Archive for September, 2011

September 30, 2011

“arms, take your last embrace…”

I flipped thru the archives of my soul like a dusted book from my childhood and I held onto to the smiled that splintered my face.

Then beauty began to resinate thru my bones and every one thing I laid my eyes on, let my ears hear, became something universal.

Something I could breathe in and swallow.

I let words I read move me. 

I let beauty fall into my eyes and I drenched them in water of depth and appreciation.

I heard voices sing.

I read poems giant authors scribbled.

I clasped these lashes and saw a world made of clouds. of a boulevard made of gold. of faces full of peace and mercy. of happiness.

pure happiness.

I stretched out these new arms and tried grabbing onto everything I felt. of the colors He saved for His world. of the love…

the love I still dont quite understand. of the love I know I will only understand until I get there. and then probably still wont.

just wont understand. how. or why. how He could love this. this world of weary flesh.

How I just want to be there. and take everyone with me. I cant wait to just step thru the gates like a lost child.

I cant wait to hold up the line and just let it all sink in. to  close my eyes and whisper, “I’m Home….”

I cant wait to watch my little one run past me. to watch Him bend to His knees and scoop my little one up.

Maybe then the drums will thunder. the harps will vibrate. the chorus full of every voice will belt songs with every amount of volume they can put forth.

This will be the most perfect moment. This will make me cry. and I will cry.

and He will walk up to me. Take His perfect and everso green thumb and push the tears away.

Maybe He’ll wink at me. Maybe He’ll tell me, “I told you so. My silly little girl…” Maybe I’ll laugh. nervously.

I already know the first thing I’ll say to Him. If I can speak. He’ll probably beat me to it, but hopfully, I can tell Him first that…

“I always loved you. Always.”  and then nervously pour into, ” I know I never acted like it, that I wrecked this skin you put me in, that I ruined every chance you ever gave me, that my faith is the weakest thing about me, but I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

I love you. I do.”  

Maybe, I’ll beat Him to it. But something tells me that once His eyes meet mine, I’ll be forever gone. I’ll literally run into Him. 

Forever falling into His arms and crying so hard it breaks the new body He just gave me right in half.

Something just tells me….

I know this will happen.

I already feel it happening down here.

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September 27, 2011

What I Ate.

Behold…

THE ZUKMATOEGG
{ zuke – may – tow- egg }

I amaze myself.

I’m not bragging…

I genuinely amaze myself.

I am GOOD at cooking.

{ I’m sure real chefs might think differently *ahem* }

I was never taught how to cook and I rebel against all things “recipe.”

I just summon the kitchen and it obeys.

Today, I wanted something filling, but light and easy on the tummy.
{ I’ve been feeling slightly unmotivated with a loss of apetite due to my son not going to bed til 9 pm,
waking 5-6 times during the night,
and merrily screaming his “Goodmorning Sunshine” song at FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AM.
*….ahem.*
needless to say, I’m a little out of it. }

If youre having nights like this with your wee ones..

I implore you…

Make the Zukmatoegg:

  1. cut hole in pumpernickel bread.
  2. butter a frying pan.
  3. slap bread on pan.
  4. crack egg in the hole of miss pumpernickel.
  5. with/out breaking yoke, flip egg and bread when reaches desired temp.
  6. let sizzle for a smelly sec.
  7. flip back over and immediately place desired cheese atop.
  8. melt.
  9. place tomatoes and spinkle with S&P and basil.
  10. flip again. just long enough to hear the tomatoes scream for mercy.
  11. I like it tomato up so flip again and remove from heat.
  12. cut your zucchini into thin strips and throw it in the pan with some butter.
  13. let sizzle until desired temp.
  14. pile ontop of tomato.
  15. and VIOLA! the ZUKMATOEGG!

or Zukanater…
or Zooknuker…
or Eggzukto…

or what have you.

But it is down right amazing.

 

September 24, 2011

{ wonderment }

Chapter 1~
I sit pondering on thoughts that shouldnt be in my mind.  I feel the blood surge thru my veins. dancing and racing. twirling and laughing. I twist my hair in a knot on the top of my head, roll up my sleves, breath in deep, begin to type, and then…. nothing. Like suspended in time, my fingers freeze.  my brain goes numb. my eyes franticly search the keyboard and panic sets in as the letters begin to rearrange themselves. I feel my brain come alive and like a snake it coils in and around itself. its retreating. typical. I had grand plans. I had a story. I have a story.

If only my body would respond to the beauty that envelopes my mind. 

Chapter 2 ~
I want to tell you things that hold me captive. That seize my mind. That throw me to the stars and let me hang for a while. I want to tell you things that break my bones in two. I want to tell you how a person so pretty can bring me to tears. I want to laugh OUT LOUD. I want to tell you exactly what I think and I want to demand the same from you. Why waste your hard work and thought up flattery on me if you dont like me.  The truth behind this acknowledging smile I give you is… I know youre only lying to me. I want to spread my brain out like a blue print to a renovation and go thru every last detail etched in white. Describing to you all its wonder. imagination. memories. empty spaces and why they are left so…

I want to do these things, but my body doesnt respond to the beauty that envelopes my mind…

Chapter 3 ~
Attachment is one of my many personality traits of impeccable flaw. I attach myself to people like a barnacle to a whale.  most the time the whale doesnt even know. So here I am. again. attached. and the whale doesnt have a clue. It sorta hurts, but isnt that my own damned fault?

Chapter 4 ~
I dont see things. at all. Daddy always told me I was forever a four year old with an open heart. If the monsters in my closet told me they were scared too, I’d welcome them in. Well, the heart is closing and I’m beginning to see things as they are… these monsters have fangs. 

Chapter 5~
And I dont think any of this makes any sense…
The disasterously beautiful End.

September 22, 2011

Its Wednesday….

I’m a day late for my post.
For my Just Write post.
I’m typically a day late for everything.
Appointments.
House cleaning.
Jokes…

Its bad.
Its funny bad.

I sit in a heaping pile of baby toys.
The simple kind made for babes just learning to crawl.
He is beautful. My son.
I sit here in the middle of the living room floor becuase its more comfortable
than the 200 dollar desk I bought just for my laptop and all its uses.
The house is so quiet after babe goes to sleep.
So deeply quiet. Its a little unnerving to be honest.
I can’t even remember what it was like before my babe.
I’ve become so accustom to the hustle and bustle of baby tending that I almost
dislike the down time. The down time I can’t wait to seize when I’m hustling and bustling…

Life here in this corner house on Grant Ct is simple.
Easy.
Not to demanding.
Homemade and comfy.

A fact for today:
I want 7 seven children.
I saw a woman today with 7 children.
All raven haired beauties with their mother’s eyes.
And she was the epitome of “put together.”
With SEVEN little duckies all in a row.
I want to be her.

 

September 17, 2011

flowering tea for one, please.

I got lost in old letters today.

Its also still raining outside.

I -honestly- feel a little abandoned.

The annoying thing about me….

I feel too hard.

I dont like to call it “dramatic.”

makes it seem like the feeling shouldnt be acknowledged as real,

but mere moments of idiocy.

This.

This is real.

and it hurts.

I stood in the middle of my kitchen looking for food I didnt plan on eating.

Then I remembered my secret pick-me-up that I keep stashed in the very back cabinet.

I save it only for feelings such as these…

hard feelings.

deep feelings.

Flowering Tea for one, please.

 

the end.

September 16, 2011

– Gabrielle? –

it bites me.
makes me itch.
makes me loath the human staring at me thru the mirror.
the visible scars etched into my arms and legs.
they will always be there…
I thought I could turn them into a positive thing and call them “survival scars.”
I survived myself – but those scars do nothing but laugh at me.
Theyre maps of where my heart went.
where my mind tried to hide.
where every uncontrollable emotion tried to make sense of itself.
I damaged myself. terribly. wrecklessly. my once smooth skin is nothing but a mockery, ridged with lost cause after lost cause.

over time, they sort of – in a way – became a comfort. I liked to think that these scars were from a thorny rose bush just trying to grow on me. unconsciously doing damage on its way up, but trying desperately to become something -someone- beautiful.  Just trying. Just trying so hard.

I have secrets. deep secrets. secrets I want so badly to just write. or speak of.  to scream. I want someone to hear me. someone to congradulate me on surviving what I did, for never speaking of it before, for such a beautiful mind. a mind that can tolerate and control such horrificness. I want that pat on the back – but then I dont, because I know thats all it will be – just a pat on the back.
I dont want you to know my secrets….. I so desperately need you to know.

….secrets that ended up like hyroglifics on my skin.

When he took my out in the middle of no where  – I vanished into these scars. they became a comfort before, maybe they could again.   I closed my eyes and went deep inside the covering of my bones…. the wrapping of my organs. I buried myself. deep deep within my scars. I imagined them like a blanket that I was protecting myself with… monsters cant get you if your under the blankets. 

the monster figured it out. this was a nightly occurance. he was bound to figure it out sometime.
and new scars began to take shape. 
tracing along the curvature of my body, like how I would imagine music flowing thru air, if you could actually see it happening. Try to make it something beautiful….. it was a rose bush before  – it can be music now.  

nothing beautiful ever came of these.
these laughing little demons permenately flawing my skin.
thats all they are to me….
pieces of life that had no direction…
no direction that ended up like a petrified splinter in my olive skin.

September 15, 2011

{prettygarden}

Ever since the wee age of nine, when I first read the book Secret Garden, I’ve always dreampt of having my own. 

I’ve always had a soft spot for flowers.

the danity little things.

I’ve always wanted a red brick house completely enveloped with green ivy.

And?

I’ve always ALWAYS always wanted to have my own secret garden.

I’ve always wanted a rusty old wood door tucked under over-grown fern, jasmine, and ivy.

me and my love to be the only ones known of its keeping.

I’ve wanted to carry its key around my neck.

I’ve always wanted this.

and so far….

I like to think…

Is happening.

 xoxo

September 10, 2011

In the in between…

God turned the day on His to-do list and December 2 began. Probably the most monumental day of our life. His too.

You see, when He introduced me to your father, He had this crazy idea… one where, I can see Him really thinking it thru, mulling it over, wincing at some of the future, but making His decision anyway… WE were going to be the ones to bring you here. You’re father and I were tiny. Babies ourselves. 18 and 19 years old with not a clue in this world at what we were doing or who we were. We had one thing nailed… and that was that we were mad about each other. Passionate, ridiculous, sensitive, and nieve. We didnt have the slightest guess what God was sewing together.

Your father and I fell helplessly into this realm of completion. We needed each other. Wanted each other. Breathed one another. It was in the works… God’s part one had fallen right into place.

His part two, believe it or not, was even more romantic than the first.  Your father leaned in and whispered, “will you marry me?” I KNOW God stopped time for me. At least for a few minutes. Being that He’s all magical and talented and what not, I dont have a hard time believing that He did.

Now, part three? Part three is the best part. And I like to think maybe, it just can’t get any better. God wanted another little boy in this world. He didnt know quite yet what He was craving for, but He knew He wanted someone a little more on the perfect side of this silly way of being human. Hes God remember? He can even create someone… perfect. Well, He was fumbling around inside my tummy, repairing fuses, sharpening tools, buying new parts, and polishing everything over JUST to get ready for this new perfect someone He wanted.  After a hard, unsettling test run, everything was okay. My tummy was ready. And so He began. He pulled out His needle and thread and started sewing together tiny perfect fingers and even more perfect toes. He pulled fibers from His pocket and started weaving perfect porcelain skin. He even designed a heart. And a brain. He started working hard. Believe me, He put a lot of sweat and blood into this little boy… 

When everything was okay to let sit and start working on its own, He left me in charge. And I took care of you. Yes, you. You were only the size of sesame seed when He handed over the keys. Yes, the little white things ontop of hamburger buns… THATS how tiny you were. I didnt realize that God had so much trust in me to watch over such a tiny little treasure. Oh how He loved you… so I loved you. I took care of you as I would imagine He would. And  I guess I did a good job.

Because December 2 came.

And I held you.

And I looked at you.

And I wondered…. “God makes us in His image?”

I hold you now and I dream of who you will be. God has something Hes already sewing together. Just like He did for me and your father. I like to think that Hes threading together a little girl somewhere…. with you in mind.  Maybe Hes toying with the idea of blueprints for your little ones…

He still stops time for me every once in awhile. Like when I catch you staring at me, just like your father does. Or when you stop crying one foot in the door and start crying one foot out. You want me desperately. He stops the time for me when I watch your eyes shut, not to sleep, but when you feel my fingers touch your back. Or when you give me kisses. You know, God made you for Himself, but I like to think He had me in mind too.  Because I just can’t get enough of you. I love you so deeply it makes me cry sometimes. Good tears. Bad tears…. I dont want you to ever leave. 

Carter Levi, Being in the in between isnt always easy. I can’t raise you for myself, but for another girl. I cant teach you things that I think are the right ways because theyre not all the time. I have to let you go oneday and that isnt fair. I have to listen to God and truthfully, its hard sometimes, but I know His way makes better sense than mine. I will be the one to lead you and guide you. I will be the one to introduce to God. And no matter what choices you make in life, He holds me responsible. Being the middle man, the in between, is the most beautful, heartbreaking, and maddening love of my life. 

Because I want you forever. and I never want you to leave.

September 6, 2011

if my heart could speak…

i want a house.

a simple one.

that we call our own.

with a red mailbox.

“The Thompsons” painted on the side.

i want a garden of wildflowers that i planted on purpose.

peonies, lavender, and lazy susans as tall as i.

with morning glories climbing the brick chimney.

i want a small kitchen that smells of cut tomato and fresh basil.

 a small kitchen… with a big window.

with wood panelling that opens outward. 

i want a livingroom of furniture worn and weathered from yesterday’s memories.

a fireplace.

layered and dusted with ash.

i want a bedroom that never changes.

where our babies are made.

babies.

i want bookcases of all our favorites.

years old.

i want a growth chart for my little ones.

maybe we’ll have just boys.

and they’ll grow to the ceiling.

i want to have a wall.

for just my little one’s art.

framed and displayed with importance.

i want a red door.

with a knocker.

i want grass that he rarely cuts.

so it will grow tall.

i want a wood swing attached to a tall wood with our initials carved to.

g + g

in a heart with an arrow thru.

i want this for when i am old.

for when i am old, my baby is grown, and this house is quiet..

i want to walk thru this kitchen and remember the morning yawns of my little one,

i want to lean into my livingroom chair and remember the stories i read to him

over and over,

i want to sit and look at the christmas tree and remember his excitement,

i want to walk past his room and just stare, lay in his childhood bed, hold Blue Bear close, thank him for loving my boy,

i want to touch every framed work of art and remember the day he brought it home proud.

i want to slumber in the bed where me and my soulmate rest and remember the love we shared there.

when my bones dont work, my sight is drifting, my mind is fleeting,

i want my home.

my home laced and drenched in our life.

our home whispering its memories to me.

i want this.

more than it hurts to dream it.