as soon as possible and so when I emptied the bathroom bag the safety pins made their way into, I didn’t give them a second look as I put them into the train case that holds my makeup and odds and ends.  But as s I opened it after my shower today to put away my glasses I saw them there, wedged between a compact and my powder brush and couldn’t help but smile.

I may have asked her to come all that way to take care of my child… but in truth she made the trip to take care of her own.

Eight years ago my life changed in the most amazing way.  I met the most remarkable person.  Someone who will be tied to my heart, my life, my existence for all time.  It was eight years ago today that my beautiful daughter K was born.

When I held her in my arms I didn’t imagine what she would be like 8 years later… I just gazed at her lovingly in a stupor brought on by 3 days of induced labor and painkillers.  As exhausted as I was though the last thing I wanted was to sleep.  I just wanted to hold that tiny little person in my arms and examine her face.  Listen to her little baby noises.  Watch as she scrunched up and released her tiny body.

Eight years ago she woke me up with labor pains.  This morning she woke me up with a giant hug and an excited reminder that “TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY”

She’s right.  It is.  And it’s a day to celebrate.  A day to smile and laugh.  A day to spoil her just a little more than usual.  And a day to remind me that she’s a person to be celebrated always.

Eight years old.

After a week on the road, and I use the term “on the road” very loosely, I’m reminded of a few things that make being home truly special.  Though I had a fantastic trip to Austin, the joy of it was more about experiences, opportunities and fun than it was about attending the actual SXSWI conference.

But wait… a big part of what made my trip to SXSW great was home.  There’s no place like it, right?  Everyone loves to go home.  To sleep in their own bed.  Cook in their own kitchen.  See their family.  To be able to plug their phone charger into the power strip in the bedside table.  You know, stuff like that.

And while those things are home, pieces of home, slices of life, they aren’t the only thing.  There are so many other things that scream HOME and I got a pleasant reminder of that while I was on my trip.

When I sat down to write this I really was going to write about how much I had been looking forward to my creature comforts.  My big comfy bed and soft cool sheets.  My heavy velvet comforter.  The water from my tap.  A full sized bottle of shampoo.  My dresser with all my clothes and as I mentioned earlier my favorite place to charge my phone…

Somewhere in the processing, in the sculpting of this post though, that changed.  Something sounded off in my head and made me look back at the past seven days and all I’d done.  It reminded me that home has many meanings and I was pleased and honored to find a little bit of home was with me the entire time.  The ties that bind the Portland tech community are strong and it was so good to see so many of the people I respect and appreciate here at home smiling, laughing and loving life down in Austin.

It was a rare chance to see the carefree hearts of some people I’m privileged to know.  A a chance to see smiles and hear laughter from everyone around.  It also provided me an opportunity to remember how much I love to laugh and smile.  To sit in a room surrounded by others and learn something new.  To discover things about myself as a podcaster from what others are doing.  To sit on an open air patio and stare at the sky.  To not let a little rain ruin a beautiful night.  Or a sprained ankle ruin an entire trip.

I’m not going to do a recap of panels I attended.  I only attended a few each day and the ones that impressed me most wouldn’t surprise anyone.  I skipped many, rolled my eyes through a couple and walked out of one after 10 minutes.  The value of my week away was grounded in something completely different.  It started the first night I was there, the impact of it was shocking and stays with me even now.

So while I was roughly 2,141 miles from the city I live in.  From my kid and my cats and my bedroom where I can close the door and hold the world at bay… I was still home in a way.  And maybe that’s what made the trip worth it.  Maybe, even with the highs and lows I experienced, that’s why I’ll look back on my trip to SXSW and feel great.

I’ve been cleaning out my office space instead of writing, in celebration of that I thought I would reach into one of these two huge file folders filled with poetry and share one from 1996:

And drowsy
wishing for that
half sleep
I wait for what will come
to take me away
as I know
the two hours I slept last night
in someone else’s arms
were not enough
and can never replace
all the hours I could spend
wrapped in my sheets
like mythology
in my own world
never knowing who I am
or caring
because there I can fly.

It’s entirely possible that what I’m about to write is one of those things that will completely disqualify me from ever being mother of the year, but it’s true so I think I’ll go ahead and tell you anyway.

This part of Christmas… the part I’m in the midst of RIGHT NOW as I type out these words at 10:46, this part is my favorite.

My daughter is in bed fast asleep and dreaming off all the goodies she was gifted with, my lovely man is in the kitchen cleaning up, he and I have already had our traditional Christmas fight and are back to the cuddly loving comfort we normally enjoy in non holiday times, the presents have all been wrapped and torn to shreds, relatives have been visited and are through visiting, I’m in my big comfy bed with a martini and a movie and though I know that my whole family is well and happy, they’re all out of my hair.

The rich foods have been eaten.  The holiday songs are done.  No one will beg to open presents. No friends are coming to call.  My daughter will likely sleep in tomorrow.

I’m happy and calm and though it was one hell of a day full of ups and downs, I know it’s over.  At least until next week when we have to combine New Years and Mike’s birthday, but that’s a whole different jar of holiday insanity.

I can sit back now with a little peace of mind and tell you all that I truly hope you’ve had the happiest of holidays, your dreams came true and that like me, you can find something simple to make it all worth while.

Happy holidays, babies.

I realize that last weeks whole “week of secrets” thing was kind of a complete and total cop out.  It was.  Don’t go defending me, I know when I’m being lazy and melodramatic.  The fact is though, I was being that way for a very good reason.

I’ve been busy.

Yes that is the good reason.  I’ve been very very busy trying to get things done.  Like being me.  And her.  And that other person that is as yet undefined.  Also, I’ve been parenting.  And wifing.  And friending.  All of those things take time, but not nearly as much time as is being eaten up by 30 Hour Day.

Yes.  30 hours.  In a day.  I know that you can’t actually fit 30 into 24… that’s where it gets tricky for me.  Logistically.

If you haven’t heard me talk about 30 Hour Day yet please head on over to the site, find us on facebook or follow @30hourday on twitter.  You can find out when to watch, volunteer to help, sponsor or sign up an act for our Variety Show.  It’s really the only way you’re going to see what I’m up to until after December 20th…

This particular blog post seems to have a check list to go along with it, so why don’t we start there…

Laying in bed with my big velvet winter comforter?  Check

Wearing undies and my favorite stripey shirt?  Check

Red lipstick?  Check

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds or Tom Waits playing in my ears?  Yeah, check.

Several hours that I can lay here and contemplate the meaning of the world, my thoughts, my feelings, life?  Um… I’ve got 30 minutes… I’ll do with it what I can.

This is a blog post that I’m sure every blogger who posts about their personal life has published, or written and sent to the dungeon of drafts never to see the light of day…  In fact I’m sure any writer that writes about things of a personal nature has written this piece, it’s just that the Internet brings these thoughts and feelings to the forefront so much more swiftly than a book or journal that could lay covered in dust for decades before it’s knocked from it’s place by an errant boot pushed off a foot desperate to be unsheathed, a ball that shouldn’t have been bounced in the house, a cat that insists on sleeping on the bookshelves.

It’s fun and sometimes so easy to put yourself in a role you play well.  To find that part you fall naturally into and stick to it.  Play to your strengths…  but it isn’t honest.  Sometimes all the lovey-dovey goodness in the world, the strength from within or from the friends & family that surround you, the joy of living a good life…

Sometimes it’s just not enough to keep you moving all the time.

Sometimes you have to stop and admit that you’re human and you need to pause.  You need a break.  You need a chance to breathe and take the world in all over again and remind yourself that there’s a reason that you pour your heart and soul into everything you do and everyone you love.

Sometimes all the random shit you could say isn’t enough and you just have to take a moment to admit that you’re human.  Not perfect, not infallible.  Sometimes talking about the weather, or a tech conference, food, literature, families, photos, music, humanity, the state of politics and what your mother-in-law said last week isn’t enough and you just feel compelled to shout out to the world For the love of GOD, I am not perfect and I just want what I want even if it makes you MISERABLE for a day!

Sometimes you just want to sit in your room listening to music that brings you down even more and dwell in it, sing it loudly and hope that no one hears you but really honestly not care if they do.

You want to shout all that out… to the world, to your loved one, to your family, friends, to the Internet. But knowing that it’s just a moment of your life…  Just an hour or two that you regress into your dark moody teen angst era with dark clothes and incense when you used to sit on your roof at night and write dark poetry and weep because you had no idea how to continue being you…  like I said as an adult I know that this is a moment.  An hour or 2 at best where I just have to scream out and I know it’s best not to use my real voice and scare my child with shrieks of momentary instability so I use this voice instead.

But then my moment… turns into a day, a week, a year… an eternity with a post sitting on a shelf.  And no one may ever really know what this moment was about.  And each time it’s read they could think “Man, her shit is fucked up”.

And that would be true in this moment… the one I’m having now.  But tomorrow, maybe in an hour, I think I’ll be just fine.

Most days I care about that.  Most days I worry that I may be tipping my hand.  Showing too much.  Letting you in more than I should…

Right now I just want to feel the sun, take a breath and have a single moment of transparency.

Today is all about the fun.  About the good times.  How much awesome stuff can K and I pack into one afternoon without leaving the house.  Those are the two most important parts of the day… FUN and NOT LEAVING THE HOUSE.

In a little over an hour I’ll take her to Music Camp for a couple of hours where she will play, sing and dance with friends and the music teacher from her school.  That’s the only outing there will be today, and with good reason.

When I pick her up at noon she and I will giggle and sing and hurry home through the lovely tree lined streets of our neighborhood.  We’ll come inside and make fresh pizza because that is awesome fun.  We’ll watch a movie of our choosing and when that’s over we’ll read books, sing songs, play puzzles and probably play dress up (which will result in me looking like a gypsy fortune teller… it always does).

And then at some point the carefully constructed veil will be shredded and her tears will flow hot and heavy down her face, soaking my chest and shoulder as her tiny frame sobs with abandon.

Today, Nana flew home.

As I type this she’s probably in Denver waiting for her next flight.  K got up at 4:40 AM to say goodbye to her.  We sat with her at the dining table and laughed and talked and then there were hugs and kisses goodbye.  Mike drove her to the airport and then I took K in my room to curl up.  We read a couple of chapters of a book (just like bedtime) and then snuggled into my huge bed with fluffy blankets and pillows and tried to go to sleep.

Every time I started to drift away to the land of dreams she had something to say.  She couldn’t sleep. Her stomach hurt.  Could she have a drink of water?  Was it time to get up?

Before I knew it Mike was home from the airport and my mom’s flight was in the air.  When K asked me if she could go watch TV I said yeah, sure, of course you can.  Mike got ready for work and I went back to sleep.  The first thing I remembered when I woke up was K’s question last night.  A favor she asked me right before she went to sleep…

“Mama, can we just play tomorrow and not talk about it?  That Nana went home?”

Of course.  We don’t have to talk about it…  until she starts to cry and tell me how unfair the world is.  But until that happens it’s going to be all fun all day.

My bet is it happens before dinner.

There’s something that K really really really really really really wants.  Wants more than anything, ever.  She’s pretty sure that her entire life will be incomplete without it.

She’s said so.

“Mom!!!  If I don’t have one then I will grow up all alone and I will have NO ONE.”

That really is a quote.  I didn’t make it up.  She has said that so many times I can’t even begin to count.  I could make up a ridiculously high number like 17 million times, but she is so serious about it, it means so much to her… so I won’t do that.

Now you should know that I’m not one of those parents that never says no.  I say no a lot.  I say no everyday.  I say no soooo often that I’ve created all new ways to say no just for the fun of it.

No is my friend.  I listened to Nancy Reagan on that whole “Just Say No” thing.  I really took it to heart.

No.  Nein.  Ne. Nej.  Nee.  Ei.  Nul.  Non.  Nem.  Tidak.  Le.  Nei.  Nu.  He.  Hayir.  Nope.  Not gonna happen.  No way.

I like No.

Sometimes I say no just for the fun of it…  But this one thing she’s asking for.  This one thing she wants so desperately… I hate saying no.  All the reasons she gives for wanting it are sound and just.  It isn’t fair that she can’t have it.  It’s beautiful that she wants it.  It breaks my heart to pieces to hear no come out of my mouth.

It isn’t ice cream or a pony.  It’s not a mohawk or a naval piercing.  It’s not another trip to Di$neyland (though I hate saying no to that too).  It’s not a new car or a swimming pool.  She’s not asking to wear lipstick or high heels.

K wants a little brother or sister.  That’s something that, without outside resources, I can’t give her.

*sigh*

I wonder if she’d settle for a robot.

I was hoping that by the time I posted again everyone here would be all healthy and shiny but the facts can not be ignored.  I’ve still got this awful cold like thing.  It’s clinging to me.  Nestling in my chest and making me feel like hell.  I have hope that I’ll be able to speak for more than 10 minutes by Friday.

It’s not just me though… K is now in the throws of crud too.  You see she was feeling punky on Saturday but by Sunday she was up and at em…  Today though sees her in bed with a fever surrounded by a motley crew of stuffed animals she’s teaching to read…

So if this post isn’t going to be about being sick… it’s going to be about being precious.  Either topic is sure to nauseate the general populous but since this blog is about the days of my life… what else am I to write about this week?

Oh strike that… she just ceased to be precious and charming and has moved to pouty grouchy sicky ouchy 7 year old mode… She just proclaimed that this is the worst day of her life.  That it’s POOOOOOPIE and UCKY and AWFUL and NOT FAIR… but she quickly passed back into sweet and wonderful by proclaiming that it would all be better if she could just snuggle with me.  Of course that means her entire “class” of stuffed animals is coming too.  I better make some room on the bed.

I’ll just be back when we’re both feeling better…