more "moon," less "me, molly"

Blessed Beltane Eve, y'all:)So I had a crappy morning and early afternoon (Sciatica is the Devil) but a muchly awesome evening, as evidenced by the following conversational snippet.

Bu: CA (brother-in-law) is coming over with a couple of friends and they were thinking of building a fire up on the hill.
H: Cool. Oh wait, very cool: it's Beltane Eve! We must have fire!
Bu: It's huh?
H: "Bell-Tane," I mean "BALL-tin-uh." May Day, eve of May Day. You cowan.

Bu: Muggle.
H: *Gasp* Don't call me that!So, we made fire, and I burned an offering of dried roses from after the Birdie was born, and burned a prayer I wrote out, which I scanned for these little collages. Bu took the photos, because he rocks. I loved the shape of the flame in this one: yoni like.



And now, like any good pagan, I'm off to watch Buffy DVD's.

*Edit: Post title references former blog Me, Molly, and the Moon.

update, for those concerned about my uterus

K @ Diary of a Mad New Mother (of a freakin' adoable boychild,) after reading my recent rants from crazyville, wondered if I might be pregnant again.

In fact, I got my period Monday evening. Thank you MOONY BLOODY EARTHY GODDESS for waiting until after the trip. I neglected to blog this fascinating gynecological development, but I think it might help explain why the whining got worse and will now (soon, we hope) get better.

For now, I've spent the first day in well over two years wondering if I need anxiety medication.

For now, the answer is probably no. I've done so well without, and I'm definitely not someone who needs medication to function. Ummm, anymore. So, I'll look for herbs that are nursey safe and possible try actual purposeful meditation? Seems there's some obvious cure for stress I'm overlooking... something totally natural and healthy... Oh Yes! Exercise. Would have to sedate myself to be less active, so yeah.

art slacker, still not evolving

Sometimes I think I'm too psychologicaly fragile or insecure or just too generally lacking the type of ego necessary to be happy and successful as an artist. Thinking here of years of weeping openly during critiques, sleepless nights second guessing my concepts, black depressions and self doubt where I'd hold a paintbrush loaded with thick beautiful oils and be physically unable to touch it to canvas. Tearing down half-finished sculptures in fits of self-loathing. The fact that I have maybe 8 or 10 pieces left from 11 years of school that weren't destroyed and no slides of my decent work.

I thought graphic design would be a smaller emotional investment. Now I have one client whose project had me so blocked and stymied in the beginning I fell apart and now several rounds of proposals later, still can't seem to please. I have another who is an artisan and is continually redesigning my stuff and I'm worried it's going to look awful. I'm confused that she's not pleased and I thought my ideas were so solid. What's going on? Do I suck? Is it always like this in design and I've just been lucky the past couple of years with happy clients who didn't notice that I suck?

Is this a symptom of my abusing and neglecting my real talents and I'm projecting it onto my graphic work? Am I just too overloaded to let my creativity flow?

At the risk of being an uber drama queen, let me tell you I've often wondered if having the talent to create without the discipline to hone it and sell it isn't more curse than blessing. Not fulfilling my potential is the theme of my life. I am 31 years old. I think I've wasted 90% of those 31 years on slacking and not owning my true self-ness. Am I ever going to change? I keep thinking This is the Epiphany! I Have the Answer! and then, not so much.

At least in this round of moody creative doubt, I can say that I'm working my ass off and am a great mama if nothing else and find awesome comfort in that.

valium in a cup

The best hot toddy I've made in a long time:

2 Tension Tamer tea bags
3/4 mug boiling water
1 shot of your favorite spiced rum- I used Captain Morgan's Tattoo
roughly a liter of honey;)

the screams / the clutching of breast / so sorry about the mess

We're back. The trip was, as predicted, bliss. We had a perfect re-charge. If I weren't having hormonal hell right now, I'd still be glowing. Instead I keep waiting to see if I'll actually have a period or if I just get the bloating and moodswings and weirdness without any actual mess. It's mindboggling that Molly still nurses enough to usually supress my periods. (I'm starting to worry about her food apathy. I don't know... the webbie breastfeeding gurus say milk is all she needs for a year, that food is very much an experimental thing, and until 18 months-ish it's appropriate to get most of the nutrition from nursing. In real life, though, no one I know has a baby who still eats so little solid food. I might see if our nurse can see us before her year check up just to ease my mind.)

I don't have time to blog about the trip, but later on there will be a plethora of lovely photos by Bu, weird and slightly out-of-focus wannabe artsy photos by me, and exerpts from ye olde travelle journyl, the kind on paper- which I kept calling a blog:) Probably you'll have to wait a day or two, as I have massive house recovery in store for me tonight. Bu's cousin, who had such a lovely wedding, is coming to order prints and her album. She is exquistitely neat and tasteful and the thought of her seeing the scum in my bathroom or the laundry piles makes me feel almost as queasy as the endless serpentine roads we just travelled.

For now, as this is such a mundane post, I'll present you with this: Have you heard Low? Omigoddess- I'm in love. Bu discovered them by clicking on an ad in Urge and I'm floored. So very much digging them.

mountain mama

Oh Hell Yes.

Headed to mountains for hiking, quiet, and whatever.
Back on Sunday. Enjoy your days; we shall be in bliss. Knock wood. (Molly's first road trip.)

it's just us

See this: Jamie Bishop. Great portfolio, including work in process which is amazing and brilliant to see evolve. I found him via Neil Gaiman. We lost Mr. Bishop at Virginia Tech. Neil had this to say, which is so ... I've lost words, so here are his:

I don't know why this is, but I don't), still managing to think of this as something that happened, tragically, to Other People. And then I see this, and my heart sinks... and I get my nose rubbed hard and painfully in the fact that there are no Other People. It's just us.

And now there is rain, and there is Thordora's post, and I feel like a very small stupid creature clinging to a large senseless planet spinning for no real reason.

a little the(o/a)logical/sociopolitical aside

Heather at Hathor the Cow Goddess is a lot more crunchy than I am, or possibly than most human beings, I don't know:) Usually, though, she inspires me and as with all mothering influences, I take to heart her perspectives and assimilate them into the ever-evolving complexity that is my parenting approach. Just sayin'.

Today she referenced an article on Christopher West's website Theology of the Body (a project by late Pope John Paul II, apparently) about breastfeeding and I'm so glad I read it. It's eye-opening to read about non-pagan religious perspectives relating to the female body, because they have influenced nearly everything about our culture's attitude toward women.

The article's very positive and in defense of the sacred beauty that is a woman feeding her child. I love reading this- a Catholic seeing the biological as sacred is very cool. (I think I don't give Christians enough credit for celebrating the magic of the body, maybe because my knowledge of the faith comes from feminist critical texts and ancient history more than experience with the modern church.) I feel the most powerful connections to the sacred through primal, body experiences like nursing, sex, dancing. It excited me to see breastfeeding elevated to the sublime in another religious context.



A little thing itched my brain and irked me though; this quote: "For those with the purity to see it, a nursing mother is one of the most precious, most beautiful, and most holy of all possible images of woman."



As amazingly Goddessy as motherhood is to me, as deeply as the experience has empowered me as a woman, this standard in which motherhood is the most perfect thing woman can attain, oh it just grates the feminist mind. Women create great works, do serious good, explore new... Gods, am I writing this in 2007?... sounds like the passionate simple grrlpower essays I wrote in junior high. My point is, are we still stuck in the Madonna/Whore thing? Is my power still solely defined by my reproductive organs? (If so, I seem to have less every day.) According to this guy, apparently. Sigh.

Why does it have to be "Motherhood is sacred, therefore, the highest best thing a woman can be is a mom," or, alternatively that putting motherhood first is a betrayal of feminist work. How complex of a thinker do you really need to be to realize that we can both celebrate the sacred experience of motherhood as well as the infinite range of other choices a woman can make?





P.S. In typical Heidi fashion, I'm second guessing myself and trying to soften the tone of this post, and I look again and see that he's written "one of the most precious, most beautiful, and most holy of all possible images of woman..." and I thought maybe I should lay off, delete the post. So I tried to think of other positive female Christian icons and I can't think of many outside of the Madonna & the Magdalene (don't get me started on how she's misrepresented.) But, as mentioned, I'm not highly educated.

Enlighten me- what are some powerful stories and images of women in your faith? How does your religion view motherhood? What's your take on my rant? What's the atheist perspective: Is it silly to elevate a very simple mammal act to have spiritual significance? Is that a symptom of how egotistical our species is? Should I maybe not be thinking so much and just shut up and go pump?

birthdays

Mom would have been 54 yesterday. I'm 31 today.

Here's a photo of us on this day in 1999. I love this one, because it's the way she looked most recently in my mind, and I remember that day so well. We were tipsy and a little stoned, at the forest, and I had just finished flying a kite very clumsily in a clearing. Amazing.

Sunday night I was very melancholy, but less upset than the last few years. I told Bu I felt weird because feeling less sad makes me sad in a new way. Almost guilt?

Last night, of course, I just watched the news like most of us and felt dazed and hurt.

Today was beautiful. Sunny golden weather and great food and loving wonderful family. A very sweet surprise from a coworker, and chai tea and the funniest card from by supervisor:

Dudes, my legs are so hairy it's legendary. Heh.

someone else's nightmare

That's a working title. I sat down to do this transformative beautiful piece about the dream I had the other day, and this came out instead. Bu looked over my shoulder and remarked "Wow. Old school Heidi." I said "Yeh, I can hardly look at it. It freaks me out."

It's a hard thing to share, but I feel like I need to. It's lovely to me in its way. It's not my darkness, it's like a legacy of the weight of awareness of someone else's. Sorry for the obtuse prattle- I can't really share too much. It's not my story.

I can't tell you how good it felt to just create where my mind led me and to make real art again. Not as satisfying as clay under my fingers, but close. Next time I can snatch an hour or two for myself I'll do something with the pretty dream.

pixie hair + glimpse of wedding of PB&J

Not very extreme, but muchly a relief. Since it's a boring makeover, I give you this*, the hair I was used to until the past year or so:

Damn. That tattoo needs its own blog. Fame-happy tattoo, stealing the spotlight from the other two. I'll get pictures of them for you soon.

*Also serves as a blurry admonition to please hire a professional photographer to document your wedding. As my entire wedding party was comprised of excellent photographers, my less than stellar photos are cruelly ironic.

i'm just thinking

The Law of Attraction (a phrase which used to evoke in me a quiet sense of occult wisdom because I used it in my Wiccan spells and had read about its origin in Ceremonial Magic and now puts me in a slightly embarrassed mood because I come across as a culty pop-psych

*randomosity*

It's time for a quarter jar. Molly has started randomly decided to mimick. She said "Shiiii" and thankfully stopped yesterday. This morning the word of the day was "Yuck," which happens to rhyme with Mama's Very Favorite Word. So, the cursing needs to stop.

Secret fangirl) is so cool. I was surfing my blogroll and came across a simple word. Unlearn. It was on A Few Good Memes, and it popped out at me like it was highlighted and underlined. Like in A Beautiful Mind when Professor whassname (another vaguely crazy WV native. Um, only without the vaguely) sees the hidden code in the magazines.

I think my blogging has brought me into contact with so many amazing people, and each of you teaches me so much. I feel very intellectually enriched lately, and so thanks for that.

Unlearn. It's a lovely lesson for today. Allow myself to unlearn the habits that are negative. It's counter to the dogma of The Secret dudes, who would say I'm focusing on what I don't want, but I need to clear out some brain junk. My dreams are filled with these slightly disturbing symbols that make me feel like a Freud textbook and are really getting on my nerves. Time to address them and move on. I think I'm in need of some off-the-record-handwritten-in-a dusty-book journaling to work through that.

I'm blocked where the Secret stuff is concerned, and I'm a little pissed with myself about it. I've been trying to compose a Gratitude List in praise of what the Verse/Goddess/God has given me/us. I keep qualifying shit and being distinctly ungrateful. Like this: "Thank you for this warm and sturdy home where I dwell with my family," and then my mind wanders to only we're behind on the mortgage and the carport roof leaks and.... So I feel like an asshole. I am grateful for so much,- Hello? Happiest Mom in the world? but I keep worrying over the other details.

I think putting it on paper's the route to go, then I can meditate on it. So, dusty paper journal it is.

a doodle tribute

(Apologies to the NY Times and Mr. Vonnegut himself for stealing imagery.)

Kurt Vonnegut 1922 - 2007

"the clicking make sexy maggie gyllenhaal bigger"

Will ya look at that? Apparently the constant lesberotic references and my obsession with my all night dairy buffet super sexy cleavage caught Eden's attention, because she just made my day by nominating me for Hottest Mommy Blogger. Holy shit. This and a pair of blingy hip huggers scored at the thrift store in one week? This might almost be enough to drag my libido kicking & screaming out of prolactin purgatory. Good timing: we just picked up a bedrail for the bed in the Birdy's room, so I can sneak out without being preoccupied with terror that she'll fall out of bed &/or suffocate in the pillow retaining wall.

She also threw my name in the hat for the Parenting category, because she can't see the rings of dog hair around Molly's mouth from the handfulls she likes to pick up off the carpet;)



So I'm going to go check this thing out and do some nominating myself; spread the bloggykarma around.

women rock

Victory for women and girls in Eritrea

And the most delicious feminist post is here, including this so-perfect-adjectives-fail-me phrase: "However, jokes that makes menstruation nasty or dirty or unclean -- those are insulting & juvenile. That same blood lubricated your entry into this world, and its smell will always be on you. Fucking deal already."

Coming {fluffier} attractions:

• A spectacular dream and possibly artwork inspired by said dream
• A vacationling planned for House of Boo
• A Heidi mini-makeover from weird Emo-boy looking hair back to the fetching pixie I'm meant to have.
  
  

meme du jour

Because Jase is a pusher of meme addiction, and because everyone's away on Spring Break so the office is quiet today:

1. What do you wish your name was?
Real answer: Heidi [Mom’s Maiden Name] [Bu’s surname] rather than Heidi [Dad’s surname] [Bu’s surname]
Whimsical answer: Ivy (this was my magickal name when I was a Wicca noob.)
2. What is your favorite thing to wear?
Long straight skirts & love beads.
3. Last thing you ate….
Decadent greasy biscuit with egg, cheese, & tomato.
4. Favorite quote?
“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.” –Albert Einstein
5. I say Shotgun, you say?
Wedding?
6. Last person you hugged?
Molly
7. Africa or Mexico?
I'd like to visit both
8. How many U.S states have you been to?
7 or 8
9. How many of the U.S states have you lived in?
2
10. Does anyone you know wanna date you?
No
11. Name something you like physically about yourself:
My eyes.
12. Something you don’t?
My skin.
13. Who is your best friend?
The Souster.
14.Why are you still up?
Um, because it’s 9:43 a.m.
15. Who/What made you angry today?
I'm a little annoyed that there's no heat in the bathrooms here; also that it's April 9 and so cold.
16. Favorite type of Food?
Sushi.
17. Favorite holidays?
Spring Equinox, Summer solstice, Hallow-Samhain-een
18. Do you download music?
Yes.
19. Do you care if your socks are dirty?
As long as a casual passerby can’t smell them, I'm good.
20. What are you wearing right now?
A very cute outfit, wasted on the world as there's no one else in the office today. Every single item is second hand, which I love. Thrift store chic lives!
21. Would you date the person who posted this?
Were I unwed, probably.
22. Has anyone ever sang or played for you personally?
No.
23. Do you love anyone?
Yes, the top tier being: Molly, Bu, Grandma, Aunt P, E-Rok, the Grandies & ElBoo (babywearing nephew.)
24. Do you like George W. Bush?
Do you like having bamboo shoots hammered under your fingernails?
25. Have you ever bungee jumped?
No, but I went skydiving.
26. Have you ever gone white-water rafting?
No, but Bu guided for 10 years, so the fact that I haven’t gone is a particularly tragic thing.
27. Has anyone ten years older than you ever hit on you?
Yes, he was a strange diversion. As immature as any young boy I’d ever met. Not that I'm insinuating that men never grow up. I have met a handful that did.
28. How much money ya got in ya pocket?
$.25
29. Have you met a real redneck?
Um, hi, I married one. OK, to be fair he isn’t that bad. Scariest redneck was at court that day.
30. How is the weather right now?
Enfuriatingly cold.
31. What are you listening to right now?
GotRadio Alternative Attic
32. What is your current fave song?
Starlight, (Muse) or Smile (Lily Allen)
33. What was the last movie you watched?
Trust the Man: fabulous. Starring my delicious and devoted girlfriend Maggie Gyllenhaal.
34. Do you wear contacts?
No, but I sometimes remember to wear reading glasses. Usually not.
35. Where was the last place you went besides your house?
Dropped the Birdie off at the Grandies' and came to work.
36. What are you afraid of?
Heights (yes, that made the skydiving a hellllll of an adrenaline rush.)
37. How many piercings have you had?
Ever?16. 11 of them were simple ear piercings. 3 were cooler ear piercings- conchs and tragus. The other was my navel, grown over during the pregnancy, and now it's just my nostril, which is my trademark and my last little shred of rebellion and I will die with it; I love it that much.
38. How many pets do you have?
Three: Dharma dog, Bailey Dog and Shade (shade-ee) the Baron von Fang, a cat.
39. What’s one thing you’ve learned?
Mommy eats broccoli, baby farts all night long.
40. What do you usually order from Starbucks?
At small locally owned coffee shops a chai latte. Have never been inside a Starbucks.
42. Have you ever fired a gun?
Yes.
43. Are you missing someone?
Mom, and this friend I lost touch with. If anyone happens to know where the hell David "Wheetie" French is, tell him to call me.
44. Fav. TV show?
Ever? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Currently on air? House, Heroes.
45. Do you have an iPod?
I’m married to one. Bu is seriously obsessed with this thing. We had fun with the musical quiz thing.
46. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celeb?
Meg Tilly once when my hair was black.
48. Who would you like to see right now?
Mom, Wheetie, Dave Matthews, onstage. Maggie G, [XXX rated comment of your choice here.]
49. Favorite movie of all time?
Amelie
50. Do you find yourself loved?
Yes
51. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to?
Yes, rarely
52. Favorite flower?
Daisy
53. Butter, plain, or salted popcorn?
Butter + Salt
54. What Magazines are you reading?
The one Professional Photographers of America publishes. Old parenting mags that have collected around the house.
55. Have you ever ridden in a limo?
Maybe at a funeral once? Don’t remember.
56. Has anyone you were really close to passed away recently?
Not recently.
58. What’s something that really bugs you?
The anti-choice movement.
60. Do you like Michael Jackson?
No.
61. What’s your favorite smell?
Lavender.
62. Favorite baseball team?
The WV Power, because they offer Buck Beer night.
63. Favorite cereal?
Granola
65. What’s the longest time you’ve gone without sleep?
30 some hours. Finals week art project. Burst into tears during critique.
66. Last time you went bowling?
Many years.
67. Where is the weirdest place you have slept?
In the back of the Bean, our Outback. Boring:)
68. Who was your last phone call?
A clinic patient's mom cancelling appointments for a month- he's sickbut doing better thank Goddess.
69. Last time you were at work?
Still here.
70. What’s the closest orange object to you?
Cup of coffee

oh no! bill, jack, & bunnies (the horror...)

Laughing so I won't cry. Mommy guilt stupidity of the day: worrying about taking the time to shower between design projects because any time spent on me when the grandies have the Bird is wasting precious work time.

So why am I playing in the giant playground that is the blogosphere? Because if I'm sitting at the computer, it's work. That's why!

I'm going to go fetch my baby now:) Happy Easter if you celebrate. Happy Sunday if you don't. And if you, like me, have residual PTSD from Bunny Incidents* in your childhood, help me with the huge fucking bottle of Jack Daniels (my second favorite Jack, if you're curious) on top of my fridge. Apparently we're babysitting JD because my brother in law lives with the grandies, who are Mormon teetotalers. Not even coffee. My religion damn near worships the bean; theirs bans it. So interesting.



*I'm really mostly recovered. There was baby terror from an inflatable bunny, and also an unspeakably terrifying book I'm wicked allergic to real fluffers, so I'm not a fan at all. This notwithstanding, I hate disregard for their little allergenic creepy lives, so I link you here.

secret

(The tattoo on my left shoulder: my mom's natal chart.)

My secret dream? To apprentice to a tattoo artist and learn to create sexy awesome body art. My secret dream I hope actually to do? Get a huge kickass tattoo on my spine. Kundalini serpents and some calligraphic poetry.

I've been pondering what poetry for some time now. Right now, I'm thinking it'll be "Molly's poem," where I got the spelling of her middle name:

Shayne vie de Lavuna

Lichtig vie de Shterin

Funn himmel a matona

(Beautiful like the Moon

Bright as the stars

from heaven a gift)

Maybe add her birthday or zodiac symbols or something. So, yeh. Ink + needles = fabulous.

don't mind me, just perfecting the art of cranky

I've seen allusions to The Feminine Mistake and other equally divisive bullshit everywhere recently. This was in my inbox this evening from the NOW mailing this. It pretty much slams the media for covering a tiny percentage of women in managerial positions and ignoring the unfavorable conditions that seriously limit some families' options.

Thought I'd share.

Meanwhile, since I can't seem to post a boobie-free entry lately, let me just say:

1. Dr. Phil, you are an ignorant fuck. Again. Or still. Just shut the hell up.

2. My nipple still hurts but is functional again. Molly doesn't seem to care that I wince and stop breathing until she's latched on securely. Oddly, accidental grazing is worse than pumping or nursing.
/end pityparty

3. Target, I love you as much as I hate Dr. Phil. A Liz Lang nursing bra on clearance for $2.14!? In my size? Sweeeeeeeeet. In black? Orgasm.

the new plan is: there is no plan

I need to reread The Wisdom of Insecurity. I love Alan Watts. I'm having an allergy to chaos right now, and I'm covered in it. My problem is this insane desire to want to plan and know everything instead of letting things flow.

The moment I try to decide How Things Will Be, something intrudes into my illusion of order.

Things feel very up in the air. Bu's Dad's sick- I haven't written about it. He's undergoing radiation treatment for prostate cancer. He's not having any symptoms or side effects beyond fatigue right now, but it's scary. I'm unclear what his prognosis is- we probably won't know until the treatment's completed I guess. Beyond the layers of worry and uncertainty about the cancer itself, we don't know where we'll be with childcare in the very near future. That, of course, brings up all my working mom angst. I hate thinking about this. I feel selfish that I'm even worrying about his role as caregiver for the baby.

My plans to nurse Molly until she self-weans are feeling like self-imposed pressure right now. She bit me so hard skin broke, and last night I had to pump that side. It hurts tonight, but I can nurse her. I'm reading stories of demanding, frequent nursing toddlers and I worry I'll be either too self-conscious about her wanting nummins in front of disapproving people or I'll be worn out with it and wean her early. I hate feeling skittish nursing her. I want her snuggled up with calm mama warm vibes, not a mother who winces when she latches on.

My new "plan," then, is to do my best to surrender my desire to know an impossible map of the future. Being now. We have Papaw, healthy looking and proud of his Boue. I have a nursling who needs me and isn't interested in food much at all and who is in a difficult phase that will pass. Deep breaths, prayer, focus. Spinning earth, changing seasons, growing daughter. Dreams, hopes, blessings. Quiet, family, home.

PB & J

Two nights ago I was lying in bed with the high maintenence whiny wallowing hippo teething biting scary monster baby watching The Holiday and musing melancholy about marriage. Cameron Diaz's Amanda was telling Jude Law's character about her parents' divorce, about how the Three Musketeers were torn apart. It scared the shit out of me. With the Bird being an only child, and us the Triangle Family, if Bu and I ever divorced would it seriously fuck her up?

I have crazy issues from my parents' marriage/divorce. It's complicated- I wanted/needed them to break up, and I think my younger brother would agree. They were totally mismatched and were quite miserable. They stayed together for ages to protect us, thereby making the marriage a trainwreck of tension and pent up animosity. The whole thing left me with first a terrible distaste for marriage and a certainty that I'd never marry, then a sometimes crippling fear that Bu and I are as incompatible as my parents were and that divorce is surely going to ruin our lives some day.

So I lie there near tears waiting for Molly to finally wind herself down. Bu comes up with his new and much beloved iPod to play me and the baby a song. He pops one earbud in my ear and holds the other up to Molly's. It's Dave Matthews Band's Everyday, i.e. the recessional song from our wedding. I grin, Molly bops a little- she's started really liking music. She finally goes to sleep, and I relax a little.

Bu comes up with the iPod again, and says "Come outside with me- this storm is awesome." We go out onto our deck, and the wind is whipping around like mad, dark, brewing clouds and cool spring air. It's intense and sexy as hell. He shares the earpiece with me again, and pulls me to him, and we stand there listening to parts of The American Prayer and looking up at the whipping wrything trees. It's amazing, and delicious, and perfect. I nuzzle against him and the dogs come out and tickle me with their excited, hyped up fur, and I melt into the moment.

BU AND I HAVE "PEANUT BUTTER" AND "JELLY" ENGRAVED IN OUR RESPECTIVE WEDDING BANDS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE peanut butter AND jelly BECAUSE I HAVE A THING FOR all lowercase letters* BUT THEY MESSED UP. IT LOOKS OK IN ALL CAPS LIKE THIS THOUGH.

* and speakin' of: we had this poem read at the wedding:

i thank You God for most
this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly
spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of
sky;and for everything
which is natural which is
infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-e.e.cummings

i love this girl

Bu just called with an update on a cousin we haven't heard from in a while. She's with this guy- her baby's daddy- in NC, after pretty much running away from home very suddenly. She's young and impulsive and a smart, adorable womangirl except where the asshole is concerned. She makes terrible decisions about him. She got in another fight with him- don't know about this one but their fights are almost always physical. She called home and her mom asked her to come back. Then her Dad found out about it and told the mom their daughter wasn't welcome in their home anymore.

At this point in the story I took Bu and myself by surprise by suddenly and violently bursting into tears. I am terrified that her Dad's stance will seriously endanger her. She has no friends down there, too much pride to go to a shelter or somewhere. She and her sister have an awkward relationship and I think stubbornness might keep her from accepting her sister's help too. Her mom is really the only one I think she trusts, and I feel like her Dad's blocking that opening.

It's so complicated, but it's so fucking textbook. I know from friends and work experience how hard it is to get out of a trap like this. Think how hard it would be to own the situation. To admit, yeah, I royally fucked up by coming back with this idiot. To separate blame from responsibility, that it's his fault he's a violent evil damn! I don't have a curse bad enough- but that you have to accept that you chose to go back. To get the courage to do that, to start looking for a way to fix it, and then you home is closed to you? I don't care what kind of immature chaos she created there, it's her home. Her parents. I'm seriously pissed at her Dad. I have heard family talk about him in other instances and I'm not entirely convinced he isn't just like her boyfriend. I don't know- it's family gossip.

I didn't broach the subject, but we could make room here for her and the baby (she's a year and a half) if we had to. I don't think Bu'd go for it, and I'm not sure it'd be a good idea... she keeps repeating this. She comes home, gets her shit together or makes us think she does, then in the dead of night packs up and goes back. I'm scared if he found out where she was we'd be in some danger, too. He's not a mass-murderer but with a temper like that and a violent nature it's safest to assume the worst. Fuck.

I just love this girl. She's so too good for this bullshit. I wanna hug her and smack her at the same time, but mostly I want to get her up here with us. I wish we could ensure somehow that she can't talk to this fuckhead if she'd make the move.

Pray for her with me? I dunno who the patron Goddess of smart women who do stupid shit is, but I know plenty of wrathful Ones to call down on his ass. Refraining from the vengefgul hoodoo, but Gods do I wanna... Maybe a binding? Anyway, prayers, thoughts, positive protective energy. All good.