smashies...

every night before she falls asleep, esmé and i wrap our arms around each other so i can read her thoughts. my mind was elsewhere and i was hisspering way too much to close your eyes and get to sleep, mé! i could feel her tiny body tense, there was a pause, and then she covered her eyes and said I'M A HORRIBLE PERSON!

i just laughed.

she uncovered her eyes and asked did you read that thought?

i nodded. she gasped.

and you're not mad at me? she asked.

no. no way. i had the same exact thoughts when i was your age. i still do, sometimes.




i spent the next twenty minutes reassuring her of all the rotten thoughts that lived in my head at one point or another during my childhood. like, how i wished my mom and dad would die in a hot-pursuit car chase and starsky and hutch could adopt me at the scene of the crime. or the nights i begged whoever was in charge of these things to send my parents to the land of the lost. until they came back, i could be raised by the hardy boys. i dreamed of being rescued from my wonderful little farm girl life {which, since i had such silly allergies and couldn't go outside for long until the sneezing began, really was less farm and more wonderful.} by kings and queens, farrah faucet, liberace, the family on different strokes, and even by a troop of talking apes who were awesome cooks.

how do you stop those thoughts? she wondered.

hmmm. i don't think you can...i think they just race in like a dumb puppy and jump all over your other much more well-behaved thoughts. eventually, though, they grow up. slobber a lot less. roll over on command.

anyway, i told her i remember an afternoon where my mom had sat with me for what seemed like hours, just reading her book next to me while i played on the floor. and then, in my memories at least, she made me a banana smoothie. and i thought it couldn't get any better than that. not even with the drummonds.

long pause. a petite nod. blues like drowning stars. then a why don't you ever make me banana smoothies?




uhhh. they weren't exactly smoothies. they were just mashed-up bananas and maybe some milk? we didn't even have a blender, i bet. we were so poor that we couldn't even call them smoothies. we called them smashies.

didn't work. off to buy bananas today. even though she does not enjoy bananas. hey. have a smashie weekend, will you? wishing you a few days of good ingredients and not even one puppy thought. you take care of you. see you monday. first images that made my mind wander this morning, here and here. oh! and don't forget to throw your name in to the business card give-away. trust me...this company does great work. xoxo.

you need these...

i know you by now, i think. and i know what you need...

a few sincere compliments about how that bikini bottom makes your bum look teeny and how your smile lights up a cloudy afternoon. a genius mani/pedi in colors you wouldn't normally choose. a bangle or two that prompts pure strangers to grab your wrist and ask where the heck you got them and also helps other joggers hear you jingling when you're coming up behind them so there's not that awkward gasp-and-punch as you pass. a handful of jellybeans. an adventure that tickles your heart whenever you think about it. a baby that does the same. someone who can look you in the eyes and see the rest of your life...together. twinkly lights for when your smile isn't nearly enough to brighten up a starless night. a real and unexpected hug. your very own dirty joke you only tell after a few too many gin tonics. courage...or a few too many gin tonics. someone who's happy - no, thrilled - to see you no matter when or where. and a fresh and free set of business cards.

i could be wrong about the jellybeans. but if you're planning on attending alt design summit this year? i am not at all wrong about the business cards.

i don't mean to bore you with the details, but i must. one winner - who is at least eighteen and lives in the united states and hasn't won anything from UPrinting in the past six months - will be gifted a prize of 250 die-cut business cards. look at all the options and die-cut business card templates, will you? i am partial to the circles.

you know i love making business cards. my faves are these and these. i'll make new ones for myself later this month. you should totally make yours now.

visit UPrinting and check out their super cheap business cards. decide which one should be your new calling card; it's important to have a good one. then just leave a sweet comment on this post between today and wednesday, 3 august 2011. extra points for spreading give-away love via twitter. i'll choose the winner at random on thursday morning, okay?

okay, then.

what else do i need to tell you? details are not my thing. but i know you and they aren't really yours, either. presents that make us both happy, however, are our thing. of that, i am dead sure. a special thanks to UPrinting for this gift. because it really is...

my weekly wrist...

i love it when my girlies make me happy.




i love it even more when they make me bangles.

loosely based on this project. very loosely.

dear you...

so many sweet things happened this weekend, but they all seem to be of the sort that shouldn't really be shared. a lot of whispers, a lot of proud moments, and one or three acts of kindness from one of our three that made me put my hand over my heart so it wouldn't fall out.

you know how bad i am with anatomy.

someone asked me a few weeks ago if i was on facebook. i said no, and she was pretty aghast. you? miss online all the time is not on facebook? hmmm. perhaps i am a little too free with my thoughts on this space. that makes the worrier in me worry.




but the writer in me needs to tell stories. i honestly enjoy stringing thoughts together and forcing myself to mix words together in ways that aren't comfortable or natural. shocking myself small makes me feel like i'm living huge.

plus? my heart needs to empty itself.

i can't explain the reason behind mackin ink continuing long after i've stopped it - what? three times now? - any better than that. my heart needs to empty itself.




grae had a divisional swim meet early saturday morning, and wanted to get to bed early on friday night. esmé and i gladly went upstairs with her so she wouldn't be lonely, and so esmé could watch out for burglars and killers until grae fell safely asleep.

we both looked at her, dying to ask the same question, probably. whatever would you do with a burglar or a killer, esmé? you're so short! and i do not think you have a gun. also, you still mix up nines and sixes. and six-one-one is just not as effective at getting the right people to back you up. we shared a glance and stifled a giggle, because neither one of us could bear to interrupt her bravery.

i heard her sigh twice, and i asked her what was the matter. i can't go to sleep without lillie, she said. as matter-of-fact as if she'd just told me i can't breathe without air.

but it was early and lillie was hanging with her dad and those two just can't be bothered with sleep at night. still, grae called down two flights and asked. lillie? can you come to bed now?

i heard lill skip steps to get to grae. what do you need, gracie?

another sigh. a beggy one this time. i need you to come to bed. i have divisionals tomorrow...

and on the imaginary clothesline strung between them hung the words and i can't go to sleep without you.

i held my breath. it was early. and there's nothing early about my lillie-kate.

but i'm not tired...she began, and ended with a sigh. okay.




it's funny. that okay was so damn reassuring to me, seriously overpowering the fast-forward fear of what will they ever do without each other? it's nice to have an unshakeable faith in something i've spent so much of my life making. because you know that never happens for me with, say, risotto. or anything, really, with more than two ingredients.

anyway. i much prefer working with ingredients that get better with age.

there. exactly what i was telling you earlier about emptying my heart. now i've more room for a moment or two today...which is probably not the one that greeted me after my miles this morning: esmé dressed in her dad's running shorts and tee shirt, stuffed with throw pillows, looking all rectangle child, eating a popsicle and calling herself pam. i'm holding out for something less...troubling. photos from om-nia.

finally friday...

i have less words than usual to spill here today. perhaps due to the heat or maybe the insane purge i've begun on all our unnecessary objects or maybe as a result of a late night here spent with the best of our best friends.

i'm sure i could probably find some sort of nonsense to tell you, but i really try to keep nonsense out of friday posts.

giggle.

all i really wanted to tell you is to have a sweet weekend, you little sweethearts. i hope you get to read a book in the shade, stifle a few hearty laughs that come at completely inappropriate moments, and make something wonderful. i'm all in for making something wonderful, aren't you? until monday...

replacements...

we got our car back yesterday, and i wish i had video of esmé seeing her again. you would've gotten misty, i swear, to see her give her new door a hug.

eyes closed, deep sigh, and a whispered thank you for saving us.

we looked at all the parts that had been replaced. this is a new word for esmé - replacement - and she's really trying to understand every angle in its definition.




yesterday, she opened her car door and slammed it smack into the minivan next to us with its sweet owner standing sweetly horrified nearby. after an admirably effusive apology, esmé looked at me and assured me that it's fine...we can replace it.

hmmm. we could, i guess. but that minivan had driven around two boys for seven years, and the sweet owner pointed out every scrape and dent along its side. although i could see not even one.

sigh.

she breaks lillie and grae's toys and belongings with train schedule regularity. it's fine...we can replace it.

she sneaks into uncle sugar's private stash of popsicles in the downstairs freezer. where did they disappear? i don't know, pat. why don't you ask the girl with the blue lips?

it's fine...we can replace it.





and on and on and on.

after our trip to new york, she's been obsessed with the twin towers. i think it was after she heard them described by the empire state building's little movie as brothers.

she's like me. sisters, brothers, sun, and moon...the day can't really be the same without them.

mostly every night before bed, she asks why the twin towers can't be replaced. i have different answers, both long and less, but they all come back to the same idea. there are people involved, and people can never be replaced.

last night, she got it. we were talking about my mom, who is esmé's sun and moon.

she never found another husband, she mused casually. and then sat straight up, blues fast awake. she couldn't replace him. she couldn't replace him!

she was on fire.

and she never got another daughter after lin because she couldn't replace her, either! mom! you're right! people can't be replaced!

you know...this is a nonsense mom moment, probably, to you. i get that. but i also think it's a wonderful rite of passage, too. that understanding that people matter. that they alter actions. they affect outcomes. they're here and then they're not. they're like washable paint, making the world more beautiful in such a semi-permanent way. just don't scrub too hard. don't waste the red. you might make mistakes and turn the whole lot gray-brown, but we all do that, yes? it's almost impossible not to...




say good morning. say goodnight. say it all in between. because moments like this can't be replaced, either.

you know what i realized yesterday? i was listening to this {don't judge. i love the line they tell me i'm the shit, i'm like duh. really. please don't judge.}, devouring tumblrs like candy - especially the ones with nudie women. is that how we're supposed to look, mr. harris tweed? ok, then. i will try harder. - and i thought to myself karey mackin? you are a thirteen year old boy. awesome. have a sweet day, you little sweethearts. love, a thirteen year old boy.

just watch...

someone with a really really really fancy job asked me the other day what i do for a living. i told her i'm a writer.

oh? what have you written?

and that is exactly when my stomach clenched and my breath caught on one of my ribs and i bit my bottom lip so my cutie dimple appeared. i call it a dimple even though it is not actually a dimple. it is a chicken pox scar. and yes, that thought went through my head at the same exact moment as the thought that sounds a lot like i call myself a writer even though i am not exactly a writer.

i hate when that thought busts in.

i get paid for writing. but magazine articles and speeches and words for other people...oh, i forget all about those the moment i give them away. easy come, easy go.




to me, books make a writer real.

perched on the left corner of my desk are three and a half unfinished proposals. good stories. one could be great. none you've ever heard before. one i'm not sure i should tell. which makes me want to tell it. a lot.

back to that woman with the really really really fancy job. i almost told her that i write nonsense. nothing of consequence. truthfully, i bet i almost told her about my dimple.

but i didn't. i think i waved my hand away and escaped the convo with something like "oh, probably nothing you've read..."

yet.

one of my friends with a really really really cool job asked me what i was writing lately. after i told him, i could feel his shrug through the internet. "we all prostitute ourselves at some point in our careers," he replied. gulp. hey...have you ever been back to look at the sweeterie? remember that? man, i spent about an hour there yesterday. some lovely images over there, i am not afraid to say. speaking of lovely images, i leave you with a quote from uncle sugar in response to the friendship bracelet cuh-razy train, on which i am an enthusiastic traveler. also, i would very much like to find this watch and make it my own. it's me, yes? say yes, please. xoxo.

jotted...

doing this all day and maybe tomorrow, too. join me? xoxo.

caught...

we were talking about kiwis on our way to this place, and esmé piped in from the back "they are a flightless bird from new zealand. i bet that would make them easy to catch."

everyone always wants to catch something that shouldn't be caught, don't they?




so flightless birds have been on a certain little's mind, which naturally brought us to dodos. this morning, the very first thing she said upon waking was "but why did all the dodos die?"

"i guess they just didn't have enough babies to keep them alive," i thought, probably incorrectly, but who's going to wiki me and prove it? oh, the joy of having a late-reader.

she thought about that, and then asked "babies keep you alive?"




and i sat there for a second or two, trying to blink away the puddles forming in my blues. because, yes. i think i believe that with my whole heart and all the hearts i've made.

babies keep you alive.

have a sweet weekend, you little sweethearts. images from here and here. doesn't that second one hit you in the gut? mad truth, yes?

laughing...

when's the last time you laughed? like, laughed laughed? with tears and a hand over your mouth and a lean into the person next to you...

i do enjoy laughing.




i laugh a lot. usually when it's an inappropriate time. i will tell you this secret about me if you swear to never repeat it to anyone, ok? ok, then. once, i went to a very crowded wake. when it was my turn to kneel in front of the casket, i completely lost my mind and started laughing. shoulders shaking, nose plugged, tears streaming. i was a mess. and then. when i went to express my condolences to the guy's family? i started all over again. it was awful. i remember getting my trying-not-to-laugh high-pitched voice...ugh...this soprano sorry sailing through the room.

shame.

this morning, i've already laughed hard once. when esmé named her giraffe baracko. after the president. baracko bama.

i'm not surprised. she butchers all the world leaders and a variety of terrorists. with one exception: this guy. oh, she knows his name. she just won't ever say it. he scares the crust out of us.




where was i? oh, yes. laughing. it's good for your soul, yes? but it's kind of like hugs, isn't it? do you ever get a hug and all of a sudden realize that it's been awhile since someone's hugged you? i mean, i hug the girlies three and pat all day all night. but sometimes i think they forget to hug me first. that's a huge difference in hugs, don't you think? a hug you give is lovely. a hug you get is even better.

anyway. when's the last time you laughed? i hope you get to laugh today. i hope you get a hug today, too. off to make more videos for this project. grae sings in the most wonderful dude-in-an-opera voice. you would peep your pants if you heard it. i'll try to persuade her to share. xoxo. photos from here and here.

a taste...

whenever i complain, the weirdest thing happens: the universe shows me i'm wrong.

as disgruntled as i was yesterday morning at weirdo-competitive parents and creepy dads who tug on skirts and ask for a sick kiss of their own after you've just given a sweet one to your daughter, it all slowly disappeared throughout the day.




there were a lot of small moments that added up to wonderful. lillie asked to run to the pool to practice her turns, which is major for a girl who glides through the water with the most graceful stroke but, really, is in no rush whatsoever to finish quickly. she just loves to swim.

i was telling them yesterday that all i really want for them is to grow up to be strong swimmers. i have nightmares about this not coming true. i really do. because sometimes, life is all about saving yourself and anyone else around you who's drowning.




i met a mom at lacrosse who. made. my. flipping. day. she was interesting, she was enthusiastic about her daughter for all the right reasons, and she clapped really hard when her babe ran fast or tried hard or just tapped sticks with another girl after a particularly good play.

my kind of mom.

and it was the cutest thing! she had so much to say, and she'd start to...but then she'd wave her hand and shake her head at herself and say to me "oh, you don't want to hear that!"

but i did. i really, really did.

lillie made her first goal, and after that, grae must've bruised the hell out of the goalie trying to get her own. i'd hear a thunk and a groan and an exasperated growl from my grae-girl, and i'd do my best not to laugh. i was unsuccessful, mostly.

on our way home, lill told me i was right about scrabble, and that it applied to swimming and lacrosse, too. she got a taste, and it tastes delicious.


let me explain that one.

on our last beach holiday, the girlies were playing scrabble with their nona. they're just beginners and don't have the arsenal of words that my mother-in-law does, so i suggested that nona didn't exactly have to take all the triple words positions.

"they're never going to learn to win if i just let them win," she said. and i agree with her, mostly. i mean, i love how pat and his siblings turned out, so i have mad respect for how she raised her five.

but i also think that we all need to taste winning before we really crave it.

same goes for happiness. thanks for sending it my way.

oh! and i almost forgot the nicest part of yesterday...i was invited to design a bracelet with this very cool company! the process was so addictive and thrilling that i may have told uncle sugar last night that i want to be a jewelry designer. he may have rolled his eyes. humph. just wait until you see what i made, mister. i'll show you, too, as soon as it arrives. better news than all that nonsense? you'll get a chance to design your own, too! details coming soon...xoxo. first three things that stopped me on pinterest: here, here, and here.

pretend it's monday...

i am so naughty this morning. do not encourage this, please. here. let me be positive.

our weekend was so jam-packed with activities that we played hooky yesterday. hit a few museums, a free tibet festival, and noshed at a very inspiring kiwi cafe and art gallery. man, i've got to start being creative again. i really do.

also, buddhism? don't you love that religion? in all honesty, i had the easiest time explaining it to esmé. prayer wheels are my favorite; just the thought of spinning it and sending prayers out into the world around you? brilliant. oh! and blank prayer flags! the possibilities are endless, yes?




{if you'd like to order your own, these look like the ones we bought.}

i'm trying desperately not to follow that paragraph with one about my latest theory, written in my naughty head during swim meets. tentatively titled non-athletic parents are the most competitive. i just deleted my sub-theory. it was not kind. to skeeves.

but, honestly! don't parents ruin it for you sometimes? {if you were my friend, you'd stop me right here.} i was talking to a really smart, together woman last week who asked me if i found the parent sitch different here than the other places we've lived. i answered a resounding yes.

her theory is that there are a lot of high-powered women here who've taken a hiatus from their careers to focus on their other work products. otherwise known as their babes. and that everyone involved would probably be better off if they got back to work. pronto.

and don't get me started on skeevy dads! crap. i can't tell you that story. but it involves a skirt i can't wear anymore.

sigh.

anyway. this is why - as much as i love that darn religion and way of life - i will never be a buddhist. the end. {because weren't you supposed to stop me from my naughtiness by now before i got myself into trouble? i thought so.}

tell me you have weirdo parents around you, too! and i know, i know...i should focus on all the cool ones. i shall do that tomorrow! see? see how positive i can be? you don't, do you. i thought not. xoxo. and an entire tumblr devoted to prayer flags? i'm in.

my weekly wrist...

i have so much to tell you, but my girlies three and the sunshine are calling me away from this little rectangle.

that's not really true. the sunshine is simply shining and my girlies three are actually throwing fits. and the only call i've gotten today thus far is from uncle sugar. who is still talking about his birthday present to me.

did i tell you? it was a new york surprise. two nights and lots of bright lights, genius sights, killer food, and lots of hobos. esmé is a little obsessed with hobos. as if you didn't know this.

oh, heck. while i'm here, let me tell you my fave thing about new york: everything. we stayed right in times square because pat wanted the girlies to have that experience. that suck-the-air-right-out-of-you, blink-a-million-times-at-all-the-sights kind of an experience.

in two days and in no rush whatsoever, we saw a lot. central park, the statue of liberty, ellis island, the financial district, chinatown, and a killer birthday late lunch in little italy. we zoomed to the top of the empire state building where they sadly informed us that there was zero visibility.




they were ill-prepared for my girlies three screams. "WE GET TO EAT A CLOUD!" they gobbled up at least four.

on the way home, we stopped in hoboken to grab some pastries. the line was outrageous, but who cares? it was a moment. and it also gave esmé some spare time to write new lyrics for lady gaga's edge of glory.

"i'm on the bus...to jersey! and i'm hanging in hoboken with you. the bus the bus the bus the bus the bus the bus the bus! i'm on the bus...to jersey! and i'm hanging in hoboken with you."

try to get that one out of your head. i have.

pat keeps asking my favorite moment. i have to say, it was falling in love with america all over again. i mean, it honestly gutted me to see how many foreigners waited all day to see some of our most significant spots. the way they stopped to stare at the statue of liberty. ugh. makes me cry just thinking about it. and that movie you can see on ellis island? important. just important.

when you understand that people - pat's grandparents and mine, really - came here on a hope...

i can't imagine that bravery. to leave everything for maybe-something? i can't really put it into words how that changes me.

we've been on a lot of vacations. that's kind of an understatement, i guess. this one was different.

it's nice to return home from a holiday with more than a tan.

wrist styled and photographed by my grae-girl. she is a shimmer gypsy, that one. i told her that all my blondie hair sticking up on my wrist is not cute, but she informed me that blondie hair is always cute. i asked where she heard that, and she said "my mirror." oh! and see my friendship bracelet? it's from my hella cool friend. i like her so much.

mind reading...

last night, i was reading a few encyclopedia brown cases to esmé. she is so enamored with bugs meany that it makes me nervous.

she started a question about something or other, and i answered her before she really even asked.

"how do you do that?" she wondered. "how do you know what i'm thinking before i think it?"

"part magic," i answered. "but mostly because i made you, and i know everything inside you."




so she looked off into nothing, blanked out her face, and tried to test me. "what am i thinking now?"

i fake-scowled and replied sternly, "i'm telling daddy."

she couldn't believe it. "how did you know i was thinking about fat lady bums?"

this went on for minutes and minutes and giggles galore and thoughts so naughty...well...they'd make bugs meany cringe. a little while later, she fell asleep on my lap before we cracked the case of the stomach puncher. and for the first time in my life since the girlies three, i felt a pang. an i'm-going-to-miss-this ache.




i've never looked back and missed. it's just not me. i tend to like the next a little more than the last. i love change so much, i'd marry her. and one more day with my girlies three is such a blinding gift that i rarely think about yesterday.

but there are moments when one of my three believes in me so hard and with so much faith - no matter what nonsense tale i'm spinning - that i already ache about the day that will end.

this morning, she asked grae if she knew that i could read their minds. i heard grae answer, "yeah."

"how does she do it?" esmé asked.

"she made us," explained grae. i could feel her shrug, like this was a fact that everyone should know. like this was the same as the result of nine times anything adds up to nine. "so she knows what's inside us."

this is probably silly and even i'm rolling my eyes, but do you know that i still half-believe that my mom and dad worked for santa claus? it's kind of possible if you're bad with dates and facts. also, that my mom knew the penny wish fairy personally, so - damn it - how rude would i be if i didn't make a wish on every lone penny i found?

i rarely believe in important things. that sounds strange to say, but i'm one of those people who see both sides depending on the moment. that might be a by-product of traveling and living far away for so long. or it could just be a quirk. i also like believing small, if that makes sense. it's more manageable to me. plus i am allergic to super-declarative people. i think most people who feel like they have a ton to say...shouldn't.

that sounds mean, doesn't it? i don't mean to be mean.




sometimes i feel guilty about all that. sometimes i like to practice having louder opinions. it rarely works, though, because i keep holding on to one or more pieces of magic and hope and what-if and maybe.

i guess i just like believing in things that require belief to live on.

there was a day last week when i was a shite mom. it happens. i was short-tempered and rude and mean. and all of a sudden out of the clear black night, i thought to myself that my sister, lin, would be really disappointed in me. you know that story; she was good and generous up until the minute she died. never petty, never complained...no matter how much pain.

a little while before she died, we went to an outdoor market together. we bought a big red bird cage for my mom, and she bought me this folk art piece that made me gasp. it plays that song...oh, i no longer know the real words. when it's wound, it pays a tune and i always sing "a time to remember...that day in september...la la la la...la la la la." anyway. i rarely wind it up. it makes me cry.

but in the middle of me acting like a total jerk to my girlies three, it started playing. and in strolled a grinning esmé.

"lin told me to play that song," she said simply and so matter-of-fact that it felt like a sucker punch.

{sigh.}

i'm karey m. and i believe in angels.

photos from here, here, and here.

on friendship...

if you could pick anyone to be your friend - anyone in the world, that is - i'd highly suggest that you do not pick me.

in all honesty, i'm a fairly stellar friend in my head and heart. there've been times i've woken up in the middle of the night worrying about one of my closest and even some of you that i've never even met before. it's true: tell me your story and i'm all yours.




if it's words you need? i've collected some of the best. and i always share.

but i think i stink at grand gestures. mainly, gifts.

it's not the generosity part of it. not at all. it's the finding the perfect thing for the perfect you. it's the wait. no. that wasn't the perfect thing for the perfect you. this is. no. that is. no. this would be better. wait. let me think on this for a day. and then the day turns to week turns to month turns to never.

when i lived by my friends and family, i gifted the heck out of them. for no reason at all, most times. because you know me: i don't like a birthday telling me when to buy you something. i'd much rather listen to a thursday instead.

i'm not sure when i started stinking at gifting. it may have been when the post office became involved in the process. or it may have been my issue with remembering dates. it may have been my indecision about which lovely to buy for a lovely. it may have been the confusion-confectioner that is etsy. i'm not sure at all.

i do know it's never had anything to do with love.




but then my birthday rolls around, and the wishes and kindnesses some of you showered on me show me i'm flat-out wrong. from chirps on twitter to a chubby inbox to kickass treats from mel and richie...it must be about love. because it's all i feel.

and i need to stop stinking at it.

are you a good gifter? from now on, i'm going to be. i'm going to get a special calendar and start a gift closet {which i used to have! what happened?!}...what else do i need? tell me your tricks to being good gifters, will you? i need them. xoxo. tomorrow, i'll tell you what uncle sugar and the girlies three gave me, ok? ok. until then. pics from here and here.