Pillow talk and unclear words

You guys, I recently bought a colorful pillow. Not like one color, but multiple colors in ring shapes atop a white background. It was from an online shop, and I felt sure it'd springify our living room. 

Pillows make me happy. They suggest comfort and coziness, like, maybe a nap or stint on the couch reading the paper is in my near future. 

They are also low-stress accessories- relatively inexpensive, flexible ways to change the look of a room. 

So anyway, this pillow spoke to me, and I ordered it. And when it arrived I immediately said to myself: "Oliver will love this pillow. Tom will hate this pillow, and I'm not sure about Jack." 

That afternoon, when the boys got home, Oliver said, "Ooh, I LOVE that pillow so much and wish I could have it for my room."

Jack said, "You know, I really like that pillow too." 

I said, "Awesome, guys. I think Dad is gonna hate that pillow, so let's not say anything and see when he notices and what he thinks." I knew full well Tom would not notice the pillow anytime soon, because he is male and cannot see things that are right in front of him, like leftovers in the fridge. And this pillow.

The boys desperately wanted Tom to cast eyes on the colorful square and made every effort to direct his gaze.  

It finally worked and Tom said, "That is an unbelievably ugly pillow. I don't think I could hate a pillow more." At this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and the kids were guffawing to beat sixty, and Oliver was going on and on about how we should just put this pillow in his room. Tom was in hysterics over just how mind-numbingly ugly he finds the pillow.

And that is the end of that. #familylifehumor

What do y'all think? Maybe it is ugly. I do not care anymore because I can't return it, and it can always go to Ol.

Last week, when Oliver was sick, he and I were playing one of his favorite games: would you rather? Ol has his own version of WYR which is that he juxtaposes a "not in a million" with a "quite possibly" with priceless deadpan.

I don't know how he first decided to ask WYR questions, but it began during spring break in 2014. We were driving around California, and from the back seat a little voice asked, "Would you raver have a house full of money, or die?"

Everyone about fell out and answered, "house full of money."

"Would you raver have a house full of money or have to jump in lava?"
"Would you raver have a house full of money or two houses full of money?"

This game persisted delightfully for quite some time and then, sadly, fell out of favor. Last week, however, Ol asked me, "Would you raver die just aftuh being born or be mordahr?"

"Murder??? What??? Oliver, what?"

"No, MORdahr!"

"Murnal?"

"Mom, no, MORDAHR!"

Because you know, he just cannot say 'r's or 'th's for the love.What the fuck is MORDAHR? I wracked my brain. He looked amused.

"Ol, I am so sorry, but can you explain this word to me?"

"Like when you can't die."

"Oh, IMmortal."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

Stew-thinking about life online

I have recently been thinking a great deal about the internet age in which we find ourselves, in which my kids are growing up, and I am growing out.

On the one hand, while social media is often lots of fun and an excellent way to keep up with news and events as they unfold, it can also be vapid, cringe-inducing and an enormous waste of time. Others' perfectly curated, multi-filtered social media feeds can make even the most confident person pause with doubt and tremulously ask, "Shit, do I have it together at all?"

The flip side of that veneer, however, is the extraordinary depth underneath it. There thrives a world constrained by nothing but one's connection speed. It is a place to meet others with similar interests, to learn about alternate viewpoints, to grow and connect with people from all over.

I didn't understand this world until relatively recently. Just didn't know it was there I guess. Having grown up and lived my most formative years without email, smart phones and the omnipresent web, going online for friends and outlet and study wasn't something I thought an option.

My blog was my foray into the wired world, and my life there has deepened exponentially as I've become friends with readers, been inspired by other bloggers, taken a slew of classes and attended various writing conferences. 

What I've been so repeatedly struck by is the generosity, warmth, open and supportive natures of many I've met. Of course there are the standard jerkface, selfish people who roam among us, and no one gets along with everyone, but there is so much humanity out there, so much honesty and real care.

It's as if someone shook the picnic blankets on which all the old "villages" stood, tossing them to the far corners on capricious winds. And since that dissolution, people have been working their way back toward one another, finding new tribes and reconnecting with old ones along the way.

The internet has hastened these connections, has made possible what might otherwise be unimaginable. And in the meantime, it's offered new life, hope and promise to many. 

Personally, it's given me a space to develop and grow confident in my voice. It's shown me that what some may consider my weaknesses, others value and appreciate; that's been awfully liberating even though ages-old self-judgments are hard to shrug off. It's often made me feel less alone. It's as often helped me accept myself more thoroughly and to stand up for that self. It's enabled me to clearly distinguish between the sort of friends who are the most true and those who aren't; many of the good pals I am so fortunate to have are, in some way, related to the sense of self and community that has evolved since I entered the web. 

In short, a vibrant, rich, supportive life online has made my offline life better and clearer in countless ways. 

I have a friend who loathes the concept of the village. She understands the concept's appeal but just detests the name. I'm laughing as I write this because not only do I actually love the "village" construct but also because it cracks me up to think of her rolling her eyes when/if she reads this. 

Maybe I love it because I craved such a community or simply because I need a village as I make my way through this life. More often than not, I find life hard. Just plain difficult. I used to feel this was an enormous failure on my part, some horrid mutation that I was cursed by. But I yam who I yam, and even when I wish I were a lighter being, the relief that comes from accepting myself is incalculably huge. It's a long drink of ice water after trudging through the Mojave in July. 

I'm happy to have landed here.

A Different Sort of Mother's Day Wish

As tomorrow opens, many mothers will be awakened with cards and hugs, maybe even flowers or breakfast in bed. I myself am hoping for a warm latte and some sweet snuggles sometime after the ludicrously late hour of 8am. Also a bit of time alone.

There is a homemade gift from Oliver, wrapped simply and on the front table. He made it at school, and I suspect it may be a frame he decorated, with a photo of him smiling in the funny, Tweety Bird way he does when he's shy or posing.

I heard Jack and Tom speak in mysterious and hushed tones today, and my Dad casually bought a bouquet of flaming orange and happy yellow Gerber daisies while we were at the market earlier and placed them in a vase on my table once home.

I feel so grateful for those people who've made me a mom and celebrate me as such, and to them all I extend a hug of appreciative love: to my own mother and my grandmothers, but also to my aunts, sister and the other special women in my family. Those who have loved me in any sort of mom'ish way.

This year, I'd also like to issue a broader, deeper wish to all out there who are mothers in some way, who are mothered by others and who have chosen not to or cannot mother.

To me, maternal is to mother what catholic is to Catholic. It's an umbrella description that contains specific roles and identities but is more than those discrete entities.

Maternal are the older (than me) women I met while I was in college who loved and respected and watched over me despite a complete absence of familial connection between us. Donna and Julie and Marie come immediately to mind.

Maternal are the mothers of friends with whom I still correspond. The former teachers who've kept up with me, long after I left their classrooms for the last time (Abbey, Mrs. W, Mrs. R). The girlfriends without whom I simply don't know what I'd do (you know who you are, and I love you.) The writer friends I've not yet had the fortune to meet in person and also those I have (WWW, Muses). The foodie friends who know a side of me that not everyone does. The amazing cadre of people who take the time to read my blog and let me know that it means something to them.

Maternal too are those who recognize that even the happiest moms struggle sometimes and who acknowledge that as life and that it's ok. Those who simply love and show up.

Were I not mothered by all of you, I would not be nearly as happy or whole.

Today my heart goes out to all the people who have lost someone in the maternal realm: a child, a mother, both, more. My heart celebrates all those who are enormously happy but also those for whom such joy is harder to come by. I hope you are mothered today in a way that is meaningful and validating to you.

I hope that our country can start to recognize that our pitiful family leave and general maternity policies (like not making nursing and pumping easier) undermine the family ideal we exalt, and that taking away women's rights to make their own reproductive choices does the same. I hope that same sex couples soon have no barrier to adoption, surrogacy or insemination. I hope that more conversations can be had about the threads of connection that have unraveled in many of our communities, leaving more mothers feeling alone or lonely or misunderstood or self-loathing. 

I hope for all the moms and aunties and sisters and friends out there, who mother in different but important ways, that you are recognized and appreciated in some way on this Mother's Day. 

Love to all those who care for me and allow me to care for you back.