dj esmé...

there are moments when the girlies three are not remotely sweethearts. moments when i can't, for the life of us, find one smidge of glitter on any of 'em.

{and i do try, you know. because i seem to require glitter to somehow smile. breathe, even. and because it's for the life of us.}

but when i listen to esmé sing miss polly had a dolly to grae? well. to me, it's a sweetheart moment. for sure.

and when i listen to the last four or five seconds of this clip? mémé's augh and her droppin' of the mic. those grae-girl giggles. well. there's my glitter.

misspolly.mp3

i just wanted to remember this. i will probably need to remember this when they come home from school this afternoon. my little...sweethearts.

be back later...

esmé opened her presents before lillie and grae left for school this morning.

if you're familiar with esmé's sleeping pattern {she. doesn't. sleep. and that's her pattern.}, you're probably asking yourself why would esmé be awake at six something in the morning when she fell asleep last night at eleven something and woke up at one something and four something, both times expecting karey to greet her with a smile and a funny story and endless renditions of criss cross applesauce and miss polly had a dolly even though she knows darn well that karey can't hit those high notes in miss polly had a dolly.

well. she woke up at six something because it wasn't lillie's fault. lillie didn't touch her. and lillie was quiet. because lillie only whispered i'm going to open all your presents, mémé.

which is why i have a freshly-four-years babe yelling at me.

not a fan of the yelling at me. not even when she's yelling thank you, bigfatboobies!

that child needs a new term of endearment for me. i will gladly accept mom.

beauty from allessandra mortola. my crankiness from lill. i am a fan of both.

two words...

if i take a photography workshop from kate headley...

i'll probably become a world-famous and mad-genius camera hack. {yes, this can happen in one hour and thirty minutes. trust.}

i'll want to take a self-portrait, even though i am not a fan of most self-anythings. but, first, i'll need to decide what a world-famous and mad-genius camera hack should look like. i think this is just about exactly right.

i will most likely need to stain my lips with berries. plus add sparkle. maybe even look into buying a few freckles.

upon my search through the fridge, i will find absolutely. no. red. berries. not even one popsicle.

but i will find these.

maybe one of these.

i will take mad-genius and soon-to-be world-famous pictures of all of my self-portrait accoutrement and me, and post them for you to see. you will most likely gasp and most definitely screech but you used to be such a crap photographer!

and i will simply smile and utter the only two words that will help you understand my newfound mad-genius: kate and headley. and you will understand.

you will also get hungry. and since you've missed me like crazy, you will completely forget that i am a crap cook, and you will invite yourself to dinner at my house. without even realizing how odd those words sound together. be there in ten!

ten? oh, dear.

luckily, it will take you a smidge more than eleven minutes to reach my house, where i'll surprise you with this.

the sight alone will stop you in your socks. but after three minutes of drool and awe and a few tears, you will recover. start breathing again. and screech but you used to be such a crap cook!

and i'll nod fervently. i KNOW!

and you'll wrinkle your sweetheart of a brow. then HOW?

and i will simply smile and utter the only two words that will help you understand my newfound mad-genius: kate and headley. and you will understand.

we'll gobble up the tabletop. in between your ladylike gulps, you'll ask what is in this? and in between my precious coughing spasms where my face shades a delightful pinkish hue and just after i make the universal sign for i'm choking, and really after you kindly whap my back, i'll whisper i've no idea. i'll ask kate headley.

when we're through, you'll lean back in your chair and look at me...really look at me...for the first time all evening.

why are you wearing a hat? and where on earth did you get those freckles? and why are your lips blue?

thank you in advance, kate headley.

can you tell i'm a wee bit excited for kate headley's photo workshop? i'm usually the queen of low expectations, but this? this makes me hopeful. meet you there? and, listen: all of my photo links failed. but it's esmé's fourth tomorrow and i must meet a writing deadline or i'm dead and plus mémé wants me to make her a rainbow birthday cake. in the shape of a rainbow. with seven layers of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet cakes. perhaps kate headley can help? xoxo.

lucky me...

hey, you. i sort of suddenly realized that i haven't told you something sort of important that happened while i was away from you.

it's esmé. she's...amazing. {i would very much like you to pronounce amazing with five syllables or more, please. because she's that good. thank you in advance.}

gone is that esmé who didn't particularly enjoy anyone-other-than-herself. the one who cried all day and all night and spit up white on every piece of black clothing i own at the beginning and end and all through the middle of every across-the-world flight we've ever flown.

gone is that toddler who didn't particularly enjoy my mother-in-law's tone of voice. the one who marched right over to her nona. and apologized to her, you might be thinking. and you would be right. if, by apologized, you meant that esmé kicked her. in my mother-in-law's bad leg, even. but then? then came the apology, you might be thinking. and you would be right. if, by apology, you meant that esmé followed up her kick by throwing a cup of water on her nona.

that esmé is long gone. lucky me.

my esmé now finds double rainbows. gets a kick out of walking all hunched over like an old lady. cleans her room and hops nonstop until we notice. dances a genius robot. runs fast and smiles about how fast she's running. loves to hunt for bugs, but somehow manages to peer-pressure me into catching them for her. even though i am dizzy-afraid of anything smally and crawly, and also even though i am not. her. peer.

she still almost swears. a lot. {any of you - besides richie - remember her huh? what the feck stage? lovely. a tear, running down my cheek.} like, she'll yell what the clucking? and i freeze. gasp. almost start apologizing to the neighbors. almost grab her and almost hissper in her ear you are in major trouble now, old lady!

but then i see the odd little neighbor boy. walking around in an odd little squat. with his odd little head jutting forward. then back. then forward again. with his odd little arms winging it. and my first thought is what an odd little person. my second thought is i wonder if they're moving soon. my third thought is they need to bathe him more. or, just, bathe him. but my fourth thought? probably definitely something very much almost exactly like what the clucking?

i can't say this about many people, but...man...i look forward to every and any moment i can spend with this old lady fairy of mine.

and if she ever saw you? she'd tell you the first most beautiful thing she sees in you. usually something shiny. like your beautiful baubles or your beautiful eyes or your beautiful hair. to esmé, pretty much everything is beautiful. except that odd little neighbor boy.

i got two compliments last night...

one from uncle sugar: she is you.

and one from esmé: your breath smells like crickets and love letters.

lucky me.

i've been wacko-fascinated with flickr since last week. i'll tell you why tomorrow. until then, look at jennipenni's photos. i'm wacko-fascinated with them. and i found her after seeing this brilliant shot that made me laugh for at least ten seconds. try it. that's a long time. but. but. but. she has an etsy shop. which is so brilliant it makes me laugh for at least ten seconds. try it.

hi. it's me again...

for the last five years, i've lived probably-very-far-away-from-you.

i've slept on sand. sunbathed on the red. floated on the dead.

i hired and fired a parade of maids and one very mannish nanny.

i didn't clean. at all. not one toilet. not one tub. not after lillie and grae's weekly what can we make with a bag o' flour plus anything oily and/or wet but mostly oily and - once - honey experiments.

not even after esmé banksy'd an entire room of furniture with one - or closer to twelve - fell swoops of sharpie. red sharpie. there-not-so-happily-ever-after known as the panic-inducing is someone bleeding?! collection. {which, on a side note, was much easier to pass off as a rookie art installation than the who peeped on the couch, esmé?! collection.}

like magic, my messes just - poof! - disappeared.

i didn't cook. at all. or maybe it's more accurate to tell you i didn't cook anything that didn't involve a microwave or marshmallow fluff.

like magic, someone else fed the girlies three and me.

i honestly don't know where my time flew. and although it all made me a bit wiser? it crushes me to tell you that i didn't spend my time wisely.

sure, i found words i thought i'd lost. i created an entire imaginary world with them. but somewhere along the way, i misplaced everything real.

i broke a few important bones i didn't believe would ever heal. they did. surprisingly fast, in fact. way faster than, say, melamine plates or even a broken heart. but that's a story for another time.

i played tennis and got really good. i played wide-eyed american in love with the world, and got even better. because, truly, no matter where i looked, it was as though my lighting was different. everything seemed dipped in glitter. i even dreamed in sequins.

but now? i'm back. probably-not-very-far-away-from-you. i'm home. but terribly homesick. because i miss it. not the maids or the manny or the marshmallow fluff...

no. i miss my magic. my shiny views.

i'm hoping to find it all again here. will you stay with me while i try? say yes...

i am utterly enthralled with this italian dreamboat of a photographer, unsuono, who shot the above stunners. they have absolutely nothing to do with this post, but they have everything to do with my obsessions of late. raw portraits. freckles and wrinkles and amazing eyes and strong hands and soft lips. plus looking at the world differently. is that all? yes. i think that's all. xoxo.