More Halloween!

   The second Halloween carnival was amazing! There were games, pony rides and great prizes!!

    We also made super unhealthy buttery Halloween cookies. They were amazing.

Halloweeeeeeen!

    Halloween is our favorite holiday. This year we are going as Jareth, The Goblin King, and two punk rock goblins. David Bowie is Flynn's muse, and we love us some 80's movies around here. Our copy of the Labyrinth is scratched as hell. The goblins were easy-peasy, but finding all the pieces for Jareth in Flynn's size was a bit more difficult. I think we rocked it out, and the kids looked awesome on their way to a Halloween carnival today.

Goblin King Makeup!! 

The coolest kids in town!!

So fierce!

Creepy cutie!

Goblin girls.

Werk!!

In his element!

You remind me of the babe....

The Halloween carnival was kind of lame.

There was a costume contest.

And none of the kids won :(

Goblin king don't care!!

So we walked to the local bakery for sugar.

Yum!

    Now we are getting our Goonies on, and getting ready for another hopefully-not-as-lame Halloween party. 

Happy Halloweeeeeen!!!

For Flynn (for now)...

For Flynn...

(for now)

My sweet baby boy, who will you be?

A writer of stories, a sailor of seas?

Will you climb craggy mountains, covered in snow?

What will you do? Where will you go?

Will you pilot an airplane and fly to strange lands,

With cinnamon smells, and shifting gold sands?

Will you travel to jungles, green viney and deep,

With tigery corners, and dark things that creep?

Will you find a kind woman and a simple, small home,

filled with a brightness of a child your own?

Will you build tall grey towers that pierce the clouds?

Whatever you do, you know I'll be proud.

I hold you, my angel, and can't understand,

how such a small spirit, with tiny, soft hands,

will grow in leaps and someday be,

A grown handsome man, much taller than me.

You've so much to do, and so much to see.

Sweet baby boy, who will you be?

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    Reading this, it seems like a perfectly reasonable poem for a son. But I don't think it's about you, Flynn, I don't. This is all that I could imagine, 21-year-old exhausted me, when I held you, screaming and crying, in my arms. This is all I could dream for you when I rocked you and tried not to go crazy from the colic, and noticed that, indeed, you were of the boy variety.

    But that's just so gray. I didn't know you. I didn't know about the COLOR in you.

    I didn't know about my Flynn. The dude. I didn't know about your love of all that sparkles, the gleam in your eye, your crazy-laugh. I didn't know about your sweet, sweet heart. I didn't know about the vermilion, chartreuse, cerulean, violet. I didn't. 

    I didn't know about your compassion, your strength, the burden you have of FEELING everything. I didn't know about your gem collection, the turquoise dragonflies in your desk drawer. The special way you have of complimenting me and making my day, the way you draw like geometry.

     I didn't know that you would spend evenings memorizing dance moves to your favorite songs, loving, loving, LOVING everyone and everything so much. I didn't know about your "sassy, sassy unicorn power." I didn't know about the lyrics and poetry in you.

    When I wrote your sisters' poems, I knew who they were. I knew about the magic in their hearts, or could imagine it blossoming. I knew about their vivid orchid, their crimson, their amber, their sapphire, their lime green, but I dreamed brown for you. I couldn't dream of an architect who painted, a sailor who sang. I couldn't dream of a pilot who was a ballroom dancer, a husband and father who played the sax at a jazz bar every Friday night. I couldn't imagine a grown, handsome man who was a poet, an artist, a colorful, brilliant, vibrant human being... but those are the dreams you deserve.

    I wrote that poem, I think, for some other momma's son. Someone else who isn't you, who isn't a rainbow of amazing colors. I dreamed gray dreams for an amaranth, sea green, lavendar, coral, indigo, tangerine boy, and sweetheart, I'm sorry. I had no imagination.

    But most of all, I am sorry that I dreamed YOUR dreams for you. When I imagined raising a boy, I had no idea of the power of your spirit, the color in your soul. I imagined a Christopher Robin..... and I got a Ziggy Stardust.

    But buddy, that one line, I'm willing to stand behind that one line, "Whatever you do, you know I'll be proud." Because, know what?? I already am.

For Poppy...

For Poppy

My faery-light child.

My sweet, small girl.

With ocean-green eyes,

and sunshine-bright curls.

You're the white-quiet of snow.

The first day of Spring.

The blue-black feathers,

of the small birds that sing,

in shady dark places.

The smell of damp grass,

The honking of geese in the night,

as they pass.

You're the tickle of sunlight,

upon bare knees.

The sound of night winds,

as they whip through tall trees.

The sigh of a newborn,

in an innocent sleep.

The crisp-green of a frog,

in a joyous mid-leap.

You're the sound of the rain,

in a late Summer storm,

as it bathes August dust,

so cleansing and warm. 

The feel of each drop,

on freckled, round cheeks.

An old rocking chair,

that cradles and creaks.

You're the sound of the ocean,

and Christmas light twinkles.

Birthday cake covered fingers,

pink frosting and sprinkles.

The smell of old books,

and crayon scribbled art.

The crunch of an apple,

sweet, juicy and tart.

You're rolling, white clouds.

A field full of corn.

You're the mewing of kittens,

that have just been born.

You're my moonlight eyes child.

My dear Poppy girl.

With a morning-sun smile,

and marigold curls.

For Avalon....

For Avalon

My sweet little bird,

my mermaid song.

Small of size,

iron strong.

Blackberries and bluejays,

gray dew on green grass.

The rainbow glow shadows,

soft light through stained glass.

The strength of a sparrow,

in January's cold.

Tall September sunflowers,

swaying ochre and gold.

My happy thought, 

as I drive home to you.

Something silly you said,

a picture you drew.

You're the warm light of October,

flashing through tall pines,

The way the sea sparkles,

when Summer sun shines.

You're the smell of wood smoke,

and bright, brisk, blue air.

A basket of apples.

A juicy green pear.

You're a doe in the morning,

standing mighty, eyes soft.

The calm fall of a feather,

that the wind held aloft.

Raindrops on blush petals,

like silver filigree.

The wind in your hair.

The wind in the trees.

You're the knowing that comes,

from a battle that's won.

When it's easy to let go,

you're the hold on.

You're a Christmas morning,

the rush downstairs.

The warm embrace,

of an old teddy bear.

My Avalon angel-wing,

clementine-sweet.

Easter baskets and trick-or-treat.

You're the shine in the smile,

the squeeze in the hug,

My daisy-chain princess.

My little ladybug.

Enough

    Not Enough sits like a cold pebble in an empty stomach. It wraps around the sun like a coiled serpent, scales whispering lies, choking the warmth out of every drop of light. Not Enough crushes every endeavor under it's heel like a seedling. It reassures me, "better never to grow at all, than to grow as twisted, as stunted, and mangled as you will surely make it...YOU are not enough to make anything."

    Not Enough walked beside me. Long as my shadow. Dark as the night. Forever beside me, as long and as far back as I can remember. Not Enough perched right behind my ear and taught me that I was just like it, that I was born to fail, that I was born to be quiet and gray, I was born to be stagnant and stilted.

    Not enough held my hand when my children were born, smiling a fangy smile, leering over the hospital bed, claws in my palm. As I screamed in pain, Not Enough whispered that I would surely fail this too. Not Enough whispered that every decision I made was the wrong one, that everything I did would corrupt, would harm, would be Not Enough. Every blessing I tried to give would be gray algae, every triumph I attempted to impart would be muted, distorted, rotten.
 
    I knew that others had Enough, and that I had once had it too. I knew that my Enough was forgotten, sad, misplaced. I knew that MY Enough was pathetic, waiting, wasting away. Dead?

    A child came to me in the nighttime and whispered "Momma, I am Not Enough.".... My child whispered this into my ear and my heart filled with terror. No. NO! Not you, precious one, sweet of heart, small of size. I cannot give this to you. I threw off my blankets and tore apart my house, searching for Enough, long into the night. I knew that it was somewhere. I knew that I had it to give to the ones who I NEEDED to give it to..... and in order to give something, you must HAVE something. Frantically, sobbing and shaking, I found it in the corner, cold as a coal. Waiting.

    I breathed into Enough with the fire of the anguish of a thousand friendships never made. It sat in my palms, still icy, my hands trembling. I breathed into Enough with the rage of a lifetime of days spent not trying hard enough AND trying too hard. I breathed into Enough with the sobs of everything I had ever missed, and forgotten and let go, because I WAS NOT ENOUGH. I breathed into Enough with the thought (how dare I?) that I might be worth it... that I was strong enough to give Enough.

    Enough began to glow. Enough's glow began to grow and the warmth spread into my hands. Not dead after all, it spun, just there. I swallowed Enough, and it sat like warm stew in my stomach, the warmth spread through every part of me, soft as the morning, strong as a brown hawk. The warmth spread though every part of me in a happy tickle-laugh and burst out of my fingertips in the rainbow glow of BEING ENOUGH. Enough illuminated every corner of my being with technicolor. Enough poured out of me and wrapped around the shoulders of three precious people, heads the color of tall grass in August, freckles on noses and cheeks, eyes the color of the Pacific. It wrapped them up. Enough wrapped around us all like a quilt.

    Not enough whispered in a dark corner of the room. I listened, breathed, I breathed Enough. I walked toward Not Enough, I held out my arms. I took Not Enough in my arms. I held it, sobbing, I forgave. I whispered "You are wrong. You have always been enough. YOU are Enough."