reflection

4:45 a.m.

I beat my alarm clock by nearly an hour this morning. I'm in a rhythm. It's become routine.

In the pitch black of my bedroom, I stumbled toward the bathroom sink to wash the sleep from my face. At some point, I expected to see my reflection as the woman behind the mirror came into focus; instead, my mother approached.

Within moments, we were face to face. I looked deep into her eyes, and eventually I realized they were my own.

I have aged.

Not in a bad way, just in reality.

I suppose I look past my reflection most of the time. I glaze over my face... yep, that's me, still 16 or 21 or 25... And then, I go on with my day.

This morning, I saw myself. Nearly 31.

This morning, I saw a woman staring back at me. Her story is written in the lines on my face. Although I've known it in my head for years, this morning, my heart realized that the girl I once was will never be again. I am more like my mother than I am like my daughter.

It's thrilling and totally absurd all at once.

I'm a woman. A woman.

Holy crap.

precious three

Let me show you something...

Yep, you guessed it! Those are mine.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, I know. It's only because I love you that you get to see what I saw this morning when I stopped long enough in the whirlwind of my week and finally looked down. I actually had flip flops on... (Yes, I KNOW).

This is the answer to that question I keep hearing lately: "Where have you been?"

I've been busy - acclimating to my new reality. Relearning life in some ways. I'm trying to remain calm, grounded, balanced and present in midst of the currents pulling and pushing me in many new directions. Some days I float; others, I may very well drown. But on most days, my head is above water, and I'm treading: Immersing. Purging. Prioritizing. Reprioritizing. Reading, writing, rereading, rewriting and then reading and writing some more. I've put on some new hats. I've parted with others. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with a few.

Especially telling is the fact that I haven't found (or made) the three spare minutes it takes to remove my old toenail polish. Instead, I've devoted those precious minutes elsewhere. I feel like I've been doing a lot of that lately. It's been good. It's been necessary, but good Lord, LOOK AT MY TOES!!!!

Somehow a month went by, and then finally, by the grace and mercy of God, I paused long enough to SEE. I soaked it in. I listened and heard the faint cries...

HHHHEEELLLLPPPP... Someone... ANYONE. Groom us. Trim us. Polish us... Slow down for three minutes... PLEEEEASE... SAVE US!

"I think I need to blog about this," I whispered back.

So tonight, here I am... writing. Not a paper. Not a lesson plan. Not a case study. Not a check. Not a response to an email (I'm still working on that), not your late birthday card (yeah, eventually, I'll get to that too)... just a post on my blog about my toenails.

My three minutes (and then some) are gone; they were three minutes well spent. Perhaps I'll go take off my polish now.

manna

Some time last night, I paused and felt the weight of our world. It's been tough. I've been stretched. I've been pushed, pressed, and in the depths of me - down deep beneath the surface - I feel tired.

It's not getting easier.

Right now, we are supposed to be camping. Needless to say, we're not. Holding. Waiting. More waiting. It was the right decision... again. Still, that doesn't make it any easier.

"Give us today our daily bread..." the simplest, yet most profound of requests. It has meant more to me lately than ever before. And You have. You have.

"There is a light... that shines in the darkness..." the words resounded in my ears as you met me before the sun.

Today, YOU were my bread. YOU were sufficient. You are.

Thank you for my run. Thank you for my oatmeal. Thank you for our morning. Thank you for our adventure. Thank you for my journey. Thank you for your mercies.

Thanks for today.

dream girl

Six or Eight months back, my sister (whom I adore) went on a rant... a tirade, really. She was hot, she was impassioned, she was utterly disgusted - about the hype, about the press, about a movie: "Dreamgirls."

When the Golden Globe and Academy Award nominations came out, she was flabbergasted. When Jennifer Hudson took home the Globe and the Oscar for her supporting role, Folayo was annoyed. And perhaps one of the most satisfying moments for my sister of early 2007 was when "Dreamgirls" didn't get an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture (alright, I'm exaggerating slightly, but the point is that she abhorred this movie, and I have heard about it several times since the beginning of the year).

You'll never guess what arrived in my mailbox in a thin red envelope just in time for the weekend...

Heeding my sister's advice, Paul and I opted against seeing "Dreamgirls" in the theater. Nonetheless, I still wanted to see the movie that had polarized so many moviegoers (and families). "You either love it or you hate it," was the word on the street. So Saturday night, after the kids went down, Paul and I plopped on the couch and braced ourselves...

Folayo and I just got off the phone. We chatted for a while about this and that, and then came the moment of truth. It was time to drop the bomb on her: Paul and I REALLY enjoyed this movie. Needless to say that she was speechless!

In my opinion, Dreamgirls was a spectacle. It was big. It was huge. It was cheesy, yes, but it was stage on screen. It was a musical for goodness sakes - a good one! Yes, it had all the makings of a disaster - Jamie Foxx AND Beyonce - but they were easy to look past. I even remember thinking how much more I preferred Beyonce as Deena than as herself. I loved many of the characters. I appreciated the colors, the choreography and the costumes. I thoroughly enjoyed the music. I was blown away by so many of the vocal performances. I really, REALLY liked... no LOVED this movie.

Twenty minutes in, I remember thinking: "so far so good." Forty-five minutes in, I kept wondering when the bad part was coming. Then after about an hour, Jennifer Hudson rocked my world with one of the best five minutes of performing I have EVER seen on screen (THAT GIRL CAN SING!)

I was entertained, enthralled - totally and thoroughly hooked. I had a lump in the back of my throat and tears streaming down my face when the picture ended (in spite of Jamie Foxx), and I even seriously considered watching it again last night before I sent it back today. It was two hours and ten minutes of my life that I don't want back - two and one-sixth hours well spent. My only regret as far as "Dreamgirls" is concerned is that we didn't fork over the 20 bucks to see it on the big screen.

Pardon the thump. That would be my sister dropping out of her chair to the floor.

I would definitely contend that "Dreamgirls" was one of the best pictures of last year (better than "The Departed," in my opinion), and I wholeheartedly agree that Jennifer Hudson EARNED her Oscar. She was incredible! She rocked that role, owned the screen, carried the cast and her voice literally took my breath away. Not only would I watch "Dreamgirls" again, but I would buy the soundtrack and gladly fly to New York to see it on stage!

Oh that? Yeah, that would be Folayo gagging and dry-heaving.

I suppose this film had no where to go but up, with the Folayo-imposed expectations I had for it. Why am I surprised?!?! Despite the fact that we get along so well and she cracks me up like NO ONE else can, in so many ways, my sister and I are yin and yang. She's 5'10 (+), I'm 5'4 (-). She's an extrovert, I'm an introvert. She's big picture, I'm details. She's a character - witty and sarcastic, drama and sarcasm are pretty much wasted on me. She the youngest, I'm the oldest. She's sassy and single, I'm married with children.

She's the life of the party...

...I'd rather stay home.

She's Folayo, I'm Abi. We have agreed to heartily disagree.

While she was in town a couple weeks ago, Folayo gave Paul and I tickets to go see "Once" at the Landmark Theatre before the end of the summer. Her words at the end of our conversation this afternoon went something like, "If you don't like this movie... we are no longer sisters."

I have a feeling I may be in the market for a new sibling.

a blip

This is Betty, one of Paul's business town cars...

This is how we found her earlier this morning...

I'm sorry, but WHO DOES THIS?!?!?

When I got over the initial shock that someone with nothing better to do on a Friday night happened to stop at my house and chose my husband's shiny black car, as the canvas on which to vomit vulgarity in silver spray paint, I was bummed, then angry.

"Why would one do this? HONESTLY. Who is the despicable jackass who has such little regard for others, no bearing outside of himself, no concept of submission, reverence, consideration or even a shred of common decency? HONESTLY?!?! Who is the arrogant coward who has the audacity to behave so maliciously or perhaps flippantly, in either case, SO disrespectfully?"

Whoever he or she or they may have been weren't considering my husband, my children, my neighbors or me. They weren't considering the fact that this was one of the first Saturdays in months that my husband didn't have to work - that he actually got to relax a little and sleep in - that we made plans to spend the day as a family. There was no regard for the fact that this car is literally a vehicle by which we put food on our table, clothes on our backs and that this unexpected expense is not really one for which we have extra time, room, resource or energy. He or she or they never stopped to think that this "good time" would rob peace from my neighbor's sunny Saturday morning as she shook her head in disbelief pondering - even if just for a moment - the safety and security of our neighborhood. Or did he or she or they think of how it might pierce my husband's heart - even just for a moment - to have "f*** you" be some of the first words written into his life this morning... or how it would break my heart to see a seed of sadness in the eyes of this man I adore when he asked me, "What did I do?"... or how my daughter would experience genuine disappointment as her daddy was heading out the door and she said, "I thought you were going to have breakfast with us today, Dadda."

Well, whoever you are, in spite of your disregard for me, for my family, for my neighbor, for my neighborhood, for my day, for my property (I could go on)... I'm done with you, and I'm moving on.

We're over it, and we're over you.

The paint will come off, your worthless words will be washed away and your miserable life will continue apart from ours. This post is almost over, which means that you are an all-but-forgotten blip on our radar. You will not steal another precious moment from any of us.

I'm going to go enjoy the rest of the day with my family.

blogged

Not sure how it happens so fast, but I'm back-logged... I'm blogged once again.

At least ten posts are dancing around my brain, and somehow, they need to find there way down to my finger tips or off my camera. In time.

It's been a BUSY few weeks. The pace is a lot faster and fuller than I'd typically care for, but lots of GOOD stuff is going on. I told Paul earlier tonight that I just feel eager and excited when I think about life . Opportunities and possibilies are endless. I feel genuinely delighted when I stop to think and to process. It's a good place to be.

How are YOU?

My students just left a bit ago. Class 4 in my Bradley series. I LOVE this class. It's comprised of three totally intriguing, totally diverse couples... each investing time, resource and self to become aware and informed participants... PARENTS (rather than passengers) in childbirth. I still can't believe I get to do this. I get to be a part of something so sacred - over and over again. Tonight was sweet. It was tender. It was funny It was inspiring. It was awesome.

It's 10:35 now, and I'm sleepy. 9+ posts are still stewing, brewing and waiting to be born. Not tonight... ah well.

Nah-night.