Silence

You tell me that silence is nearer to peace than poems,
but if for my gift I brought you silence
(for I know silence)
you would say,
"This is not silence, this is another poem,"
and you would hand it back to me.

~Leonard Cohen

I ask you, 2.75 readers, to just take a moment today to set aside politics, your busy lives, your full schedules and duties to uphold, and reflect. If for but a fleeting moment. Remember where you were when you heard the news 8 years ago.

I remember how it made me cry.

How I placed my hand over my gaping mouth for the better part of the entire day.

How I was terrified to be working in a 20+ story building in downtown Minneapolis -- what if we were next?

But what I remember most is the pain I felt for everyone else. Everyone who lost someone that day -- though I think we all feel like we lost a little something.

And I remember, as an umarried girl of 20, being afraid to ever bring children into this world. What kind of childhood is it when you're brought up in a world of terror and fear and "heightened alerts?" And now, as the mother of 1.5 daughters, I realize that it's going to be just fine. A little different than the world I knew when I was growing up, but still just fine.

In fact, if anything, it'll be a world where we hug a little tighter, cuddle a little closer, "I love you" a little more often, and tolerate a little better.

I'd say that's a pretty good world, in the grand scheme of things.

And so, with quiet repose I ask for a mere moment of silence today for those who lost someone on 9/11/2001. For those who have lost their life in the fight that ensued following that tragedy, and for the men and women who continue to amaze us with their fortitude, their resilience, and their unyielding bravery.

Peace,
A

Pomp and (a change in) Circumstance.

I have made a very difficult decision today, friends.

I am going to "drop out" of college for a little while. Again. But I will go back. I will return to St. Kate's in April when the Spring Trimester begins and finish the degree I started in 2000. I'm a month away from my 3rd trimester of my (final) pregnancy (Gasp! It's going so fast!!!), and there are still so many things I need to do before the baby comes.

1.) Sleep.
2.) Spend as much time with Elena as I can before I have to split my time between her and her sister.
3.) Sleep.
4.) Make hats (to keep the masses happy).
5.) Avoid a nervous breakdown of any sort.
6.) Give myself some time for me. Some time alone - a moment or two of quiet - to take in my life. What I already have and what is yet to come.
7.) Eat. A lot. Often.

School would be number 8 on that list. And I cannot in clear conscience attend school when it's not in the top on any priority list. It's not fair to myself, my fellow students, my family, or the professors.

And so, it is with mourful regret that I withdraw from fall classes. The light on the horizon is the knowledge that, like always, I will return to class next Spring and finish the degree that I have been so arduously pursuing for nearly a decade. I deserve it. I owe to myself. And I owe it to my family.

That's the news for now,
A

Hummingbird Moth

Here it is: A hummingbird moth drinking nectar from my mother's garden.

It was beautiful.

And majestic.

And it buzzed my tower a few too many times.

But that's neither here nor there.

Please enjoy. Or atleast pretend that you did. And please don't remind me that a slightly higher quality camera with a faster shutter speed would have captured the wings that much better.

I'm weeping about it still.

*sniffle*

Cheers,

A

On A Stick

We took Elena to "the great Minnesota get-together" (read: State Fair) on Thursday and she kept begging for an ice cream cone.  I finally decided we would compromise and I bought her a bomb pomp.  

I was told "$3.00" by the guy behind the counter, and though I was being ripped off until he handed me the plastic-wrapped monstrosity.  

Oh. My.

Goodness. 

Oh. My! 

What do I do, Mommy?

Have you ever seen such a large bomb pop?  Yeah, neither had Elena.  She stared at it like this until we finally told her it was okay to eat it.

Take that normal, boring, pint-sized bomb pops.  Talk about fun-on-a-stick.  This most certainly was.

Cheers,

A

Blackmail

Dear Elena:

I went through an awkward stage. A very long, very torturous, very uncomfortable awkward stage. It just so happened that these were the most photographed years of my life. I was in dance, Odyssey of the Mind, Marching Band, Solo Ensemble, Choir, Awkward Kids Club, Spelling Bee...well, ok, you get the idea. My photo was everywhere.

Upon my high school graduation your granmother took all of these horrific pieces of photographic blackmail, and posted them, in an enlarged format, along the walls at my party.

(Thanks mom)

There may have even been a cardboard cutout of your Uncle Noel on a dirtbike. There was vodka at the party, so my memory is slightly fuzzy (thefamilypelton does not endorse underage drinking. I was young. And stupid. Allow me to be your bad example), but I do remember large, glaringly ugly photos of myself haunting me from their place on the drywall.

(Again, thanks mom.)

Oh yeah, there's a point to this story. Sorry.

I swore I would get your grandma back one day for the embarassment that she incurred me that night. And I can only apologize to you, my lovely, amazing, adorable, non-awkward daughter that you are going to be the vehicle for this revenge.

But all things, you see, are cyclic. And it's your own fault that you were naked on a table, with a pole, and bending to pick up your "gockie."

Ok, it's Scott's fault for having the camera and taking the photo. Let's keep the blame out of the family.

And don't worry...I won't blow this up to lifesize at your graduation party. I'll keep it a modest 8x10.



And if you ever decide to pole dance naked again, I will ground you. For life. From everything.

Hoping you choose another career,
~momma

Le Petit Prince

My daughter is not a princess. I may have mentioned this before, but in case you thought I was just being dramatic (because, okay, it's been known to happen) these photos should serve as further proof that for once, I'm not over-exaggerating. 

She never tried to kiss the toad.  She didn't imagine herself in a princess castle, imprisoned by an evil witch/stepmother/own mother/me just waiting for Prince Charming to come and rescue her.  

She carried it around the yard and giggled.  "Froggy toad!" she'd exclaim, full of glee and wonder and not even the least bit of grossed-out girlyness.  

Or so I'm told. 

I was at work.

I miss most of this stuff.

I tried to put her in a pink tutu on Saturday -- a futile attempt to revive the girly-girl within. She screamed. And howled. And tantrum-ed.  Until I put her in her green army shorts. 

I've officially learned my first lesson in letting your child be who they were born to be.

I'm sorry monsieur toad, you'll have to wait for NumberTwo for your chance at a magical transformation.

~A