‘Slow dream plannin’ up my next scheme’

Sleater-Kinney coming back from the dead at this moment in my life is serendipity.

Now if Rage Against the Machine could get back to it, that’d be perfection.

Clever headline here

I am up late having a rather obnoxious battle with insomnia. This literally never happens to me. I always sleep. I have a regular appointment to keep with my dreams. But tonight I’m being eaten alive and my eyes won’t even shut.

You ever think much about humiliation? About that red hot flush you feel at first when it dawns on you that you’re at the short end of a stick of some kind, and how your heart pounds for hours and hours as you go over every detail of the stupid things you did? You relive them again and again in silent horror, turning each one over and over in your head like a stone smoothed by current. You ever think much about how fucked up it is to have this cryptographer-type organ knocking around in your skull, meting out all this information to you as it untangles it? But how sometimes really awful stuff slips right past and goes undeciphered, but once your cryptographer organ friend gets all that info cobbled together and notices a Really Unfortunate Pattern, it dumps this flood of adrenaline into your veins and peaces out (sayonara, reason!) and you have to sit there feeling like a lion is pacing around you even though the only thing that has changed is your understanding of the context in which you were previously living?

Humiliation is a toxin and you have to sweat it out. Except the sweat is existential and it physically hurts as it exits your body. You can feel it in your chest, in your bones, down low in your gut, where it throbs a bit. You can also feel it in your brain — the pesky little guy who allowed it to set in to begin with.

Spend long enough sweating it and that humiliation might calcify parts of you.

If you are like me, you might welcome that. So that maybe next time you won’t feel it as much.

Toddler talk

It’s such a weird thing to watch a child acquire language.

When your child is in school full time, he’s picking up all sorts of stuff from teachers as well as the adorable little tykes he’s with all day, on top of the stuff he picks up from you and anyone in your house. So you are never quite sure where some of the stuff comes from. And when he busts out with something hilariously bossy or rude, it’s hard not to react with an incredulous laugh. Which a toddler probably considers the jackpot of parental reactions in most situations.

Here are some things Holden’s been saying lately. I wish I could get this stuff on video so I could preserve the inflection and conviction, which adds a whole other layer of hilarity. But, he is pretty good at shutting down shenanigans as soon as he sees me train a camera or phone on him.

• “O-B-E!” — I have a theory that there must be some song they sing at school where they spell out the word “obey,” which is delightfully Orwellian.

• “Are you OK? I’m OK.” — To people or toys, whenever they might have gotten bumped or jostled.

• “I can’t like it.” — Not I don’t like it, but I can’t like it.

• “The number B!” — He sometimes calls letters numbers and numbers letters, even though he knows all his letters and many numbers backward and forward.

• “Scoot that booty!” — For scooting out of chairs or down stairs.

• “That’s enough!” — For times when he is tired of your drama.

• “ROOOOAAAARRRR!!” — Used when we read books about lions, tigers, sharks or snakes, and used to scare the bejesus out of strangers at restaurants or grocery stores.

• “That is soooo sad.” — Proclaimed when he sees pictures of people or animals not looking very happy, or when we pretend to scare off monsters and lions.

• “Come back here!” — To be said to someone who is walking away in his view prematurely, or to poop making a getaway down the toilet.

• “Wait on meeeee!” — To be wailed to any parent figure who might take two steps away from him when he’s feeling like an integral part of the mission.

• “Put it in your pocket!” — About your mobile device when he wants your undivided attention.

• “Stop it, mama!” This is usually accompanied by a threatening finger point, followed by a time-out, because oh hell no.

One-word stories

One-sentence and six-word stories used to be the hot shit. That was a digital lifetime ago, when the average consumer still had time to oh my god I am boring myself with this intro. Too long, don’t read, let’s get to it!

Here we have one-word stories, fully optimized for your tiny attention span.

» Swindled!

» Fuuuu-

» Demilitarization…ish?

» Yellowing.

» Turnt.

» Quack?

» Bleeble-borp.

» Gravity!!!

#NYMeh2015

I am entertaining myself (and no one else, I’m sure) over on Twitter.

Happy New Year.

I bought myself a birthday present

Started my Christmas shopping by buying this little pretty ... for myself

It’s a print by Ali Gulec, and it’s awesome.

‘You got a copperhead kiss hidden up your sleeve, thirty-three’

I’ll be 33 in two weeks.

To mark this occasion, I have Googled famous people who died at 33 and re-learned that Chris Farley and John Belushi were both 33 at the moment of their untimely demises. Not to mention good ol’ Eva Braun, who is the postergal for bad taste in men.

Ahhhh, what a refreshing dose of reality on the eve of my continued slog toward middle age.

I am going to go ahead and start wistfully thinking back on 32 since it takes me a month to write a single post these days.

Thirty-two was a good year. I kind of can’t believe it went down how it did but I’m happy with it. I did some things I never dreamed I would or could but now I have a bit of a taste for the unexpected and unobtainable. So we will see how that pans out.

The Wolf’s Bane

I am so excited to see the finished product!

Betsy crafted this incredible story and was kind enough to ask me to do the book’s layout. I adore her writing so I was happy to do whatever I could to be involved. Check out this mini documentary on the project as a whole.

COMING 2015: The Wolf’s Bane from Emily Beard on Vimeo.

I am super proud to be a part of this project and cannot wait to get my hands on a finished piece. I just want to smell it. Is that weird?

Three.

To Holden, on the eve of his third birthday:

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Three years ago at this moment you lived inside my belly and I had no idea who you were. I knew you got the hiccups regularly and I knew you had a rump about the size of your head, and that I could never be quite sure which was which just from running my fingers along your contours. But I didn’t know you. I saw ghostly ultrasound photos of the silhouette of your face and I assigned hopes to you and for you, but you were a mystery to me. A mystery right up until you came barreling into this world, announcing your arrival in a chattery newborn tongue that, when I hear it on video now, breaks my heart, because it is the language of a place nowhere near here. Another world entirely.

Flash forward three years and I know you. I know that when you wake up every day you are going to point out some things in your room to make sure they are as we left them the night before. I know that you are going to want Cheerios with raisins for breakfast, or maybe a waffle. I know that you are going to want a nice cold glass of milk every day. I know that you collect cardboard tubes from the paper towels and the toilet paper, and that if I throw one away without offering it to you first, I will have to answer to you. Dude. I know you.

You are this little bundle of insane energy, a tiny English-speaking person who knows the alphabet and can count to 20 or so and identify letters and numbers as they pop up around you. And you’re starting to spell your name. You love music and putting color onto blank surfaces. I make up songs for you and you catch on to them quick, and have the melody and even the lyrics down pat after only hearing them a couple of times. At nap- and bedtime, I sing two lullabies to you and you hum along with me and sink your head into the crook of my neck as I rock you. I have to tell you, those moments are some of the rare times when your poor ol’ overextended mom really feels loved in this mean old world.

(One of the lullabies is a modified version of this song, which my mom sang to me as a baby. I sing to you: “Lay your head on my shoulder. Whisper in my ear. Baby, you’re the one I love. Baby, you’re the one I love.” Repeat ad nauseum. I also sing “This is my Holden, this is my friend. He is my baby until the end” to the tune of “This Is My Story,” a hymn we grew up singing at church. You love both these lullabies.)

You are pretty much potty trained (I say “pretty much” because we still put a diaper on overnight, even if you only really use them half the time, and I suppose you still have accidents once in a while during the day when you’re too busy playing to take a pee break). You look like a little man in your boxer briefs and we are so incredibly proud of you for mastering the potty before even turning three. Seriously, dude, you’re a toilet rock star.

Your faces remain incredible.

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There is this serious browface, which you administer to items you are examining. Sometimes you shoot this look at people. It is withering.

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This is the face of pure joy. In this photograph, you made this face after chucking a rock into a river. You are often easily amused, which you get from me.

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This is your 30-year-old face. It’s like peering into a crystal ball.

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Your eyes are bright and searching and invite comments from strangers everywhere we go. Someone always says something about your eyes. I am holding out hope that you get your dad’s vision and not mine, or else you will end up having to obscure those big blues with glasses.

My little shark

We went trick-or-treating this year. It was our first proper Halloween outing. (Last year there was bad weather that abbreviated our attempts and the mall was cleaned out by the time we got there.) You dressed as a shark and were not terribly happy about it as we cluelessly tried to cram your limbs into the getup. You got the hang of the whole trick-or-treating thing about halfway through, and even actually said “trick or treat” to some folks near the end of our outing. You collected quite the haul from the fine folks along McChesney. I am glad we have such good friends in walkable neighborhoods. It was so much fun and I think next year you will be even more into it.

Speaking of good friends, you and Rory are going to have a new friend on the scene in a month or so. Rumor has it that it’s a lady friend to add to the mix. Not to mention your new friend Ruth, who was born not too long ago in Chicago. Are you ready for all that pressure, of being the oldest in the bunch? You are going to need to make sure you are being a good toddler role model for all your new friends. Last time you hung out with Rory, you froze with a mix of bewilderment and terror every time he grabbed at you. But you returned the favor by sort of poking at his eyes and laughing. Boy, I see so much of me in you that it scares me.

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You have very strong opinions and we are working on your tendency to get frustrated and lash out. (Again, I see a lot of me in you.) But you are such a point of light. You wake up happy every day and instantly start observing and asking questions about the world. Lately you are fond of “Where did it go?” and “What happened?!” You are intrigued by process and pattern. You like to deconstruct things. You like to organize and group. You like to surprise and be surprised.

You still have an arm on you, and your aim is pretty good. We’re working on catching.

You love to identify colors, shapes, numbers and letters, wherever they pop up. If you can identify a number, letter or shape that’s a color, then it’s like you’ve hit the lottery.

You get so excited when we understand what you are trying to tell us. And it gets easier every day.

You like to help load/unload the dishwasher. You like to “help” with laundry. Turning lights on and off is your jam. You like to pick out your spoon for your morning cereal. When you make a mess, you like to point it out and be allowed to clean it up. You like finding trash and throwing it away, even if it’s not yours. You like finding things in the trash that you think we should reconsider. You LOVE flashcards and have learned some insane words (“vicuna” and “urchin”???) from the ones we have. You love your grandparents and ask about your cousin Levi a lot.

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You are obsessed with Farmer Jason and we have watched his DVD probably a hundred times. I can recite it from beginning to end and I bet you could too, if pressed. You think that Taylor Swift “Shake It Off” song is top shelf, but you like just about any kind of music as long as it’s loud enough and mama and daddy will get up to dance with you. You like to do “red bed,” which means wrestle on mama and daddy’s bed. (We had red sheets a while back.) You are a ruthless wrestler, and not above roundhouse kicks to the face.

Saying hi to passing cars, as you do.

School is going great. You like seeing your friends and getting to play outside. Your teacher says such wonderful things about how sweet and inquisitive you are. You talk a lot about your friends Madisyn and Kaia. I think you’re sweet on Madisyn or maybe it is the other way around. We do homework on the weekends and turn it in on Monday.

You seem happy. Occasionally you have your meltdowns or you have to be put in line when your attitude gets a little too toddlerish for our liking. (We don’t want to end up needing a Supernanny in three years, so we are trying to keep you in check.) But for the most part, child, you are happy. And I couldn’t be more grateful that that seems to be your baseline.

I’m proud of how you are growing and how much you love to learn. I watch you and wonder how much of me got into you, and hope that I can help you navigate the difficult parts a little better, now that I have lived long enough to know a little bit about myself.

You’re having a big time. We’re having a big time. Year three is going to be so much fun.

I love you,
Mama

Some things happened and now we are here

Ah, so, I convinced some folks to put me in charge of the Design Studio, and they did.

It’s so exciting and daunting. I’m ready to do it up right. I have a lot of ideas, a lot of things I want to do.

I’m stretched a little thin right now, though. Still doing the old gig, which was already a 60-hours-a-week job, and now I have just seriously compounded my commitment and I am finding that there are literally not enough hours in the day for me to get done all the things I need to get done. I started working at 9 a.m. Monday and it is now nearly 1 a.m. Tuesday and with the exception of one restroom break and a quick trip to get fish and potatoes in the cafeteria, I have not had a moment of downtime and I am nowhere near being done with my to-do list. Oh, I guess you can count the drive home as downtime, but I sure did think hard the whole way.

I’d be a lot more productive if the space-time continuum would just bend to my will.

I’m excited and frazzled. I just have to survive the rest of the year and get through the holidays and then, hopefully, there will be a clearing and I will be able to take a deep breath and then really dive deep.

I’ve written “I” a lot here but there are a lot of “wes” involved too.