Sunday, September 26, 2010

An Open-Ended Apology..

To the man at Dunkin Donuts who forgot to put the pumpkin in my pumpkin spice coffee. I realize my reaction may have been a little extreme & I may have looked at you like I might kill you- but that coffee is like a little cup of sunshine & sometimes, it's the only lifeline I've got to get me through a 12 hour day....

To Mowgli, my aunt & uncle's cat. Grace may or may not have accidently eaten a few pieces of your cat food. She cried hysterically immediately following and I'd like to think they were tears of remorse as opposed to tears of whattheheckisinmymouthrightnowewwwGROSS....

To the people of the seacoast, who are concerned for my sanity when they see my amazing (read: ridiculously foolish) dance moves that I bust out in my Toyota Camry. I assure you I have an adorable toddler who is jammin' out in the backseat also- you just can't see her & sometimes I forget... 

To all the birds at Mimi & Grandpa's bird feeders. You now say "woof woof" instead of "tweet tweet". Grace Margaret Cayer has deemed it so & she's not budging. Hope you're ok with your new identity. 

To my classmates, who wonder what the heck I am doing when I switch pens two or three times during a lecture. I have this obsessive need to find the "right" pen...and yes I'm aware it makes me look like I may be in your class on a day pass from the loony bin...

To Advanced Audiology, Voice Disorders and Dysphagia....I know I haven't been giving you the attention you probably deserve, but I'm just not that into you..

To anyone who I watch football with, as I'm often found shouting obscenities at various players on my fantasy team. Yep, I'm that person now...


To Jennifer Leary...who has been putting up with my foolishness which includes but is definitely NOT limited to: frequently yelling at her husband about my fantasy team, forgetting to tell her my child has a full body rash when she picks her up a daycare, calling her cell phone 5 times in a row because I need her RIGHT NOW...

To any parents I may have given a look when their child was throwing a fit at: a restaurant, a grocery store, Target..I now know how first hand how devastating it is when your wicked witch of a mother takes away the lemon you have been "sniffing" (aka slobbering all over) so she can pay for the darn thing that she doesn't even need. Traumatic and totally rational... 

To MY parents...have I given you enough props lately for...I don't know...not killing me? There are just some things you can't appreciate about your parents until you are one. 

To Andrew, for Becky & I laughing so hard and so loud during Modern Family this week, and then repeating all the funny lines at double the volume in case one of us missed it.  I'm pretty sure that you got ZERO sleep. Seriously though..can you blame us?

To Gracie, I know you may be feeling a bit like a trained circus performer. But you do SO many cool things, like holding your nose when something stinks or making a ridiculous wrinkly nose face when someone asks you to smile or knowing where you feet are- I just want to show it off to everyone we meet. Mama is just so proud of you- and this will probably continue to embarrass you for the rest of your life. My bad. 


Happy Sunday :)

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

the fragment file

I have started to write three or four blog entries over the last few weeks & then have left them hanging, unfinished and vulnerable.  Nothing has grabbed me, thrust me forward and allowed my fingers to fly across the keyboard. 


I've been suffering from a big ol' case of writers block. 


This lead me to examine my whole "process". Writing isn't something I think about. Writing is something that creeps up on me. Words are whispered in my ear....fragments of sentences slide into my head while doing the most mundane of tasks- washing the dishes, driving to the grocery store, while I'm in the shower. Gently at first and then suddenly forceful, as if they must make a powerful and immediate escape. 


But then what? What comes after those sneaky slivers? 



Sometimes, they materialize into something bigger. Sometimes, I come up with something great to post. More often, they sit & simmer..alone. I have an entire file dedicated to them on my computer, a composition notebook beside my bed. The fragment file...


An absence has a shape as particular and as detailed as a presence...


and he bounded out of the boys bathroom with a "heyyyyyy" and wrapped his arms around my leg and went on to explain to me how he had originally mistaken the dinosaur on his sweater to be a train but the realized it was in fact a tyrannosaurus rex but that I shouldn't worry because it wasn't a real dinosaur, they only live on tv. 


like when you drunkenly slurred to me over a game of Gold Edition Monopoly that I was a jerk because I made you really like me and I never told you that I really liked you too, I just smiled. And to this day I wish I had said it right then instead of laughing cooly at you & telling myself you didn't know what you were saying because you were drunk and now the smell of alcohol reminds me of your kiss. 


You loved oatmeal raisin cookies. Although I learned to appreciate them- I often found myself wondering what business fruit, particularly strangely wrinkled raisins, had nestled within a delicious cookie. This is often how I felt around you. We fit, our flavors and styles were often complementary, depending on your taste & the situation- but I never quite belonged. 




The hostess of your own, secret party. Precocious, possessive, unafraid to push an 80 pound dog out of your way. Overwhelmingly gracious to any adult that walks in the room, gazing at them with your denim-colored eyes, a sly smile betraying your shy nature. 









Fall came. Leaves fell slowly from the trees, disentangling themselves from the branches where they sat shivering as the heat faded. Cold enough for sweaters but not yet right for wrapping yourself in scarves and gloves and losing yourself in a good book and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 
And you were gone.
And so was I. 
Gone was the girl who did what others expected of her. The girl who was so worried, who cried about nothing, who made herself sick with her worry and her unhappiness and what it all might mean. You chased her away. With your silly carelessness. With your intoxicating laughter. With your intoxicated kiss. With your inability to promise me anything remotely close to stability. Stability was all I knew and nothing that I thought I wanted. 


The whip-crack of pain, of giving yourself over to everything your body knows instinctually how to do. The pain then suddenly being replaced with cries, cries of finding your voice and finding yourself in a brand new place, bright and white and stark. Pain replaced instantly with an unbelievable overwhelming love. Wrapped up on me,  in me. I feel not like we are meeting for the first time, but reuniting after a long absence. 



There are pages more where these came from. 

And surprisingly...I often wonder- do I really consider myself a writer? Yes I write. But I write like someone else might play recreational soccer- it doesn't make them David Beckham. I write like someone might sing karaoke on a Wednesday night at a slightly seedy bar- because they love it, because it makes them happy, because they've had a few too many long island iced teas. I talk about writing a best-selling novel and buying myself a beach house. But is my dream tied up in the writing...or in having a place in the sand to call my own?

I try not to take writing too seriously- because I'm afraid if I do, it will lose some of it's magic. Some of the release, the euphoria of something finished, of creating something I'm proud of, it will get lost in severity and sobriety and seriousness. 

So will I ever be a true writer? Or even understand what that means? Who knows. But for now, the fragment file keeps growing.... 
  and this little lady keeps me smiling...
trying out our squishy faces at the beach...



Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Back to reality...


After a fabulous, rejuvenating weekend- the kind full of s'mores and margaritas and laughter and campfires...
I am back to reality. The reality of classes and proving yourself to a new clinical supervisor and trash days and piles of laundry. 

How often do I wish for another reality?
How often do I have these conversations inside my own head:

I wish there was more time. In an hour. A day. A month. Think of the magnificent things I could do with MORE TIME. 

I wish I was rich. So rich that my only responsibilities were staying at home, playing with Grace. So rich that I could buy greek yogurt at the grocery store by the barrel full and not constantly calculate how much I'm spending and not sacrificing fresh produce for organic snacks for Gracie. So rich that I could indulge my whims, Andrew's dreams and buy Grace things like giant stuffed animals. So rich that I could just ENJOY going out to dinner, or meeting friends for drinks. So rich that dreams of travel weren't just dreams. 

I wish I were skinnier. I'd clearly be happier. Less jealous & moody. I'd grow to love exercise and hate french fries and would look gorgeous in everything I tried on. I hate being fat. I'll start dieting tomorrow...by Christmas I'll love myself again, for sure. 

I wish I lived in a great, epic love story. Where I was showered with gifts and affection, constantly. Where there were no hard times, no arguments, no doubt. No turned around or upside down or hurt feelings or compromises or backwards glances. Just prince charming and beauty and breathless joy. ALL THE TIME. 

This is so unfair. All of it. 
What a miserable way to live, always wishing for something else. 
While bemoaning everyone who assumes the grass is always greener- when did I become one of them?

I need to fall in love with MY reality. 

This is not settling. Not throwing my hands up & never wishing for or striving for anything great ever again.  
This is living my life, all the way into the tips of my fingers and the bottom of my sandy summertime feet. Keeping myself from resentment and regrets. Living each moment and appreciating the breath, rather than the anticipation & the exhale.  Just enjoying. 

Enjoying my girl. My sweet, silly baby who constantly makes me laugh and occasionally makes me cry. 
Learning to ignore the stretch marks and the belly I can't blame on just having a baby anymore. 
Enjoying my work. Valuing my education. Learning and reaching out of my comfort zone. 
Appreciating my family & loving my friends for standing by my side. 
Enjoying moments of compromise.

Falling in love with what it is, what it will be- rather than what I wish it was. 




Because my reality? It's not perfect. 
But it's pretty great.
I just need to learn to embrace it...