eleven stories...

i'm enthusiastic. it's one of my better qualities.

and i'm not bragging. i mean, some of us were born with lustrous hair or covetable teeth or an ease with numbers or one perfect smattering of freckles on our bum. along with said smattering, i was also born with ardor.

{i don't know why i just spilled such private information. please erase from your minds that whole enthusiasm thing. very sorry. and wow. can you tell i've been sick and sleepless all weekend? very very sorry. truly.}

so i'm never really shocked by my visceral responses to artists or essays or even mittens, for that matter. i tend to gasp easily.

but for the first time in my life, i think, i saw the work of nicolas de staël. it floored me. i experienced an instantly physical reaction to the few paintings i saw, which is nothing new. not really. i told you i was enthusiastic. no...this went beyond i love it! whether it was his fat impasto or how i felt like i could see each and every stroke he made or just my affinity for landscapes. i don't know. but, man...he moved me.

which always makes me smile. because i think, at this point in my life, i've seen it. i've done it. i've been moved. i've got it mastered. and when i'm reminded out of the clear blue that i've not remotely seen it or done it or been moved or mastered at all?

well. that thrills me.

he also breaks my heart a bit. a lot, in fact. jumped to his death from an eleventh floor when he was just forty-one years old. that guts me more than i could ever explain, so i won't even try.

but i will post a few of his paintings. and i will show them to my girlies three at some point today or tomorrow or a few dozen times in their lifetimes. and grae will say something like i can paint like that! and lill will roll her eyes and esmé will not understand.

and then i'll tell them that he fell from a sadness too high in antibes, and grae will fall silent and lill's eyes will fill and esmé will not understand until she does. but then they'll look more closely at his work. and they'll carry him around in their hearts for as long as little girls can...maybe fifteen minutes. maybe less. hopefully longer. and grae will proclaim him to be her new van gogh. lill will, too. and esmé just won't understand. until she does.

someone who ended so tragically and so alone should have nice things said about them after they've left, don't you think? they must not have heard it enough when they were here.

sad when it's a strange artist found on another girl's blog who you couldn't have caught even if you'd been on the ground in antibes that day, looking up at the eleventh. sadder still if it's someone you could've grabbed before they even stepped out onto the balcony.

i'm going to try to be kind all week. that sounds dumb, doesn't it? oh...be kind.

first of all. i am completely taken with liberty london girl. she's seriously influential while entirely anonymous, which intrigues me to no end. but. and i believe this is my second of all. i found her via india knight's posterus, which is so overflowing with genius that i find i need a bigger monitor. it was a good weekend to be a sick girl plus an insomniac. thank you, ladies.

i'm as sick as a...

chick.

my tweets are hoarse. my beak's all fourth grade fat kid stuffy. even my feathers ache.

but i've got to get it together in, like, seven minutes. grae will wake up soon, and she's got big plans for us today. they involve swimming and a rock climbing wall and a walk to the potomac and a hunt for her newest obsession...a silver laborador.

i warned her that there are probably not many silver labs who need to be rescued. she waved me off with a matter-of-fact please-stop-messing-with-my-dreams-mom tone...everyone needs to be rescued.

oh.

rajha? you must peek in sharon montrose's shop. she's having a sale today. i think these prints would be most excellent for nafissa's and sarra's girls, yes? i don't know anyone who doesn't squeal when they see her work. did you just turn pink? i hope you just turned pink. i miss you, sisters three! xoxo.

like optimus prime...

the house was chill silent this morning. i peeked over at esmé. sprawled out on top of the comforter and quilt despite the cold and despite the ceiling fan throwing more chilly air on her.

no matter. that little thing runs warm. plus she has her own personal hot water bottle. his name is uncle sugar.

anyway. i went on a run. it's raining here, but i figured i couldn't freeze any more than i already was. i probably couldn't get any grumpier, either. thanksgiving always puts me in a mood. i do not enjoy a thursday telling me to be grateful.

anyway. i hooked chris brown and lil wayne into my ears, smiled to myself, and headed for the trail. oh. did i ever tell you i turn into seventeen-year old hooch when i run? the sort who applies for a career opportunity at the local dance establishment.

go ahead, lil mama. i could transform ya. know i can't dance, but i could dance on ya.

anyway. i saw one arrogant great dane wearing a red sweater. one boxer looking for a fight. many goofy mutts. one white squirrel, who left me wondering if she was the christie brinkley of the squirrel world...or an outcast.

and then i saw a girl. running toward me. music hooked in her ears. she was smiling. she waved. she passed. and i gasped.

she smelled like a ralph lauren scent that sent me straight back to high school. and i don't know what the heck happened next, but i felt a bizarre rush of sad and happy and regret and tears and giggles and guilt and hope. all at once. intense, for sure.

because i'm certainly not a girl who minds getting older. i've always enjoyed being exactly where i am. who i am. but if you asked me, at that moment, would i go back?

i might've said yes.

i could change your life. make you so new. make you never want to go back to the old you.

i'd play more tennis with my dad. look him in his eyes and tell him how i'd miss him. beg him to stay so he could see the babies i'd someday make. understand sooner that lillie swims upstream. against all currents. feed grae more of my time. i fear there were moments when she went hungry while i was giving lill all those swimming lessons. i'd vacuum less. paint more. i'd watch love, actually with my sister one more time. and sob like babies with her again during phenomenon. i thought this was an alien movie! she wailed in that dark theater. i laughed so hard and so unapologetically loud while i was crying. just as unapologetically hard and loud. thinking god damn, lin...do not leave me. i wouldn't be shy. i'd dance somewhere other than my kitchen. i'd sing. i'd say yes more. say no more. i'd say it. i would say it.

knees weak, i'll stand you up.

anyway. i'm home now. feeling grateful for exactly where i am. who i am.

i ran warm.

most days, i tell myself i run to get faster and stronger. most days, i feel like i'm in some kind of race. but really? i think i just want legs like these. all from weheartit, but two originated on vild, ville, vann...a pretty genius space on tumblr.

with apologies to katie...

...who wrote in yesterday's comments i don't trust red. it's like red's trying to hide something behind its vibrancy.

and also to mrs. darling, who threw down a bold correlation between those who wear shades of burgundy and those who smell cringishly reeky.

i trust your taste, ladies. i do. but, still, i gasped when i saw this...

now. how do you feel about grand-scale nudies over the mantle?

please pardon this post. i fear i am, as all the cool post office kids say, mailing it in. i have a few paying and looming deadlines that are causing me panic. and then! did you hear about thanksgiving? apparently, it's a big deal here in the states. i will try to be back later. and to katie and mrs. darling...your words yesterday made me giggle. find katie here while i try to persuade mrs. darling to start a blog. she gives good comment. foyer photo via morning's light, for sure one of the more stunning blogs i've read in some time. both photos originally from 1st-option.

blaupe...

have i ever told you my least favorite color? i describe it as blaupe to the girlies three.

blah plus taupe. it honestly takes one day off my life.

which is why i'm shocked that i saw these surreptitious photos over the weekend of this house on some site i'd not visited before...and despite the overwhelming blaupe of it all...i find myself inspired. shockingly inspired.

i'm such a sucker for book sculptures and text on a ceiling. paper and words overcome all things blaupe.

and when i was explaining this to my girlies three, lill interrupted my tirade and asked but what about your favorite tee shirt?

ahhh. my favorite tee shirt. my fifteen-year old j.crew silky tissue jersey tee. see-through like i bathed it in windex. the best friend of my collarbones, shoulders, and - avert your eyes, boys - bigfatboobies.

that. shirt. is. not. blaupe. i replied patiently, with a definite say one more word about my baby tee, kid, and i'll leave it to grae when i die tone.

it is nude.

do you have a blaupe? a color that nearly ends you when you see it? say yes so i don't feel as loony. photos courtesy of colour me happy, a decidedly not-blaupe blog. i will probably have to come back later today and replace this post with something less blaupe, but i have a few deadlines to meet. and sgm? there's one line in here just for you. also. can you please concentrate on all things mtv? like, the hills and the city. i find i prefer watching realities via you...scented glossy magazines. thank you in advance. and xoxo.

i tried...

i had big plans for another post today. it's just that mary ruffle assigned me extra work on our t.ruffles shoppe.

i said but...

and she interrupted me with a brisk there is no butt in get your arse over to the shoppe!

not really. mary ruffle is not very brisk at all. nor is she bri'ish. plus she's way more swearful.

hope you feel that magnetic pull with someone this weekend. that would be lovely, wouldn't it? candy for your soul found daily at the t.ruffle girls' sweeterie. and yes. i said shoppe.

come back later?

i do have things i'd like chat with you about before the weekend, and i'm planning on heading back here later. if you have a minute, want to come back, too? say yes...

i'll tell you one little quick bit of nonsense now, if you'd like.

last night, i was trying to have a conversation with uncle sugar. in bed. and i tell you that not so you think oooh! but so you remember that i am a co-sleeper sort of parent, apparently. by order of the management. whose name is esmé dahlia.

{it is at this point when it would be completely apropos to clench your fist and hissper esmé in a drat-her! villain voice.}

so. uncle sugar would say something like do you think we should try to go to montauk tuesday? stay until thursday night?

i replied totally. but i don't think uncle sugar heard me. because esmé is a loud bed-talker.

i don't think so. she offered.

we ignored.

oh! i remembered. do you have any cash?

no. sorry. i don't.

which would be odd if that was uncle sugar's response, because that boy always has cash. i think it came with his nickname. however, it was esmé who answered. she's always broke.

this went on and on for as long as we could stand it. like, two more questions answered by her. which may have been fine if she'd...i don't know...been more agreeable? more helpful?

we both lost it. he yelled can i PLEASE HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH MY WIFE? at about the same time i yelled almost the same thing. which may have sounded to the neighbors like esmé! you are KILLING ME!

this offended her. she folded her arms and closed her eyes. her always-grinny mouth went all straight-lined. and i saw it quiver.

ugh.

esmé...i'm sorry...it's just that your dad and i...

at this, she covered my mouth with one very sticky hand.

quiet, mom...go to sleep now...it's the witching hour.

they should be here by noon to stamp my mother-of-the-year i.d. card with a giant revoked. and while i'm sort of joking, i do have this thing about not going to bed sad. i've always told the girlies three that they need to smile right before they fall asleep. no matter their mood at the time. a smile scares away nightmares. i'm pretty sure the three of us IN. THAT. ONE. BED. all had bad dreams. anyway. i will fix that. until then, look at little wing's photos. i found them on need supply's brilliant blog, but i think i remember seeing her on creature comforts ages ago. i could be wrong. but get this: she's seventeen.

do these look blurry to you?

this morning did not begin well. at all.

i just sat here and looked at the above two sentences. italicized all and then at and then not and then debated whether to capitalize and bold and underscore and color the rest. blood red.

but in true lalala! can'tyouseemyfingerspluggingmyears? i'mnotlistening! fashion that you've probably come to expect from this space, let me just tell you about how this mini-morning ended.

they'd almost reached school, but grae stopped. handed lillie her backpack and binder and giant brown grocery bag that is holding exactly one orange and one turquoise sharpie. and then ran as fast as she could all the way back to me for a kiss and a hug.

as i always do, i gave her extra ones for lill.

and then that girl...my girl...ran back to her sister. in spite of all the drama that had gone down between them only minutes before, grae took back the grocery bag and set it on the ground. took back her backpack and binder and set those down, too.

and then she hugged lillie so tightly i thought my heart would break on the spot. and kissed her. in front of three other classmates.

as for lill. i was warmed by her chandelier smile all the way back to me.

those two remind me that it's all about the ending, isn't it? i think it is. the end matters. i need to remember that more often.

maybe...no matter where you find yourself and no matter how you ended up exactly there, it's not as hard as it may seem to get back where you need to be. and end well.

marc yankus cityscapes look even more stunning when you've tears puddling in your eyes. catch you later. and xoxo.

look over here...

i'm off visiting a very good friend today...

you're probably already friends with her and you were probably already planning on visiting her today, too, but i wanted to make sure you knew i'd be there so it didn't get all awkward oh-i-didn't-realize-you-were-invited when we bumped into each other.

i will be wearing this. please don't wear yours.

see you at s.hoptalk, yes? say yes.

ceramic genius available at little white dish. and, man...i covet haute hippie. but shimmery haute hippie? oh, it's on.

a veruca salt sort of day...

i feel petulant this morning.

i don't know why, but i'm fairly certain it has nothing absolutely totally to do with that small wildebeest otherwise known as esmé. yeah yeah yeah...she's a peter pan sprite of an imp who never fails to bring a giant smile to my face. no matter how many times she flushes items down the toilet that she never ever ever wants to see again. like that old beanie baby angel whose wings she hacked off with her safety scissors.

i asked but how will he fly?

mémé shrugged. answered i think him's had enough of the flying.

i just stared at her. it's a technique i often use when someone says something really unsmart or unkind or just plain mean. i'm the passive-aggro princess when it comes to tilting my head to one side, smiling, and asking faux innocently i'm sorry? just so the meanie must repeat.

that never works with mémé, as she's the queen of french exits. that little surgeon turned on her heel and walked away.

i sat there thinking manson. i told you i tend to fast forward with my worry. and then i heard the flush. the gasp. the pause. the mom? MOM? i think him needs your help!

i'm going to pretend she felt guilty. that the garbage bin was simply too temporal for her liking. she could maybe still hear his screams.

so last night i was trying to put her to bed. in my bed. {when did i become a co-sleeper sort of parent? i am chagrined. first time ever using that word. but it's what i am.} and i was tired and cranky and miffed and petulant. toilet dramas always put me in a mood. add a sad wet beanie baby to one? oh, it's over.

so i may have threatened you'd better fall asleep now because it's the witching hour and if they look in our house and see that i'm the sort of mother who lets my baby stay up this late...they'll...they'll...

at this, i pretended to die or pass out. whatever sounds less awful.

all of a sudden, a small hand lightly smacks my open mouth. i sat up and there's charles manson. i mean mémé. with her hands folded behind her head. just lounging.

you're right. she said. the witches tried to get you. but i think we'll be ok now.

i'm sorry?

today, i'm saying "i want" a lot. in a really mad voice. i want a white devil laundry bag i can wear in the winter. my summer sack is all ripped up and way too white. but no one will make me one in a charcoal jersey or even black. can someone please say yes to me? also, i want that indoor stove to be more than a master thesis project. i would like it to be in my home. and would it be too much trouble for someone to make me a fluffy cake or three? or at least take pictures of some like france ruffenach does? mostly, i want a child-free bed. if i get all of that or just one good night's sleep, i will be in a mucho better mood tomorrow. promise. one more thing: you know how i feel about my mémé. and if she wants to sleep in my bed for another twenty years, i probably wouldn't mind one bit. she wakes up a few times nightly, kisses my cheek, and says i love you, mommy. she's a dream. i just need sleep. xoxo.

just look at the pictures this time. really.

i'm having a moment over here.

and all i want to do is drink my triple-shot as i watch two crows battle it out for the pancakes uncle sugar left for them last night on our deck. the ones the girlies three and i couldn't eat. mostly because we'd already eaten his french toast and bacon. that boy loves to breakfast on the weekends.

funny thing, though. he gets so perturbed when we can't muster up the appetites of unfathomably obese homeless men to even make a dent in his feasts. he'll stand there, waving a spatula and muttering why do i even bother to cook? why? no one cares. no one appreciates it...

oh, stop whining, lady.

no i did not say that! grae did. are you giggling, too? and, by the way, uncle sugar...the crows care. thank god there are two of them. one for sorrow, two for joy. yes, i count crows. tell me you're not surprised.

now. back to my moment. since i've already bored you to tears with my rambling nonsense, i'll be quick about this:

i ask lillie and grae and that lazy little mézie to do their chores. they respond with some form of no.

i don't know what to do. this causes me heaps of sorrow and absolutely no joy. please don't suggest taking away privileges. they have none. their toys haven't arrived. ipods are en route, too. and ever since esmé added water to their computer to make it grow, there's been no club penguin. we're mostly outside, ripping around and overturning rocks and hunting for frogs.

i should tell you that their chores are eventually chored. it's just that there's lots of loud and empty threats prior to this. and lots of loud nos, too. {who says no? really. who says no? i tend to stay away from people like that, don't you? man...i don't want them to become people like that...}

i talked to my mom about it, and she didn't seem concerned. i don't remember you doing any chores, she sweetly reminded me. that still makes me smile.

but uncle sugar recalls chores. he also recalls never responding with some form of no. loud or otherwise. on the off chance he ever responded with an i'll get to it later? he definitely recalls a spatula. or a number of any other handy weapons.

i honestly don't know what to do besides worry. i do have a tendency to worry. fast forward to teenagers and vans and crackheads worry. i should stop that. be more proactive. maybe be more positive...

ok. ummm. at least i know they're good at saying no?

ugh. i think maybe i just needed to have a moment with my triple-shot and my crows and now one cardinal and you. thanks for listening. i also have a tendency to shop when i worry. these are my newest obsessions from the intermix sale. who knew a puffy coat could be so sexy?

milky ways and other fun-size bits...

this doesn't happen often. if ever, really.

but all the stars and maybe the moon and quite possibly the sun and even one stray milky way left over from halloween have all lined up, and two of my love them from my turquoise-laden wrist to the tattooed top o' my foot friends are on the same exact page at once.

i'm planning on meeting joslyn in january at the incredibly cool alt design summit. and mary ruffle? well. she's a t.ruffle girl. and i meet her at the sweeterie every day.

have you visited us yet? i wish...i mean...you could...

ugh. i'm never good at extending invitations. i start off well enough. i'll beg you earnestly and then i'll panic and think but what if she doesn't want to visit us or worse! what if she's trying to come up with an excuse right now that we both know is going to be painful and cause me to panic more and fill the air with nonsense and other peoples' secrets - even though i have a really juicy one today that i wouldn't mind spilling - and where were we? oh yes. eh. you don't have to come over if you have something else going on. it's cool. i'm good. see you around.

it's like that.

when i really want to beg you earnestly and not panic and just smile a smile full of all the i like you very muches in the world, from the stars to the moon and sun and all the way to the milky way that i'm most certain i'll find under lill's bunk.

and then you would say yes...sure...i'd love nothing more.

then i'd probably kiss you. because it's the weekend, and i tend to get a little promiscuous.

it's like that.

so. click on the big t.ruffles logo to head to the sweeterie. click right here to learn more about us, and right here to learn more about the site. which i prefer to call a sight. mary's photos make it so. and check out mary's loves on lovely joslyn's sight. you'll fall in love, too. i promise. have a sweet weekend.

storage...

i had an entire post written on the inside of my head, where all of my words are capitalized and perfectly punctuated and you wouldn't be able to find an ellipses if you tried all day plus bribed me with two bags of sour patch kids.

because, after two bags? tastebuds start exploding. trust.

ugh. you know i can't keep secrets. i store my ellipses in a little baby food jar on a shelf in the coat closet near the back labeled lazy. right next to the old mayo jar containing lapses in judgement and common sense. labeled shite mom.

i was planning on telling you of an event i attended last night with a friend who gave me more than an entry ticket. her words were nothing i can repeat...not because they were full of swears. she's quite the lady...but because they were really nothing at all.

except everything, all.

she tossed them to me over her shoulder so throwaway that i was shocked at how i caught them and clutched them and looked around to make sure no one saw me stealing them and took them home and arranged them artfully in the formal living room just to the left when you open the front door of me. i'd always hated that room, but now it was perfection.

i. am. back. to. me.

this is a most excellent development. because i enjoy the heck out of me.

anyway. i floated home last night, and started to tell uncle sugar my news. but then i looked at esmé's chin. it looked not like it was healing. so i wondered out loud i wonder if she needs stitches?

and uncle sugar looked up from his crossword and said in his most matter-of-fact you-horrible-gauger-of-necessary-stitchery voice...of course she does.

gulp.

mémé and i were in the emergency room until after one in the morning. five stitches and one petite faint later...oh, let's call it a swoon, shall we?...i probably will have to empty another big jar of something to hold my shite mom moments from just yesterday alone.

but don't feel too badly for me. didn't i tell you i was back? sorry. i've been whispering it to myself all day.

sparkle as a result of spending way too much time on i, bejeweled. from the rocks and minerals collection by jacquie aiche.

delaware...

this'll be quick, because uncle sugar's on holiday today. and i've big plans to boss him around.

i was so lazy last night. no run. just reading. don't you dare be impressed. i'm still mucking through october vanity fair and vogue.

on a side note, i love me some stellar magazine writing, don't you? could've spent the evening floating in hamish bowles' first sentence of his kelly wearstler article. the only line i love more is his final sentence in november's contribution. tears.

anyway. michelle williams. i've never been a fan. sure, i've found her interesting and intriguing at various moments throughout the years and i admire a genius pixie and i really admire a woman who marches right up to her grief and says don't be fooled by my tears...i'm here to kick your ass.

but, for the life of me, i can't get ryan gosling's words about her out of my head:

she's like montana. if you want to get anywhere in montana, you have to sit tight. you're on montana time. it's very beautiful, but it's vast. if you want to get somewhere with michelle, you really have to be patient. she's so vast. you really have to sit back and enjoy the view. there's so much ground to cover.

how's that for a compliment? and beyond that? what i can't seem to shake from my little brain big heart?

we should all have someone or sometwo think we're as great as a state.

tell me which state you'd like to be. i think i choose delaware. so i can wear tall shoes and still look up to you. read hamish bowles daily here. and heidi adams lives in dallas. her work makes me tilt my head to the side and stare at it for minutes and minutes on end.

by her chinny chin chin...

i think i just lost the day.

esmé opened up her chin on the kitchen counter. the same counter that has a starring role in the esme! get off the counter before you crack in half! chronicles.

poor thing sobbed only when she saw her blood. but then brightened back so fast i thought her delirious.

it looks like strawberry juice, doesn't it? pure wonder filling those peter pan blues.

i think someday she'll be an artist. or at least always on the lookout for beauty.

full disclosure? her next documentable sentence sounded an awful lot like you really shouldn't have let me break, mommy. perhaps someday she'll be a travel agent and send all her clients on a guilt trip.

i will spend the rest of today making sure no more strawberry juice spills.

hey. i think i just gained a day.

catch you later, friends. and while i have you here...why didn't you tell me she was less tinkerbell and more peter pan? it hit me the other day when she was dressed in green tights and playing in the leaves. must've laughed for five minutes. also. i can read is a goldmine for textish inspiration.

i can't keep a secret for the life of me...

like, at all. embarrassingly so, in fact.

i don't know what comes over me. there's a silent moment and i. need. to. fill. it.

usually with humiliating confidential information. not mine. usually resulting in extremely awkward silence. plus discomfort. not mine. and always followed by a sharp but momentary shot of panic and a shocking absence of guilt and a lot of laughter and wide-eyed glee. all mine.

i was paired with amanda from a sucker for marketing for design crush and greedy girl's 2010 calendar swap and this is the one i sent her.

it was supposed to be a secret until she received it, i think.

whatever. she got off easy. i spilled way better this weekend at the palm. i daresay our friend will never leave a tip without thinking of me. for the rest of his life. but, man, did i giggle.

my sincere apologies {but very little remorse} to the godfather. and to amanda. order this calendar or anything, really, from a little hut. i bought her little red riding hood papercut series last year, and everyone asks if i made them myself. i always say yes.

crushed...

let me ask you something...

who was your first imaginary crush?

the one and only with whom you checked in three times daily and of whom you spoke so often and so nonchalantly but so intently with your real friends...so much so that they even began including her in conversations, too. so so much so that all of a sudden you forgot that she was imaginary. because she wasn't. a fact that made you smile all the way to your heart.

mine was her. still is, in fact.

and i got to hang out with her today.

{yes. i just bragged. forgive. if you'd like, you may read of my faves right here. and xoxo.}

i need a kiss...

did you ever have a moment when you were sitting with a latté and a mémé, surrounded by way too many sweetheart sorts of words from all sorts of sweethearts...

only to have it all go to shite the very next moment?

ugh. i just did, too.

i need a kiss. or a joke. or something to make me smile.

even though i am smiling. it would take a lot more than a petite crappy moment to stop me from smiling at my impending awkwardness. this is just an annoyance. a blip. already forgotten, in fact.

but i think i may have hurt a feeling somewhere. because my rib really hurts.

i love this photo. i want those hearts. i need those hearts, i think. i saw them first on nice*room, and then on by-geisslein and then on fondly seen. but my order could be mixed-up. please forgive if it is. remember? my rib is aching. xoxo.

hopes and hops...

last night, i was on a hunt for art. and not just any art. something that would convey some or most of the following thoughts...

i like you. you're one of the nicest friends i've never met. and if you ever needed a favor, all you'd have to do is ask me. of course, there's always a chance i'd refuse. especially if you asked for monies. or if you invited me for a potluck dinner. i hate potluck. hate the name. hate the concept. hate it all. hate hate hate. and i rarely hate. but, potluck? i hate you. where was i? potluck drives me insane. but you? you fill me with insane amounts of inspiration. daily. i like you. it bears repeating. i like you very much. and i hope you have an amazing birthday. a girl like you deserves nothing less.

but lill was sitting next to me while i hunted. and this image popped up on my monitor. and she smiled as only she can smile. like i should be paying a power bill for the sparks in her eyes.

oh, that's a great one! stop hopping. funny, right?

she must've giggled to herself for a good thirty seconds. long enough for me to jot a quick note for myself.

get. reading. tutor. for. lill.

happy birthday, kelly. i've a huge crush on you. i hope your day is nothing short of perfection. full of surprises that make you smile. and. keep hopping. ugh.

photo from fat owls' flickr stream. and you should visit kelly at design crush at least three times a day. she posts cool stuff all the time.

it hits me at the oddest moments.

late late late way later than a four year old should be awake late last night, i hopped out of the shower. slathered lotions and potions and spritzes of fracas.

by the way, this confounds the heck out of lillie and grae. why do you put on perfume for bed? they ask. because i always want to smell like me. i answer.

then we think about it. really think about it. and we're all three confounded. lillie, my in-house hippie chick whose future surely holds dreadlocks, patchouli, almost-finished degrees on hold while she finds herself which will probably involve finding a band to follow first, and maybe even a lover who plays the guitar, gives up trying to make sense of anything mainstream-smelly at that point. grae disappears to find her chanel no. 5. plus her phd.

but back to last night. of course, esmé was in our bed. now. my bed may look an awful lot like it's my bed. more than half of it may also look like it is uncle sugar's bed. which really makes it our bed. but somewhere along the late late bedtimes, esmé has somehow thrown herself into our our.

i walk out of the bath, all shiny and soft and sweetly gardenia. and that little thing clasps her hands together. smiles this smile like...like...i don't know. like i was the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and she loved me like nothing else in the world and it pained her. it honestly pained her. like that.

broke. my. heart.

just to see that raw love, do you know? to hear her gasp. like...there you are.

and it hit me. at that odd little moment. i need you, esmé dahlia.

tell me you have those moments, too. when love turns to need turns to panic turns to this hopelessly hopeful realization that you can't live one minute without this love? not. one. minute.

of course, my girl broke the mood. asked if i was getting into bed unclothed. her query maybe definitely included the word bigfatboobies and a giant imp of a grin.

she never fails to put the oddest in any moment.

i've been missing text-ish art. here's some from for stars will rise again. there's so much more to see over there, but the girlies three are all home again today so i must go play with them and not tumblr.

a list...

my girlies two are home from school today, which means my girlie mémé and me are in for a lot of wishful thinking.

for example. i wish these girls would understand that every toy in the house is mine {mémé}, and i wish i was an alcoholic without a conscience or even just not so frightened of taking four tylenol at once {me}.

we've a long list of plans to keep us busy, though. like hanging a swing in a long hallway, which i think is one of the most genius ideas i've ever owned but which uncle sugar believes to be an emergency room visit waiting to happen. i wonder how he feels about the gymnastic rings i'm hanging in the laundry room.

there is also a a garbage disposal to be purchased. to replace the one that did not blow up after lillie disposed of silverware and maybe other metal objects she did not wish to wash. it must've been old. it was just its time, she explained. with a straight face.

there are overdue books to return. chocolate stains to clean. from esmé's little body. at least four loads of laundry and as many bathrooms to scrub.

plus one chalkboard wall to be painted. upon which some or all of these words will be written...i've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on and it will be better tomorrow. i've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled christmas tree lights. i've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life. i've learned that making a living is not the same thing as making a life. i've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. i've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. i've learned that whenever i decide something with an open heart, i usually make the right decision. i've learned that even when i have pains, i don't have to be one. i've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. people love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. i've learned that i still have a lot to learn. i've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel.

on second thought. maybe we'll forget all our plans and just chill together. catch you later, friends. and xoxo.

photos snagged from we heart it...i had grand visions of swings and tulle and perhaps a wind machine, but i liked these because they remind me of my lillie. they also remind me of suzanne's little brown bear. seen most recently here. quote from maya angelou. i walked beside her once in o'hare and found her to be very tall. also not very chatty. i would've settled for hello. or karey, be a rainbow in someone else's cloud. whatever. i still love her words.