week 3 // you are my wild

This week:

Fiona makes a time portal behind the shed.  Well, three actually.  The time portal seen here, just beyond that door, was a non-stop to the Jurassic Period.  Enter at your own risk.  (No really.  Enter the chicken poop-filled shed at your own risk.)  The second portal, the one next to the fence, behind the saggy magnolia tree, next to where the dirty pool water drains out (oh my), still had a few kinks to work out.  But when in operation, I would've traveled back to the days of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods.  Or as Fiona has coined that era the "Back Then".  And the last portal, the one which she could barely contain her excitement over was a gift to me and her father.  It required boots and crawling under limbs and gingerly wading through knee high kudzu to find, but it was so worth the effort.  We were about to travel back to (and I quote), "A garden somewhere fancy with roses and those bushes that are shaped like animals.  And when you guys get there, walk straight down the brick path, until you find a park bench made out of gold.  That's your park bench.  For you guys to sit on and talk or kiss if you'd like.  I thought you guys needed a date."

That's my girl.  Filled with wonder and an imagination she can barely contain, but equally observant in the here & now... she knew her mother and father were in need of a date.  Even if it meant time travel/ breaking & entering into the queen's gardens.

You will also find adventures of the backyard, belly, black & white, bed jumping, toe painting, snowy, noodle, airport, pool, and glorious color variety here.  I promise to stop saying how amazing I think these photographers are one day.  And their blogs are pretty great too.

katie dimoff
brooke schwab
jessica kraus
klodjana dervishi
rebecca zeller
meaghan curry
tara whitney
rebecca conway
kelsey gerhard
ryan marshall
shelby brakken
anje marie
isabel furie

things that matter.

"Today was the 100th day of school, and my teacher gave each of us 100 honey nut cheerios.  The bag was THIS big."

week two // you are my wild

This wardrobe has seen a few things.

My dad built this in 1987, a year after my brother was born.  We lived in a log cabin, placed comfortably in the piney woods of (then) rural Georgia.  My mom and dad (with the help of my uncles also) built the modest but cozy home a year before I was born in 1980.  At that time, we had a little pot bellied stove between the dining and living room- our only source of heat for many years.  We had no doors on any of the bedrooms upstairs, and you had to remember to bend down when getting out of bed lest you bump your head on a slopey ceiling.  3 out of my 4 bedroom walls were made from what appeared to be large Lincoln Logs- small carvings and drawings inscribed on the places where the logs met the discreet side of my bedframe... things that needed to be written like, "Dera sleeps here" or "I love Gus" (our old dog) and who knows what else.

I clearly remember everything about the years when my brother was very little.  I recall having frequent nightmares that brought me into his room and crawling under his crib, needing to hear his little baby breaths in order to make me feel better and fall asleep.  I was fiercely protective of him at that age (even with our cousins and my own grandparents), but grew out of it when he was old enough to wreak havoc on my super-serious-uh-ma-gah teenage life.  This wardrobe was a very practical piece then.  It was a storage solution in a house with very few closets.  It held an array of baby blue baby clothes in the beginning, and before long it hung tee shirts with superheros' faces.  Baskets with matchbox cars were contained in there.  Then action figures.  And in no time, it would hold my brother's collection of paintball paraphernalia (it was rural Georgia in the '90's after all).  This was about the time that I exited for college.

When I graduated from college and married Terry, we began renting a loft in Atlanta.  Although entirely different from the warmth of my childhood home (or from the nasty dorms and apartments of my college days), the loft was similar in that there were no closets and there were plenty of places to bump your head, if not careful.  I inherited my brother's childhood wardrobe.  It held a tv for a minute.  Then a computer.  Then baby clothes (here comes Fiona!).  I loved having a memory of baby Joey with us so much that it has even followed us here.

Now, in our current home, we have enough closets (something I never thought I'd say), and tvs and computers aren't 30" deep like they used to be.  We don't play paintball (thank goodness), and I'm pretty sure my brother has no intention of hauling this big heavy thing up to his apartment in Brooklyn. So it sits here, in our bedroom.  A getaway of sorts.  And to only one.  My little introvert, Fiona.  When Neve is in one of her talking-at-you moods, Fiona quietly grabs her comic and slips away.  We all need a place like this, right?

Compared to the old world stories of many antiques sitting in parlors or antique shops around the world, this wardrobe is pretty fresh and uninteresting.  But it holds a few of my stories.  And it's making more with my children.

(Check out the other 13 amazing photos by the other photogs here.)

Jenya ruined the day

I meet Terry and the girls for dinner after work last night.

Bellies full, Fiona rides home with me in my car, while Neve keeps Terry company in his car.

I begin making small talk.

Me: "So did you have a good day with Daddy and Neve?"

Her: "Yeah."

{pause}

"Except..."

Me: "What?"

Her: "Except I cant stop thinking about Jenya, the mammoth.  Wooly Mammoth."

Me: "_______?_______." 

Her: "Do you know about Jenya, Mom?"

Me: "No.  I don't know what you're talking about.  Did something happen today?"

Her: "No.  Not today.  It's just science in school."

Me: "Oh.  And you can't stop thinking about what you learned?"

Her: "Yes.  But especially Jenya."

Me: "Who is Jenya?"

Her: "The wooly mammoth they found in... Florida, I think.  Or maybe Russia."

Me: "Oh, and his name is Jenya?"

Her:  "Yes.  And that's what's bothering me."

Me: "What?  His name?"

Her: "Jenya is a good name, I guess."

Me: "Fi, you're going to have to help me out.  What is bothering you in particular then?"

Her, completely serious and in earnest: "It's just... I don't like when scientists name dead things.  It... it makes me... uncomfortable."

Me: "I see."

neve vs. the lunch lady

{ the day before christmas holiday }

Neve: "Mom, can you buy a present for me to bring to Mrs. Jenkins tomorrow?"

Me: "Who is Mrs. Jenkins?"

Neve: "The lunch lady.  I don't think she likes me."

Me: "Why doesn't she like you?  Who doesn't like a first grader?"

Neve: "I don't know!  She just looks at me like this {she makes a face with flared nostrils and curled lip} and says in a sassy voice, 'hey Neve'."

As it turns out, I did not buy Mrs. Jenkins a gift at 9:30pm, the night before the last day of school of 2012.  In fact, I stopped thinking about Mrs. Jenkins altogether, as well as whatever dysfunctional relationship she may or may not have with my daughter.  Mrs. Jenkins is but one of the many people Neve believes to have a shit list with her own name on it after all.  And I can't afford to pay off all of these people.

* * *

{ yesterday }

Neve: "Mom, Mrs. Jenkins likes me again."

Me: "Good.  What changed?"

Neve: "I don't know, but now she's just nicer.  She laughed when she told me to bring her money tomorrow.  Oh yeah, and can you give me money to give to her?  For tomorrow?"

Me: "Huh?  Money for what?  I pack you a lunch everyday.  What specifically did she say?"

Neve: "She said, 'you better bring me some money tomorrow, Neve.'  But I think she was kidding.  I think was teasing that she wants my allowance or something."

Me: "No.  Nope.  Things aren't adding up.  Are you buying a lunch in addition to the lunch I pack for you?"

Neve: "No!  I stopped doing that a long time ago when Mrs. Jenkins told me it wasn't free!  I just get milk now."

Me: "Neve!  I give you a bottle of water everyday!  Why are you getting milk?  Milk costs money!"

Neve: "Oh no, it doesn't cost anything.  I just grab one and walk back to my seat... you know, if I'm thirsty for chocolate milk."

Me, trying not to laugh: "You've been stealing milk, Neve.  For a long time.  Everyday?"  I begin doing quick math in my head and remember there's also the unaccounted lunches for who-knows-how-long.

Neve: {just nodding}

Terry, overhearing our exchange: "I'm writing Mrs. Jenkins a letter now.  And I'll put money in the envelope."

Fiona, overhearing our exchange, laughing: "Ewww... I've never been thirsty for milk."

* * *

you are my wild

I'm so excited to be a part of such an amazing idea.  Once a week (Tuesdays) for a year, a group of photographers will be posting portraits of their children here (I've also posted the link on the side).  They are a very talented group, so I'm quite flattered to be joining them.  I'm most excited about watching our kids grow over the course of the year together.

Week One:

snap & yap

Me: "What's wrong?"

Her: "I don't know.  School."

Me: "But your report card was great!"

Her: "I know, but I- I just want to be homeschooled again."

Me: "I know you do.  But can you think of a few good things about being in this school?"

Her: "No.  The food is gross, I don't like the bathrooms, and the boys stink."

Me: "But at least there ARE boys.  At home, the only boys are dad and the cat."

Her: "Those are my favorite boys!  Homeschool!"

found & given

My cousin, Rachel, recently moved to Brooklyn from Atlanta to do the things someone her age should be doing...

but I miss her.

Before she moved, she gave me the best Christmas gift.  It made me cry actually.  It was a beautiful porcelain footed bowl, and inside was this...

a photo of my grandma and grandpa, dated May 1966.

I know that this was taken minutes before my grandfather boarded a boat to sail to Sicily.  He was going on an extended trip to visit his uncles, cousins, and other family members he hadn't seen in years.  I'm sure my grandmother was sad (and scared- "don't leave me with these kids!"), despite her lovely smile.

Rachel and I are "related" by virtue of the fact that her grandparents and my grandparents were the best of friends and housemates for years.  We're not really cousins at all, but we grew up thinking we were (and as far as I'm concerned, we are.)  She found this photo of my grandparents in her grandparents' old photo collection, and thought to give it to me.  Perhaps it was Aunt Diana or Uncle Lou who took the photo?

She's moving back to the very same stomping grounds in which they all lived together, half a century ago.  It's all so wonderful.

Old photos get me weird and bleary eyed.  What?  Who's cuttin' onions in here?

Winter Tuesday

After the long holiday break, we're all having a hard time adjusting to:
1 early mornings (6:00am, I will never like you)
2 homework (so much homework!)
3 short cold days (less park-going than usual)
4 and back to boring weekday food (rice & beans... yes, again.)

But fires are good.
And soup helps.
And an early bedtime never hurt anyone.
I should really embrace these winter days.

Happy Tuesday to you.

the spirit of mildred

My dad's mom... her name was Mildred.
In her later years, she measured in at a few inches under 5' (and her posture was not bad).
She weighed about 95 lbs for as long as I can remember.  I know this because she was willing to share this information with whomever was willing to listen.  And often.
She made a living as a hairdresser, but more so as an entrepreneur.  At the height of her career, she owned 5 salons throughout the Atlanta area.  And what's more, she achieved this at a time when very few women were doing such things.  I credit her with the epic bangs I donned in the mid '80's.
She was a staunch believer in the cotton bra.  Years before I needed one, she would warn me of the dangers of unsheathed bosoms.  "And they oughta breathe!"  (She loved that cotton.)
She was the greatest gardener/landscaper I've ever known.  If I have a green thumb, she had a green hand and arm.  Her yard looked like the Botanical Gardens.  It was not unusual for us to see all 4'10" of her with ax in hand, in the midst of giving some ole pesky ugly tree what it had comin' to him.  She would eventually die in her garden.  And as sad as it sounds, I don't think any other place would have been more fitting.
She had impecable taste.  Every piece of furniture was a mid-century classic, and bought only a few years after they were designed.  She took such pride in her home and her things- truly a woman ahead of her time.  After she passed, I was fortunate enough to inherit most of these pieces.  And now, as I drink coffee at her table or write a letter at her desk or play a record in her media cabinet, I feel a true connection to her.  Sadly, I feel even more connected to her now than I did when she was alive.  If only I could go back and do things over...

Not long ago, I had the opportunity to share some of my memories of her with my kids.

I recall long bored summer days.  Her and my grandpa shared land with our family, her mid-century ranch positioned "up the hill and through the woods" from our (big contrast) log cabin.  On such days, I would wander up to see her, and inevitably wind up playing with the small but oddly marvelous time capsule of toys, hiding in the back of her closet.  As I grew older, and as the toys would hold less intrigue for me, I began to notice the wardrobe I was sitting under more and more.  Mink coats, fox stoles, hand sequined dresses and vintage suits that seemed too spectacular to be sequestered to the back of an otherwise unremarkable closet in rural Georgia.  These were the garments of the kinds of people who lived in cities and did fun things at night.  This was wardrobe of the fancy- not people who talked about cotton bras and chopped down trees.  These were the thoughts of a younger me in those years that I began to suspect my grandmother's past or possible dual life.

The older I get, the more I realize how amazing and special she was.  Seeing my girls play with those same coats and clothes of her wardrobe that I used to play with made me very happy.

back track

In October (the 5th to be exact), Terry and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary.

I've known this wonderful guy for 14 years, and we spent almost all of our married time having or hatching children.  I barely remember the me without him.  And I love that.

In honor of the occasion, we went (with kids in tow) up to Boone, Blowing Rock, and Asheville, North Carolina.  I had no idea that it would become a place I'd fall in love with...

Mast General Store.

Fiona's first slingshot.

I was about to take their photo when we heard gunshots in the not-too distant distance.
This led to this great discussion:

Them: "That's such a sad sound."
Me: "Well then, why don't we become vegetarians if you don't like the ideas of animals  being killed?"
Them: "Yes!  Let's be vegetarians!"
Me: "Okay, but you know that also includes bacon."
Neve: "Wellllll, it's not like heaven is a BAD place..."

Christmas tree farm country.

This area was home to many amazing people throughout history: Doc Watson,  Daniel Boone, Annie Oakley, and the beautiful Cherokee nation to name a few.

Blowing Rock, where Cherokee legends run deep.

Them.

Peeking in old barn windows.

I bought some yummy yarn off the backs of these ladies.

I think he was expecting a larger cup of coffee.

My family, heads in the clouds, on the far left...

Like living in a Gerhardt Richter painting.

My heart aches to leave Atlanta sometimes.  This was one of those times.  We're so glad we brought the girls along, as unromantic as it sounds... And being with him, without the interruption of all the other daily tasks we get so wrapped up in at home, was just what I needed.  I love you, Terrence.