old loves...

I'm trying to organize a gathering of college friends for a memorial of our friend Julia. She passed away in January and it was so sudden that most of us, scattered to the four corners of the earth like we are, couldn't make it to the service.
As I send messages and find out flight information, organize food and things to do, I keep thinking about our lives then. We were quite the little family, in a way that is really only possible when classes and shows keep bringing you together. I think of all the insane things we did, the trips we took, the booze we drank, the kisses we shared. Thinking of nights filled with laughter and talking. Mornings filled with washing dishes from the night before, walking to school...And a song keeps leaping, unbidden into my head:

If I ever find truth I'm gonna let you know
If I ever find faith I'm gonna sit in every bit of its afterglow
If I ever find a way to bring love here today
You better bet your life that this is what I'll say
Give it if you've got it
Get it if you don't

...

Give it to somebody that don't have a thing
Ain't got soft shoes to dance or a love song to sing - no
Get yourself on the right track
Let somebody ride your back for a while

If I ever find truth I'm gonna let you know
You better bet your life if this is what I'm gonna say just give it away
You can't take it where you're goin anyway

Take my hand in the meantime
And let's walk into the sunshine
Everybody got something they want to sing about, laugh about, cry about, it's true
for me it's you


-For Me, It's You by Train

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The story goes as such:

Did you know that I lived in London for a little while? Sure did. Best thing I ever did. SO, the pictures:

One night in August, Sam (my best friend, whom I moved to London to live with) and I were just about to settle in for the night and be lame and watch Futurama and have Kebab 49 (the best, THE BEST kebab in London, in Cricklewood about 5 blocks from the Kilburn station) at home when our downstairs flatmates, Regan and Corinna, invited us to go to a party with them out in the "suburbs" (it was probably at Clapham station or something). Before we got on the tube for our journey and because London has no open container laws (to the best of my knowledge...we used to take our pints back to the house if dinner was ready before we were done. We lived like 3 seconds away from our pub), we bought cold cranberry juice and a bottle of vodka to get the party started on the train. In these pictures you can see Corrina demonstrating how to get the perfect mouthful of cranberry juice and vodka on a moving train, not an easy feat, and not a talent I ever quite got the hang of.
When we got to the far off party we had more booze, including, and I'm not kidding, chugs of beer from a ice sculpture of Santa that had been crafted into a beer bong.
We left after the trains stopped running and had to take a night bus with a vomiting college student on the upper level.
Then we had pizza. It sucked.

God those were good times.

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splish splash

I thought I'd follow up that last post with something a little more lighthearted.
Earlier this month we discovered that our almost new hot water heater (brand new Dec. 06) wasn't working for any clear reason. We called someone in to come fix it and after a lot of scheduling and phone calls we got someone out to fix it. We were without hot water for about 3 days, not a tragedy by any stretch of the imagination. But we were delighted to have hot showers and a working dishwasher again...so imagine my irritation when we returned from our short trip away (to Vegas no less, home of cigarette smoke galore!) to find our hot water heater out again. sigh.
While I wait for someone to come fix it, tomorrow or the next day, I have to bathe my kid and do my dishes. And here is where being creative really comes in handy. Also having a gas stove and a huge kettle.
So, without further ado, how to bathe your kid, and keep your sanity when you don't have a working hot water heater:

1. Drag the largest bucket into your kitchen. We have a big empty plastic bin, this will do nicely. Place the bucket or bin on some beach towels next to your sink, you will thank me for this later.

2. To distract your two year old, put on a movie, or some excellent dancing tunes.

3. Fill your kettle all the way up and put it on the stove to heat up.

4. With a large bowl or pot, fill your bucket 1/2 with the most lukewarm water your faucet can spit out. (a note: don't fill it to it's actual halfway point because of the whole displacement thing. Fill it up about 1/4 of the way and you should be set.)

5. Empty your kettle into your bucket. Refill and heat again.

6. Repeat until your bucket is almost 3/4 full.

7. Plop your nuded up kid into the bucket. Tell him it's time to go swimming.

8. If he complains about being cold pour some of the heated water into the bowl, add some lukewarm water (so as not to scald), mix, pour next to him. Repeat if necessary.

9. Be sure to comment on how fun and silly bathing in the kitchen is.

10. Use the leftover water to wash your hair.

11. Keep the bin in the kitchen and make your husband drag it outside to the garden when he gets home.

Enjoy living like it's the 1900's again! :D

edited to add pictures...and to say number eleven should really read - begin getting paranoid about water the kid could fall into and drown in and drag it outside yourself... :):

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this is all that I can say right now...and I know it's not much

to CJ and Renee

I have, of late, been reading the heartbreaking and breathtaking blogs of women who have lost children. They are an eloquent bunch, these warrior mamas, neither "broken nor bowed". Their pain is palpable and I couldn't tell you why I continue to read their incredibly emotional words. Follow their lives. But I am grateful for every lesson I am learning from the reading of them...

I have told only a few people about your story. Most people I know, they know you, they know of you, they, like myself cannot fathom the depth and breadth that makes up a loss like yours, but pray with everything they have, pray with every breath that God would lift you up. Because it's the only thing we can do. I know that my failing to share your astounding faith in Christ in a time such as this is not doing everything I can, and so I am sharing your story on my little corner of the internet, where my friends and family - Christians and non-believers both - can read about how inspiring you are. I will link to your lovely words, which are so amazing and brave. And I will say: "this. this is what Christ asks of us as Christians. Not to make laws based on our personal opinions, not to judge other people who are not like us. He asks only that we give it all up to Him. And sometimes it is terrifying and hard and overwhelming, but our reward is rejoicing. Even while the tears stream down our faces."

Luke and I have been talking in starts and fits about what it means to be a grieving Christian. How so often those verses that give comfort in simple times ring so painfully hollow in times like these that are complex and almost to much to measure. I wish I had enough words to convey to you what has been on my mind lately. But I always end up short. I end up speaking those same platitudes that seem to be not quite enough. So I'll send you a song, because if nothing else, this little family of mine knows music. And you do too. SO you'll understand why listing song lyrics helps me to explain a little bit of what I'm feeling.


All I Can Say by the David Crowder Band

Lord I'm tired
So tired from walking
And Lord I'm so alone
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up
To swallow me
I think I'll stop
Rest here a while

And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where you sat it down

Chorus:
And this is all that I can say right now
And this is all that I can give
and that's my everything

Bridge:
I didn't notice You were standing here
I didn't know that
That was You holding me
I didn't notice You were cry'n too
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet

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zoo-riffic

one of the nice things about living where it's gorgeous outside most of the year means that the zoo is very popular. We (my friend Erin and I) decided to risk it today and take a little adventure to the zoo

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People, let me tell you 'bout my best friend....

I read a really interesting open letter in Bitch magazine a while back, I was very delighted to hear it was written by Emily Ostendorf, someone whom I'd met at a friends wedding several years back. (I love finding out people I've met are brilliant!)

The whole article focuses on the idea of female friendship culture, the expectations therein, and how as adults so many women really struggle to find that "best friend" they had as children.
It's really worth a read, especially if you, like myself, struggle with making friends.

It was a great article but some parts of it left me a little confused, and some I couldn't identify with at all.

I really connected with the discussion on wanting to have a best friend like I did when I was 8. Someone who will come over every day, who I can invite over to spend the night at the drop of a hat, who is always availiable for face to face communicaiton. What I have come to realize in all my struggles and frustrations is that the ideal that we all hold in our minds is a pretty difficult ideal to meet. Someone we can see everyday, or at least once a week, steamrollering over work and school and family and whatnot commitments. As adults, especially as an adult with a child, we have MANY more responsibilities to meet before we can kick back with our friends and say: "aaahhh, this is the life. You're looking awesome today by the way, how's it going, REALLY?"
It's a frustrating boat to be in, you want that connection, you want that companionship (outside of your spouse, although if you're like me and you managed to partner up with someone you can easily call your best friend you are a little ahead of the game...BUT this is about same sex friendships!) but you have bedtimes to adhere to, work schedules to contend with, volunteer hours you're putting in, different states you live in! sigh.

THe thing that confused me was the assumption of what "female friendship culture" was. Because I have never experienced it...I mean, I have on a superficial level, but because I am spoiled and I have four women whom I would call my best friends (I don't include my sister here because she's in a whole other category) - none of whom are only there for me when I am living the life they can best identify with or commiserate with, but whom are dynamic individuals who are understanding and compassionate - I don't deal with that culture unless I have to!

I share a tattoo with three of them (well I would but one is a chicken. Juls, man up, man up) The four of us met in college, and strangely enough, it took us several years of being friends with other people and knowing one another before we all came together. One lives in Wisconsin, one in New Mexico and one in Nevada. We don't talk everyday, we see each other MAYBE once or twice a year. But they are my best friends because I can pick up the phone at anytime and call them and it's like no time at all has passed. The internet has been a boon for us because we can keep up with each other a little easier. We can talk about anything and everything and often do, I miss them fiercely, and push for their moving back to Arizona all the time.

The first real true best friend I made outside of the college context (when we had no classes weekly to bond over) was my friend Lauryn. We met through mutual friends and something just clicked with us. She is based here in AZ but is so crazy busy (with her second degree! AND working!) we don't get to see her as often as we'd like (I say "we" because I really share this best friend with Luke who shares a special bond with her too). We can talk politics, LGBTQ theory, and feminism all day. She's another one who I can call anytime, anywhere and talk her ear off with my anxiety for an hour before I even get around to asking her how she is and she doesn't mind.

These women keep me sane, they are marvelous, amazing, genius, adventurous, drop dead gorgeous women. They adore my husband and my son (there have been trips made to Phoenix for the specific purpose of bathing the baby!), they adore me. I am lucky to have them and to be able to bypass all the usual (apparently) bullshit that comes with having to navigate the murky waters that are adult female relationships.


I want to add here at the end that I don't know if all interactions that adult women make with one another are as superficial as all that. In an earlier entry I talked about being wary of making generalizations about other people, women especially. I have many good "friends" on the internet, women I've never met in person but whom I connect with on several levels. I have many good friend from high school whom I am just reconnecting with who are really dynamic individuals in their own right. There are women at church whom I am learning about every day who I really admire and enjoy the company of...
SO maybe this whole idea of "female friendship culture" is in the eye of the beholder....

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Organized... -ish

After reading this little gem from Whole Living and a brilliant idea from the MomBabe herself AND looking at the almost perpetual state of disarray my back room is in, AND the generous offer from my lovely in-laws to gift me a top to bottom houseclean spring clean from a professional service, I have decided to turn over a little organizing leaf.
My husband shudders when he hears that because he thinks it means that he'll be spending mucho dollars on goofy baskets and boxes and shelving. NOT SO! says I, We've got everything we need here to make the rooms we have look tidy and nice, it will take a little concentraion, a little dedication, and a little imagination but soon I will post pictures!

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Internation Women's Day

Today is a day to celebrate, fight for, honor, understand, and support women (all right, let's be serious, it should be every day, but today we talk about it) and so in support of that I'm going to link you to all sorts of amazing things to read today throughout the day:


Julie Clawson has organized a "synchroblog" asking Christian women to talk about the women of the Bible, the "mothers" of our church

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physical memory

My dear friend Holly from high school is expecting her first baby any day now, and like all of us when expecting that first little kiddo the last few weeks have been killer.
Just reading her experiences have the memories of that incredibly frustrating (and confusing) time roaring back...So I thought I'd post a little something that I wrote way back when (almost 2 years ago!)...maybe a little TMI but if you've been a pregnant lady or around a pregnant lady it's nothing you haven't heard before!

Written April 9th 2007 (about a week before Colin was born - and right as I started my ACTUAL labor, that's right kids, I labored on and off, with regular contractions at least 8 hours a day every day, at 98% effaced and dialated 3cm FOR A WEEK)


One of the hardest things about this period is the alarming frequency with which women say the phrase: "You'll know. You'll just know"
If you're me (a relatively high strung woman with an inferiority complex) this phrase will make you feel so f-ing lousy. Because here's the big secret:
Unless you've done this before, there is a pretty solid chance YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW.
You won't know if you are having real contractions or irritating regular old Braxton Hicks. You won't know if that increase in vaginal discharge is just that or a slow leak of amniotic fluid. You won't know what it feels like if your water breaks, or if it happens in the bath or on the toilet as you're peeing how you're supposed to tell the difference. You won't know what your mucus plug looks like.
And you'll feel frustrated, and angry and sometimes you'll feel like a failure. You'll feel like all these chicks are out there saying "You'll know, you'll know, you'll know" and at the same time telling 400,000 different versions of what it feels like, looks like, is like. All about the EXACT same event, all wildly different from the next. And so you really have no other choice than just to buy into it, assume you're an idiot and that "you'll know" even if everything and everyone inside and out is each telling you a completely different story.
Today I am overwhelmed. It's day 4 of what we're going to call "pre-labor", Day 4 of being at 1 cm dilation and 80% effacement. Day 4 of increased discharge being nothing, of irregular incredibly painful contractions, of being so big that the skin on my belly aches if I have to stand up, feels like I'm going to split my skin in two if I contract anymore, Day 4 of feeling helpless and uniniformed and stupid and histrionic. Day 4 of having person after person tell me: "It'll happen, you'll know"
Day 4 of being so indescribeably frustrated with NOT KNOWING.
I told Luke last night that this process feels very much like the ultimate betrayal of my body (or maybe the ultimate payback for all the ways I've abused it?) against me. Pain and frustration and crazy mood swings for 3 days straight...with nothing to show for it except pain, frustration and crazy mood swings.
I have never been a patient woman, and that's part of my problem. I'm sure of it, wanting everything to happen the way I picture it.
But let this serve as a reminder: it WON'T happen the way you picture it. because you can't. I'm sitting here at the computer and telling you straight out: It's very possible that my water broke 10 minutes ago but I honestly have no idea if it did or not. And now I'm weeping hysterically and getting more and more agitated because the very strong contractions I had after it (a sign? a ray of hope? I dared think) are completely gone. And all I have is my usual discomfort.
I guess wanted to get all of this out so I remember and never do the grave disservice to someone I love while they're laboring of telling them that they'll know. Instead I'll tell them: "I know how much this sucks, and you can only keep telling yourself that it can't last forever. Sooner or later they'll HAVE to induce you."

And induce they did, but for that chaos you'll have to read Colin's birth story

So I feel your pain Holly dear, but you are a strong rockin' chica! GO MOMMA!

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a little letter

A while back I picked up a copy of Mothering magazine, a fabulous piece of work that I really should subscribe too but like all marvelous magazines don't...sigh...
ANYWAY, I got a copy and proceeded to read it through, relishing each article, especially the whole huge study on how co-sleeping is so great for kids.
One particular piece was a great essay written by a mom who reminded me so much of myself (even though her circumstances were so different from mine...) a sort of rebel mama who struggled with her sense of self image when being with other moms.
I STILL struggle with not feeling self conscious about how I look, or what I do, or what I say to Colin in a group of other mothers, especially mom's I don't know that well. But I am working on it and now I am less worried about what other people think and am learning to just enjoy hanging out with Colin.
I read the piece a few times, initially relishing the shared experience and then realizing something else, something disappointing, something I disliked about myself and saw very clearly in the authors words...
It bothered me so much that I had to write a little note to the editors.
I haven't picked up the most recent issue, and I doubt they would publish my letter but I thought I'd share it with you all:

Dear lovely editors of Mothering Magazine:

Firstly, I want to say: wow. What a marvelous, beautiful, well done magazine. Love it love it love it. It has been such a help to have the articles and community that Mothering provides me as I navigate the murky waters of raising my first child. Thank you.

Secondly, I wanted to share my thoughts on an article in the January-February 2009 issue "Rocker Mama". I started to read and in a few sentences I began to grin. Someone had obviously been there with me when I started going to "Mommy and Me" playgroups in my vintage dresses over ripped jeans and lipstick red Docs. I commiserated with the author and remembered that feeling of ridiculousness as I tried to stretch my sleeves to cover my visible tattoos and flipped my septum piercing up so it would be tucked up in my nose. She captured it perfectly, the happiness that came when my kid drew a little doodle on himself and looked at me and said "to-to Muh muh!" (Tattoo Mama!) proudly. It was a great article and made me feel glad to know that I wasn't the only one who felt like the outcast rocker mom at "Mommy and Me" gatherings. I am grateful for that content.

But when I put it down something began to gnaw at me. I read the piece again and started to realize what it was. I identified perfectly with that feeling of being the outcast, I identified again with the relief I felt when I began to accept who I was and lived my life for me, dressed how I wanted, parented how I wanted. I was chagrined to realize that the other thing I identified with was the authors readiness to clump all the other mothers together in one unsavoury bunch without getting to know them.

I realized that it was something that I used to do all the time. I saw those other moms and grimaced at their apparent same-ness, I assumed that they all thought I was weird and didn't like me and so I thought it right back.

And what's worse I sent that message to my kid: You are unique, but everyone else is the same and awful. What a terrible thing to enforce! I wasn't sending a message to my kid that every point of view was valuable, whether you agreed with it or not. I wasn't sending the message that every person is different and unique and so is worth our consideration

It's easy to assume that those "kitty-cat sweatshirt" moms are going to be obnoxious. It's easy to assume that none of the other mothers who look like you are going to be worth your time. It's easy because assuming otherwise is risky, what happens when that "chocoholic for life" t-shirted mom owns vintage Ramones vinyl, or that pastel sweater set wearing mom drinking Starbucks fronts a punk band on the weekend? We would have to scramble to rearrange our preconceived notions and that is a really hard thing to do. Are there people who I won't like? Of course. Are there people I will naturally gravitate toward because they seem like they are like me? OF COURSE. But if I don't stretch, if I don't try and get to know people who are not like me I will never learn anything new.

In reading the article I was disappointed to see that the only lesson taken away was: be who you are, accept who you are. And that the lesson reinforced was: don't bother getting to know those other people, they think you're weird, who cares about them, they're all the same. And it was frustrating to realize that THAT was exactly what I have been doing. And I am truly disappointed in myself.

I honestly feel that a better message to send our children is: Accept who you are, love who you are, live who you are….but while you are doing that, learn who other people are, love who they are. Because every person is here whether you like it or not, we are all part of this greater thing called humanity and you will be a better part of it if you begin to realize that you're not the only one here.



Very sincerely and very thoughtfully yours,

Meg Taylor





p.s. so sorry for the ramble. I don't think I get enough adult interaction these days!



So other mama's (and believe me, for all of my talk about not judging, NONE of you are kitty cat sweatshirt wearers...because you're awesome) what do you think? What's your big struggle when it comes to other parents?

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This is...

I somehow stumbled across this lovely piece of poetry in my travels through the internets...It resonated with me as much as the piece of music I spoke about yesterday...I saw so much of myself in it.

This is My Heart

This is my heart. It is a good heart.
Bones and a membrane of mist and fire
are the woven cover.
When we make love in the flower world
my heart is close enough to sing
to yours in a language that has no use
for clumsy human words.

My head is a good head, but it is a hard head
and it whirs inside with a swarm of worries.
What is the source of this singing, it asks
and if there is a source why can't I see it
right here, right now
as real as these hands hammering
the world together
with nails and sinew?

This is my soul. It is a good soul.
It tells me, "come here forgetful one."
And we sit together with a lilt of small winds
who rattle the scrub oak.
We cook a little something
to eat: a rabbit, some sofkey
then a sip of something sweet
for memory.

This is my song. It is a good song.
It walked forever the border of fire and water
climbed ribs of desire to my lips to sing to you.
Its new wings quiver with
vulnerability.

Come lie next to me, says my heart.
Put your head here.
It is a good thing, says my soul.

~ Joy Harjo ~

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sick day

NOW I remember why working at the Museum is so hazardous! The first of, what I assume will be, several bugs has felled me to the point of calling in to work. Buddy B has it to, although you'd never know it by his sunny disposition (sometimes) - he also has his first ear infection and now both childhood illness nemesis (mine being strep throat and Luke's being ear infections) have been achieved! Way to go son!
So today we're laying low, a pity because, unlike our lovely friends on the East Coast we are having unseasonably warm gorgeous weather. (I post this in the hopes that they come and visit and sit in the yard soaking up the sun with us...)
Lunch this afternoon is chicken and string cheese and apples and sicky Magoo gets to watch "Bagsh" (A Bug's Life) while he eats I'm sure that he'll get to watch another movie later, sickness does not make for a creative or engaged mommy...
sigh.

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Something...

lately I've been listening to the goofy Christian rock station when I drive to church Sunday mornings. "Praise and worship" music has taken a real turn the last few years and the stuff on the radio is very listen-able...It puts me in a church-y mood more than talk radio does...
Last week as I was driving this song came on the radio and I didn't really listen to the lyrics until they hit the chorus and all of a sudden the song took on several layers of meaning. It was a moment where I really felt a presence. A click. I can say quite honestly that I felt like God was sitting in the car with me, chuckling and laying a hand on my shoulder.
I don't talk a lot about my faith here, and I only talk about it in person if I know for sure it won't make the listener uncomfortable, but this song made me want to tell everyone I know about the astounding work God is doing in my life, to grin in the face of questions and discomfort and just feel totally confident in my spiritual life.
The lyrics are as follows:

"It's time for healing time to move on
It's time to fix what's been broken too long
Time make right what has been wrong
It's time to find my way to where I belong
There's a wave that's crashing over me
All I can do is surrender

[Chorus]
Whatever You're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos somehow there's peace
It's hard to surrender to what I can't see
but I'm giving in to something heavenly

Time for a milestone
Time to begin again
Revaluate who I really am
Am I doing everything to follow Your will
or just climbing aimlessly over these hills
So show me what it is You want from me
I give everything I surrender...
To...

[Chorus]

Time to face up
Clean this old house
Time to breathe in and let everything out
That I've wanted to say for so many years
Time to to release all my held back tears

Whatever you're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos but I believe
You're up to something bigger than me
Larger than life something heavenly

Whatever You're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos but now I can see
This something bigger than me
Larger than life something heavenly
Something heavenly"

-Whatever You're Doing, Sanctus Real

so...there's that. I wish you a joyful Sunday, a day of rest and comfort. And if you're like me, and you have been struggling with the expression of your faith - I wish you a little visit with God, a boost in your spiritual confidence...

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