Our unfinished basement has become a home for unleashed creativity.
We craft.
We play.
We listen to the Annie soundtrack on the highest possible volume and sing
"The sun will come out tomorrow!"
We get really messy. And that's acceptable because guests are not permitted in that space. That is a space created for a son and his mom to break every rule and get a little dirty.
We create...
Coming soon, a new announcement to this FreakoMOMics blog...
You can hardly wait, can't you?
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
There's a Lot of Poop, Butt
If I add up all my hours spent in oversized cardigans tucked away in a quiet coffee shop writing, it's not enough.
If I add the minutes of hearing a new song for the very first time and the way it overtakes my entire body on a long drive just me and the open road, it doesn't come close.
If I think of all the incredible places I've seen for the very first time and the way it sends a rush of adrenaline through my entire body, it's still not the same.
If I count the seconds spent with the gentle wind in my face on a bike ride in Bloomington or a run at the park, it's not quite there.
The old buildings and old art and old music with old people who know more than I think I'll ever cram into my brain...Trees and sunsets and ocean waves and all of my favorite things.
It just doesn't quite get me there...to that moment when you ask me to sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star just one more time, that moment when you look at me like I am your entire universe, like I'm enough...just me, the way I am. None of these things that used to fill me up, fill me like you.
If I add the minutes of hearing a new song for the very first time and the way it overtakes my entire body on a long drive just me and the open road, it doesn't come close.
If I think of all the incredible places I've seen for the very first time and the way it sends a rush of adrenaline through my entire body, it's still not the same.
If I count the seconds spent with the gentle wind in my face on a bike ride in Bloomington or a run at the park, it's not quite there.
The old buildings and old art and old music with old people who know more than I think I'll ever cram into my brain...Trees and sunsets and ocean waves and all of my favorite things.
It just doesn't quite get me there...to that moment when you ask me to sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star just one more time, that moment when you look at me like I am your entire universe, like I'm enough...just me, the way I am. None of these things that used to fill me up, fill me like you.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Our Ocean Voyage to Florida
We are floating on a ship in the middle of the ocean...just you, me and Johnny the Dog. No one else knows we are there so we have to hide anytime we hear someone. Every so often we throw our hands in the air and scream:
"THE SUN! THE SUN! I SEE THE SUN!"
You tell me to be quiet. They will hear us. We giggle so quietly that we are the only two that can hear our tiny giggles. The sun drops and it quickly becomes night.
"Shhhhhh. Go to sleep, mommy," you say.
And I do.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star," you sing rubbing my back just as we do for you every night.
I almost actually fall asleep.
"A shark!" you scream pointing toward the water. And sure enough, there's a shark. I scream as well.
"Baby, come here. I'll protect you from the sharks," I say as you pretend to bite me.
"I'M THE SHARK!" You declare. Suddenly our journey is over.
"Florida!" you say. "We made it to Florida. We're here, we're here."
And we are in our version of Florida laying on a pile of pillows in our livingroom pretending to be on a ship in the middle of the ocean...just the two of us and Johnny the Dog.
"THE SUN! THE SUN! I SEE THE SUN!"
You tell me to be quiet. They will hear us. We giggle so quietly that we are the only two that can hear our tiny giggles. The sun drops and it quickly becomes night.
"Shhhhhh. Go to sleep, mommy," you say.
And I do.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star," you sing rubbing my back just as we do for you every night.
I almost actually fall asleep.
"A shark!" you scream pointing toward the water. And sure enough, there's a shark. I scream as well.
"Baby, come here. I'll protect you from the sharks," I say as you pretend to bite me.
"I'M THE SHARK!" You declare. Suddenly our journey is over.
"Florida!" you say. "We made it to Florida. We're here, we're here."
And we are in our version of Florida laying on a pile of pillows in our livingroom pretending to be on a ship in the middle of the ocean...just the two of us and Johnny the Dog.
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