my weekly wrist...

our fancy camera broke. we're not sure how or why or what or all those other questions that make a story more interesting and detailed, but we are pretty certain of the when.

the first day of our beach holiday.

no worries. after every gorgeous sunshine or sunset or plain old sandy moment, i just tried not to blink so the image would stick to my eyeballs. {yeah. pat didn't think that was funny, either. until he nearly broke his neck and had a bloody tiptop of his head. then i think he didn't mind that i didn't have a camera.}

a quick shot via my phone, then, of what i'm wearing on my wrist these days.




i'm making lots of noise.

the cuff on the end and the four bangles are from a souk jeweler in saudi arabia just after esmé was born. i wore them every day back then for at least her first year. there was probably another gift for my wrist that replaced them as my dailies, and they've sat in an emerald green velvet box ever since.

i took them out again for the beach, and the first time esmé heard them...i swear, she was doing her latest ravensburger and she sat back, looked at me with the roundest little ice-blue circles like she maybe remembered, and kind of shook her head.

"where did you get those?" she asked. but not in her usual "ooh! where'd you get that?" way.

"daddy picked these out for me when you came to us," i explained. "i wore them every day when you were a baby."

she shook her head again and asked, "i can't remember that, can i?" all the while, thinking that she honestly remembered that jangle and clangle.

i told her i didn't know, but i pretty much believe that we get to keep one or two memories from when we were brand new. and that she's lucky if this is her one...because mine is made of chicken pox scabs on my bum.

it's my birthday on july third. i usually start announcing it way earlier than this, but time has been escaping me lately. like, i missed our wedding anniversary last week. when uncle sugar reminded me of how long we've been married, i gasped and said "we've known each other for THAT LONG?!" he scowled and replied fake-patiently, "no, karey. {he never calls me karey.} we knew each other for five years before we got married." whoa. that is weird math. anyway. i have a sweet reader who wanted to sponsor one of my weekly wrist posts. i'm sure we can arrange something. that something might involve one of these diamond bracelets from birks. or these! doesn't it give you chills when jewelry has significance? if you ever could, would you buy something like that? oh! and here's another question i'm dying to have you answer: what's your most expensive piece of jewelry? tell me, please? p.s. my green beads were $4.99. there. xoxo.

not a good...

ohmygosh. so first thing this morning, i started writing and immediately deleted a sentence that read something along the lines of "do you even know what i super hate?" that would not have been a wonderful wednesday greeting, i didn't think.

so i wanted to wait until after the girlies' swim team practice to write to you. at which time i would be in a mucho better frame of mind.

but.

near the end of practice, all of the parents who stay with their babes while they swim were asked to set up for the meet tonight. so there we all were, moving chaises and other heavy objects. all except one...lovely little lady. who couldn't be bothered to look up from her book, much less be bothered to participate.




her two loungers were the last two left to move. so i asked if i could steal away the one with her kids' bags and towels on it. no stress. she was reading a romance novel, after all. i hate to interrupt mindless.

she huffed. puffed. and then said...in a lovely little lady voice..."fine. i guess i'll just pack up."

"ok, cool." i chirped brightly. i like ignoring passive-aggro lovely little ladies.

when i returned to pick up her chairs, i heard her griping to a few other moms. about moi! how i was making her get up and move! oh, dear. "no no no!" i interrupted. "i just wanted to move your extra chair!"

"whatever."

and this is where i knew i couldn't come home and write a sweet post. not today. because this was un-right. this was un-cool. this was un-kind. this was...stupid.

which is what i said. in the form of "stupid." topped with a petite "this is really small."



i'm a little shocked by my behavior. i mean, i'm very good at censoring myself. very. good. i ignore lovely little lady comments on a daily basis. seriously, i do.

ooh. i just re-read this and now i feel guilty. super guilty. for the rest of the day, i'm going to find my patience again. promise. but do i have to apologize to this lovely little lady? say no. because i do not think she'll accept my apology.

i could be wrong, but people who don't get up to help when everyone else has gotten up to help strike me as the same sort of people who don't accept apologies. like, the same sort of people who don't leave tips because they don't believe in them. and those who don't pick up their dog muss when no one's around.

ohmygosh! back to mad! i've got to end this, so the end. i am in rare form today and i am sorry.

just not that sorry.

p.s. remember the good old days? like, yesterday? when i asked what made you happy? do me a favor and tell me what you super hate, will you? i shouldn't be miserably faux-guilty but more mad alone, you know...kidding.

images from here and here. xoxo.

happy...

uncle sugar always asks what will make me happy. i like that he thinks that way.

i mean, it's easy to know what makes someone mad; just follow the passive-aggressive tones and sighs. happiness is a lot quieter, though. subtle. elusive. sometimes slippery for a superstitious girl like me.

but it's a really good question to ask yourself periodically, yes? because, eventually, you'll find the most basic ingredients to your own joy.




last week, on one of our many bike rides into town from our beach house, i braked. stole a quick sip from the italian ice i was bringing home for lillie while i waited for him to roll up beside me. and told him this. this makes me happy.

he nodded and smiled. and i didn't have to explain anything at all.

and that made the happiness i'd felt only seconds before? feel like nothing at all.

i am hyper-digging this i-loved-it-then-forgot-all-about-it blog. it's so dead-on true in its simplicity. her other blog is one of my absolute faves. and have you thought of this? what would make you happiest? what sort of life? what kind of day? tell me, if you have a second. i love hearing your stories. bike just like the one i wheeled all last week found here.

home again...

after a week in the sand, we're diving into our summer with a fat cannonball. i'm honestly giddy about it.

we've planned lots of pool time, a sushi-making course and a few other classes {remind me to tell you why later, ok? ok.}, running miles with the girlies two without stopping or making grumpy faces, and designing beaded friendship bracelets galore. add good coffee, an art studio slash laundry room redo, finding time to read really good words, and some exciting new projects here and there for a brill summer recipe.

also, grae and i are smack in the middle of teaching esmé to read.

esmé: k-i-s-s spells kiss!

me: well done, mémé!

esmé: p-i-s-s spells piss!

me: ummm. how about m-i-s-s?

esmé: m-i-s-s? hmmm. maybe ass?



i'm starting to rethink my oh, it's all organic! parenting style with this one. she's growing naughty again lately. readers of my original blog will shudder at that sentence. worse yet, she's not even afraid of me.

she is, however, morbidly afraid of the chupacabra. don't ask me how i know this. or whether the chupacabra is part of yet another genius parenting technique making its way into esmé's upbringing.

sigh.

last night, uncle sugar came to bed after closing up the house and turning off every romantic lamp i turn on. he was trying hard not to smile as he told esmé to plug her ears so she wouldn't be scared.




"lillie? grae?" he called. "i just found a message written in blood on a roll of toilet paper in the downstairs bath."

esmé quick fake-unplugged her ears and too-brightly suggested "i bet it was written by the chupacabra! to scare gracie!"

uncle sugar looked fake-confused. "but the note said esmé."

and i swear, that little thing slowly leaned back into her pillow and sighed. like she'd just been busted robbing a bank. utterly deflated, do you know? but not down yet.

"maybe he forgot how to spell gracie," she whispered softly.

pat just smiled as she sighed again. "it was me," she admitted. she shook her head as if to say what the heck was i thinking, anyway? "chupacabras don't have disposable thumbs."

"opposable," pat corrected gently. "which means a chupacabra can't hold a pen..."

"or a red lipstick," esmé added.

another case cracked, encyclopedia brown.

she looked at me and shrugged. "it was the best i could do," she said. i agreed. but for the rest of the night, i worried. leaving death threats from the chupacabra at the age of five? i shudder to think what's coming at six.

i'm kind of taken with this tumblr, hoping for stranger things. that first photo makes me sigh in a much better way than when esmé spells piss. ok, you. i'm glad to be back here. xoxo.

i almost forgot...

actually, i totally forgot. i'm on holiday this week, and my goodbye...catch you later, little you completely escaped me.

uncle sugar nearly died under a triple wave this afternoon. one of them dropped him to the bottom of the sea on his poor head, and he is now woozy and concussed. luckily, esmé befriended the children of a pediatrician and an internist on the beach, and they've assured me he will live. unless he does not.

he said he had one of those moments where his arms wouldn't work and everything went dead silent and still. grae asked if he saw a white light at the end of a tunnel, and he made a sickish face and said uhhh. not exactly.

i think he's going to be on good behavior from now on. as are we all. man, june has beaten us up, yes? i'm kind of looking forward to july, but don't tell her, ok? i don't want to draw unnecessary attention to us like we've done in june. ok, then. catch you later, little you. sand found here.

championchip cookies...

i miss you. real life is getting in between us.

and by real life, i mean lacrosse championships. which lillie writes as championchips. as in WE WON THE CHAMPIONCHIPS! undefeated season for those little thugs.

one of their coaches called them the hanson brothers. ask your boys if they've ever seen that movie. the description makes me giggle.




also doctor's appointments. a billion of them. and begging a certain little esmé to get in the car. every single time we have to get in the car. "let's just walk," she suggests, trying not to lose it. and when i tell her it would take us three days to get the the grocery with her walking two steps and then begging me to carry her, she smiles brightly and tries not to lose it and assures me "you can do it."

i would. for her, i would.

can i vent for a second? i hate doctor's appointments. {i just deleted a few vehement sentences. trust me. it's best for the both of us.} also, i use the term fat bastard at least once an hour. {i just deleted the term uncle sugar uses when he talks about the other driver. trust me. it's best for the both of us.}

ohmygosh. this post is so frown-inducing! let me think of something else to tell you. ummm. pat and i stole away to nordstrom last night to pick up grae's new shoes. while we were waiting, we danced to a killers' song playing throughout the store, we texted super-smiley pictures of ourselves to the girlies, and i watched him chat sweetly with the manager of the shoe section.

don't you love watching someone you like a lot interact well with other people? i do, too.




while we were there, i saw a guy in a poorly-fitted suit with his unsmiling family bust in front of a korean family trying to ask about a pair of shoes. "get me these in a two and a two and a half. red. thanks." loud and without waiting for an answer. not even treating the sales guy like a person.

i wanted to tell him tom's wouldn't like his behavior. i also may have thought he was precisely the term uncle sugar uses when he talks about the other driver. trust me. it's best for him.

i promise i will get it together and be charming tomorrow. if not tomorrow, someday. ok? thank you. i like friends who don't hold you to too high standards. xoxo. all pics from the always gentleman.

my weekly wrist...

i've finally given uncle sugar back his watch, but i stole his wedding band. i just feel like wearing it for a minute. i'm sure he doesn't mind...we never really wear those things, anyway.

do you? do they matter a lot a lot a lot to you?

i've known women who measure their love by the ones they've been gifted, i've known men who measure their wasta by the ones they've given, and i've known people who still do really crappy things when they're married and wearing those rings. they just take them off and put them in their pockets while they're being naughty.




i've never really thought it was about the ring. at all.

after lillie and grae-rose came to stay, pat bought me one of those tiffany charm bracelets and had their names engraved on one side, his on the other. i stopped wearing it as soon as esmé arrived. just tossed it in a drawer and forgot about it.

she found it again a few months ago. i saw her keep turning it over and turning it over. surely there must be another side on this thing with MY NAME ON IT, she seemed to be thinking. with her little doll-face all scrunched up. it felt like i had cheated on her. isn't that strange?

anyway. i had these charms made over five and a half years ago. don't even remember the artist, but i do remember she had never done shapes other than circles. i said something like, "but they're not all circles." because not everyone is, you know. so she tried something new just for me. don't you love it when people try something new just for you? me, too.

i've been wearing my babies all week. i hear them clink around and i smile, and it seems to take some of the panic away. jellybeans are having a similar effect.

one of my sweet readers knows how uncle sugar feels about rolexes, and introduced me to mayors' selection of pre-owned rolexes. whoa. we knew a guy in jordan who wore this one, and i never could focus when he'd talk with his hands and it would fly around in the air. crow. i think it would be perfect for pat.

what do you think i should do...

it's been one week, and esmé still won't travel in the car without covering her head with a scarf or a towel. it's actually kind of funny when she pretends she sees a volkswagen from under there, yelling "pink one!" and then punching whoever's lucky enough to be next to her.

she's also taken to sleeping upside down in bed. head deep under the covers, feet on her pillow.




whenever we get in the car, she cries and says she doesn't want to get in another accident. i tell her that i've only been in one accident. ever. and that people really only get to be in one accident. so she got hers out of the way early. i'm hoping she never meets someone who's been in two.

we talk about everything so much, but i'm feeling uncertain about what to do here. i don't want to overthink it, but i certainly don't want to blow it off, either.

thoughts? i appreciate yours. xoxo. little bunny in da hood found here.

are you ok...

after our little accident, esmé just wanted to go home. i did, too. everyone with their questions and their "you're bleeding, ma'am. you might want to sit down." were peeving me off.

so we went home to breathe before heading to the hospital. mémé worked on a puzzle and tried to stop crying. i sent my famous mail to pat, and then i ran over to grae's school to tell her there'd be a few changes in her after-school plans.




so she bounces down the hallway, all messy bun and pink lips, and as soon as i see her...my eyes start watering. i mean, it's all so minute-to-minute, yes?

she looks around and starts panicking.

"do you want to take this outside?" she asked me, in a low professional voice.

"no. no. i'm good." she looked like she didn't believe me but also like she would be very peeved if i lost it at her school.

"esmé and i got into an accident. a big fat bastard in a crap car ran a red light and smashed us."

"where's mémé?" still professional.

"at home. she's fine."

"are you ok?" looking at my already-black arm and swollen eye and bloody bridge of my nose, her eyes widening but. still. profesh.

i assured her once more that both mémé and i were fine. she nodded, looked at her watch, and said "ok...i've really got to get back to class."

pat and i have been laughing our heads off ever since. she's such a middle-aged man, do you know?!




later, lillie asked why i didn't go to her school. i told her that i knew she was in the middle of testing, and i didn't want to ruin her straight A streak. she looked like she didn't believe me and even mémé rolled her eyes.

"you woulda cwied and we already had enough of that with me and mom." she said, still working on her puzzle.

that night, when we were all home again, grae didn't leave my side. followed me everywhere and even into the shower. lillie, on the other hand, couldn't get far enough away from me. esmé was just trying not to cry.

just before we fell asleep, lill came into my room and looked at me with her dad's chocolate browns but no chandelier smile.

"i wasn't nice at all this morning," she said. "i was grumpy. i didn't even kiss you goodbye."

poor thing. i told her how i wondered all the time which is easier: having someone you love die for a long time or all of a sudden out of the clear blue.

we talked about it for a while, and decided that both would stink. so maybe we should just be nice all the time just in case.

the first two pictures i stared at this morning twice. here and here.

phrew...

he's back.

it's kind of funny to me. he walked in the door, said something utterly epic...like, oh, baby!...and suddenly? i feel it.

the left side of my head is killing me. my front tooth is numb and chipped and it startles me when it catches a burst of wind. or, say, whenever i breathe. which isn't that often, really. my jaw clicks when i chew, which is something i've been trying not to do anyway because of my fractured nose. apparently, all those parts are connected. oh, and my neck and shoulder area - the one that esmé describes as "where your wings are." - can't really move like the instruction manual promised.

i'm whining, aren't i? i am.

i just think it's funny how your mind takes care of your body until someone else can.

uncle sugar smells like espresso in the morning. i like that quality in a man.

just an accident...

so. esmé and i are fine and everything's fine. we just got into a little car accident yesterday.

see how i did that? important stuff first. minor details second. it's a lesson i learned after i sent a faraway mail to uncle sugar yesterday, when the subject line read esmé and i just got into a huge car accident and we're going to the hospital now!

and then on the inside, i put all the i think we're going to be fine...there's not much blood details.

anyway. from what i can piece together, esmé and i were listening to pitbull one minute and then getting blindsided the next by a guy whose brakes apparently didn't work the way brakes should at, say, a stop light. the entire driver's side of our car is smashed.

i couldn't care less about the car.

aside from a lump on esmé's little forehead and a little fracture in my nose and a black eye and a bruised-up arm, we're doing well. can't stop misting up whenever we look at each other, but we're doing well.

uncle sugar, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. i so wish i could let you read his mail back to me after about a million phone calls. let me see if i can find some nice parts...hmmm...how about this: i want to rip that mothertrucker's {my edit and the term he used back when he was an angry eight.} head off. find out where he lives. i want to talk to him. no, wait. this is sweet: he'll need to pay for all medical. and damages. and my anger. or this: i want to send gracie over to slit his throat.

excuse me while i wipe a tear.




if i think about it...really think about it...i start crying. and i can't get esmé's face in my rear view mirror out of my eyes. i see it non-stop. i can't breathe when i think of how our story could've ended. and to tell you i'm grateful that our injuries aren't major and game-changing and devastating? i need to make up a new word because that one doesn't begin to cover it.

poor thing keeps looking at me and fake-smiling so i won't notice all her tears piling up in her big blues. she keeps repeating my words right back at me: we're fine. we still have each other. i'm so glad we still have each other.

note: if you talk to her and she mentions anything about a big fat jackass dummy too busy talking on the phone to be bothered with brakes and red lights...well...i don't know whose words those are. we can blame uncle sugar. except we all know he uses much more colorful language.

catch you later. cutie pics because my ray-bans got smashed and i miss them already. also, that second pic makes me smile. i need a smile. say nice things to anyone you like. it's better that way. just in case. and i really am fine. especially since the doctors told me i'd for sure be sore today and a few after this; you know i'm just passive-aggro enough to prove them wrong, yes? so weird. xoxo.