Progressive Diner

In my twenties,
Solitary dining was a triumph.
At my well-positioned
table-for-one, I took
elegant bites of
grilled chicken salad
and judgmental sips of
Diet - always diet - Coca-Cola
while perusing my blackberry
to demonstrate that I was confident alone,
but desperately needed.

Now I am 31
And I choose my
table-for-one
outside so I can enjoy
the April weather.
I take my I-Phone out
because I am needed,
but I place it away from
my food -
close enough to see it
light up, but far enough away
that its urgent to-do's
do not disrupt my appetite.
I take my BLT out of
its squeaky white container
and add mayo to the white bread,
understanding that food paid for
is meant to be enjoyed.
I take a hasty bite and gulp water
to wet the desert of my
overly caffeinated mouth
on this 5:20 am kind-of-day.

I look around at tables of
companions, and I envy them . . .
Not because I need a crowd,
but because on this busy day
of posturing and have-to's,
I think I'd enjoy the unpurposed
conversation that comes
when you have lunch
with a friend.

Unapologetic

In the South
We women
Are overly apologetic.
I discovered this
When my mom
Here to help me
With my new baby
Apologized to her
Visiting Friend
About my noticeable
lack of
a Behind
I also noticed this
When one of my
Childhood Besties
Apologized to
Her Single Friends
For my thoughtless
References to my marriage
While attempting to relate
To them at one of those
awkward
spend-48-hours-with-
awesome-girls-you-don't-
know-bachelorette-parties.
Cut from the same cloth,
I have apologized for
my crying baby;
my shedding dog;
my wonderful but
not always mannerly
husband
(bless his heart!
he was raised in New York!);
my lying friend's
whoppers;
my boss's temper;
my mom and dad
who were not cool enough
to drink (you know,
it's just that alcoholism
runs in our family . . .)
And don't get me
started on myself:
my weight;
my house;
the fact that I sweat when
I am nervous or -
God-forbid -
hot;
my non-cooking;
my aversion to rude
people;
my ugliness;
my beauty;
my jobs botched and
my jobs well-done.

I am, in hindsight,
a professional
apologizer.

In the South
We women
Subscribe to the Bible
For the most part.
But I'm not sure that
This thing that looks
like humility
Is not decades of
oppression
Masked as a Virtue.
I'm also not sure
If it's not a little
Of our God-complex
rearing its prideful head.
Either way, its not
 as pretty
or as polite
as it seems.

I think I prefer
The style of
My unapologetic
roomies from law school
Those girls
could tolerate
house temperatures
frigid enough
to freeze
the shampoo
in the shower
And they
could also handle
Life without
Showering themselves
With insults.

I liked those girls!
Well - once I got
used to it.
And I have
a much
healthier relationship
with the one
who expressed anger by refusing to flush the toilet
than I do with
most of my oh-so-polite-
but-what-are-they-really-
thinking
Georgia girls
(and no -
she never
apologized -- not even
for the
number twos).

So I will not
now
apologize
for making
you read this
vertical essay
(ha! you thought
it was
a poem!)
nor will I apologize
for being
Southern
and raised
in this
grand but
OVERRATED
tradition.

Instead, I think
I will just
stop - both the
apologizing and the
essay -
before I accidently
apologize
again
(see previous
paragraph).

THE END

Tough Love

There is this thing
Called Tough Love
And this is what it looks like:

You watching
Someone you love
Hurting themselves
And acting like
They love the vice
More than they love you.

What's so tough about
"Just watching"?
Everything.
Especially when you know
it is all you can do.

Reflections of a Business Traveler

Dear Cover on My Hotel Bed:
Who has lain across your spread?
Whose tired feet have stretched their toes
Across your tacky patterned rows?
And whose bare bum - all red and bumpy
Has graced your surface - soft and comfy?
And how many late night indiscretions
Could you reveal in a confession?
And what of all those pay-per-views
That your bedmates have perused?

Oh Cover of My Squeaky Queen
When was the last time you were cleaned?
Something tells me "Not Today"
And so - this evening - let's part ways

I'll slide you off with pincher fingers
And head to the bath - lest your germs linger
(Pause - look around - gag and groan)

Dear Shower in my Borrowed Home . . .

Wags

Snooze button +
Grumpy baby +
Burnt coffee  +
Angry Me
Equals
A Chihuahua Tail
Wagging
A Saint Bernard

To My Baby - On Your First Birthday

Dearest Baby of Mine:

What a joy it has been to get to know you, little one, over the past year and nine months!  From those first spazzy kicks in my belly to your excited and adorable way of bouncing up and down (while always yelling and sometimes peeing) in the bathtub, you have delivered so much energy and pizazz to this world!  It was a quiet and boring place before you arrived!

I know I should be writing about you, as this is YOUR birthday, but I can't help but reflect on how much you have changed me.  First of all - you made me a mother!  I was so afraid of this responsibility for so long, but I can barely remember being anything but a mother now.  I feel like I was born to be a mother!  And I love being your mom so much!  Thank you for this privilege.  When you hit a time in life (and you will - probably during puberty, when some girl breaks your heart, during your freshman year in college, and after a hard day's work at your first job) and you feel like you are no good and that the world would be better off without you, stop and call me!  From your first moment of being, you have been a blessing.  You have helped me fulfill my calling --- a calling I didn't even really know I had.  Thank you, sweet son!

Second, you remind me - day in and day out - that I am not in control of you or really anything else.  You were one heavy baby, and I was very excited to get you out of my tummy and into the world.  To my surprise, I had tremendous separation anxiety after you were on the outside.  Everywhere I looked, I saw things that could hurt you: dirty hands, the sides of your bassinet, your dad traipsing too quickly down the stairs, your own brain (what if you forgot to breathe?!), gravity . . . the list went on and on.  I barely slept for the first three months of your life, afraid that something was going to take you away from me.  And then - something did take you away from me:  Work!  Sending you to daycare was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I literally sobbed the first time I visited your classroom.  Your teachers-to-be had to give me hugs!  I made Daddy take you to daycare for the first six months because I could not bear to leave you (I still sometimes tear up when I leave --- how I long to spend your days with you!).  I prayed and prayed and still pray for peace about leaving you.  During one of my prayers, I understood God to say "Don't worry . . . I love your baby and will provide for him exactly what he needs."  I wanted to trust God --- but not completely.  Truthfully, part of me wanted to feel guilty about leaving you during the day because it meant that maybe - just maybe - I was in control of you.  I think I wanted to believe that my choices could protect you from all evil and harm; that by holding you more I could somehow transmit my 30-years-worth of experiences into your little being so that you don't have to make my mistakes or struggle with any demons that I might inadvertently pass on to you.  But sweet son - I am beginning to learn a lesson that I will struggle with for the rest of my life:  I am not in control.  I can chose what I feed you and expose you to, and I will try to make the very best decisions that I can.  But the real stuff - the important things - are out of my hands.  That is hard for a mama to swallow!  But - in the meantime - the understanding that I can't make the real decisions has turned me to the One who can.  Thank you for deepening my faith and relationship with our Heavenly Father.  As you get older, I hope your Daddy and I can introduce you to Him in a way that is worthy, and I pray that He will mitigate our failings and inadequacies with a lifetime of mercies and blessings just for you. 

Finally, you have taught me to love deeper than I understood deep to be.  You are so incredibly precious to me.  I cannot explain this in detail because there are no words to describe how much I love you.  I pray that one day you will know this kind of love too. 

I cannot wait to see your life unfold.  I am anxious to know all of the details:  who will your friends be?  what will capture your imagination?  what will you choose as a career?  who will you marry?  where will life take you?  I am anxious to know your story, but I'm not in a hurry.  In the meantime, I will delight in watching each day of your life unfold and will relish the joy of witnessing you grow into my little man. 

Happy First Birthday, Baby Boy!
Love,  Mama

Pepper's Dayo

A recent work of art by my goofy dad:

Bravo

Arrivo

Bookmarko

Cheerio
Collino 

Way-to-go

Girlo!