stories...

i find this tale...fascinating.

relationships...hmmm.

anyway. stories. grae's instructed me to come up with a few for this afternoon. the girlies three love my stories. can't go to sleep without them, in fact. and, now? a few of the little lovelies in girls on the run can't run laps without them.

last week, i told a few of my best as we ran. like the one about a three-year old lillie asking in a very hushed church in a very non-hushed yelly question voice if the little boy in the next pew was an ass. over and over again. no matter how hard i covered her mouth. and no matter how many times i hisspered that jesus was going to come down off of that cross and get her if she didn't stop it.

{i. know.}

i panicked. i mean, the little guy was wearing one of those helmets to reshape his head, for god's sake. lillie was making his grandmother cry. and also? he was, like, two. surely he wasn't an ass yet?

so the story ends with me dragging lill from mass. shooting the family an apologetic smile which i was hoping conveyed the message don't worry. you'll never see her again. and i'm sure she's wrong. he's not an ass. at all. probably.

it was then i spied the superman s sticker on his helmet. an ess! not an ass!

and we all lived happily ever after. as soon as i explained to lill that jesus wouldn't jump down off the cross and get her. unless she talked in church. the end.

well. our little running buddy had her own story to tell in response to mine. it involved the words sweet jesus and angels among us and christianly plus even a rabid dog and a lightning strike.

gulp.

grae asked me not to swear or talk about jesus today. i will work on this.

shel silverstein and a shot from edward gorey's house. both found here, i think. if i'm wrong, it won't be a wasted trip. the site is genius.

friday inspiration...

lillie and grae are in this program called girls on the run. which has absolutely nothing to do with training them to be good little flight risks.

in december, we're all running a 5k together. lillie and i are not-so-secretly plotting to stomp the pulp out of grae and uncle sugar's time. not-so-secretly only because we are not-so-good at keeping secrets of any sort. plus also because it will never happen. those two are hella fast. killer competitive. and quite taunty, if you must know. that makes me and lill quite pouty. which has an effect on our speed. which would never be described as hella fast.

at least twice a week, but usually more, we run a few miles together. for me and lill, this time together never begins well. the first few minutes are full of fake asthma attacks and chest pains. she then progresses to name-calling. and at right about the halfway mark, she full-on hates me.

as soon as we turn around and head back home, though, her mood totally changes. she's usually sobbing at that point. which continues until her runner's high finally kicks in...when we catch sight of our front door.

it's not pleasant. but, really, that shiny sparkly grin she offers at the end makes me forget the entire drama. it doesn't make my fists unclench or unlock my jaw, but it's awfully lovely nonetheless.

yesterday before their girls on the run meeting, i heard them in the kitchen. girls on the run tonight! i knew they were smiling and shaking their bums. their standard i'm so geeked up dance.

and then they stopped.

i love girls on the run, grae muttered. except for the running part.

next time, i will sign them up for girls on the chaise.

i'm not normally a big fan of hilary swank. but this photo of her is on my inspiration board. and there it will stay until there's a kickass photo of me running on the beach in my bikini. as for the other photo? it's also on my inspiration board. and hers.

painting with mabel today...

what's your favorite name, mémé?

she looked at me like my question was a joke. not a joke like are you kidding me, lady? you don't know what name i like to be called? if i remember correctly, we've been hanging out daily for, like, the past four years? i'm the one whose spittle ruined an entire season of black clothes? humemba? but more of a joke like ok. i'll play.

uhhh? she answered, her teeny eyebrows nearly reaching her teeny bangs. hoobie boobies?

i don't know what freaked me out more. the fact that she was clearly messing with me, the fact that she has adopted a full-on valley girl accent for nearly one maddening week and everything she says is in the form of an unintelligent fragmented question, or the fact that she enjoys any variation of the word boobies over any variation of any other word.

no no no. what do you like to be called these days? esmé? esmé dahlia? mémé? mémé dahlia? dahlia? maisie-daisy? mookie blaylock? all names she's been called over her short four. that i can publish here, that is.

mabel. without hesitation. which surprised the heck out of me, because i used to sing her a song every once in a while that had only one line: mabel mabel mabel! on the table table table!

she. hated. it. which surprised the heck out of me, because i. loved. it.

but you hate that name! i said.

but you love it. she answered.

so. mabel and i are going to paint today. even though i hate the very thought of the mess we'll make. {and hate more that my maid won't clean it all up for me and hate even more that i no longer have one of those things called a maid.}. because she loves it.

found this artist called liz aldag on stash studios. do you visit there a lot? you really should. i secretly covet one of her bags.

i'm probably allergic to bees, too...

i've written something for the lil bee, as she's off somewhere making a little person. a girlie kind, which thrills me to no end.

doesn't your heart leap a bit when you hear of someone lovely starting on a wild adventure like this? mine does, too.

you may read my words here if you'd like.

this silver bee necklace was cast from authentic 19th century wax seals. it reads amon ami...to my friend. price upon request, but i'm pretty sure the new bee bébé will be worth it.

dónde está el bar...

there are days when i'm beyond thrilled that the girlies three spent the main moments of their tiny lives somewhere faraway. it's been like a mini pause button extending the life of their sweetness. completely delaying the inevitable hoochiness.

but then there are moments when i wonder what the heck were we thinking?

i've been trying to explain it to you...this feeling of being home, but feeling homeless. we're no longer in the minority. we no longer stand out in a crowd. we understand the language pretty well most days. and even though none of us ever even noticed such things before, i found myself thinking that such things might be rather lovely for the girlies three to experience.

i was mistaken.

because being in the majority is sort of a snore. and we can't find each other in a crowd. this is stressful when we are in a crowd. plus? the girlies' ability to converse in arabic is now useless and unnecessary. as is their ability to mimic pretty much any foreign speech pattern they've ever heard, from japanese to south african and on to the nuances differentiating scottish, irish, australian, and bri'ish accents. although, between us, they're still genius with the urdu.

however. you'll be pleased to learn that they've been working really hard to perfect their vocals on the song adios, amigos! complete with synchronized claps and spirited olés.

peace in the middle east? puh-leeze.

mark my words. someday - probably while mémé is still trying to grow out her bangs - lillie and grae are going to change the world. or, at the very least, your birthday celebration at chipotle. and we'll all look back on this moment. and sob. i mean, smile.

they'll be the two with the indian accents.

{sorry. i needed to vent. because i spent the morning persuading lillie and grae that it's wrong to mess with their spanish teacher. grae, my master mimic, has given a different - albeit completely believable - answer every time senor asks her quizzically from which country she's just moved. i asked but i thought your spanish teacher was a woman? she is. then why do you call her senor? insert cockney giggles here. ugh. in other news, aren't lisa candela's photos of mexico gorgeous? i agree. adios, amigos. have a sweet day.}

we're a no-fringe family...

until this weekend, that is. esmé cut some bangs into her bob.

i was going to use this opportunity to show you some acceptable fringe. say, from haute hippie or lee angel.

then i saw this. and it's nothing that would normally stop me in my socks, but this weekend marked an anniversary of my sister's ending. something that always stops me in my socks.

i do like a smart bag.

someone asked me today if i was mad about mémé's hairchop. nope. no way.

my sister was a hairdresser. and she would've loved it.

read more about the marilyn minter tote and bright pink here.

cross my heart and stick a needle...

we were talking about trust the other day...my girlies three and me.

a conversation that occurred directly after one that involved the phrases who spray-painted a fuchsia circle on our house? and an injured, faux-aghast not us! plus one as if! from esmé, who has taken on a valley girl accent since monday. and an if you tell the truth, you'll never be in trouble. and one rather slumped we did it.

because that's the deal in our family. tell the truth, and you'll never be in trouble.

this phrase is often paired with the phrase do you swear on my life? may i die a horrible death if you're lying? and then who will tell you stories at night about my awkward childhood and cuddle with you and keep you safe from child-snatchers and other murdering types? plus then you'll have to tell your babies that you killed your mom.

{like. a. charm.}

i told them how my dad always said that a man really only has one thing in life: his word.

what word? asked lillie.

no. not a word. that he's honest. that he means what he says and says what he means.

in between her giggles, she managed to snort out oh! i thought you meant the word for his privacy!

no. i am frowning now. but seriously trying not to laugh. {who let me be a mom, again? someone really should be held accountable.}

our little chat took a turn that i hadn't anticipated, but by the end of it, we all agreed. yes, it would stink to have our parts hanging out there in the cold...yes, it is so much lovelier to be all tucked neatly inside.

{i. know.}

back to telling the truth. i told them ok. imagine this. here i am. standing in front of you. i tell you i love you. i tell you that i want you to be happy. that the greatest thing i can do for us all is to keep you safe and healthy so that you have the chance to grow strong and share yourself with the world. that i would do anything for you. anything.

they're nodding. i'm nodding.

now. i continued. what if i'm lying about all that? or, worse...what if you just don't believe me?

well. at that, they're off. grae's admitting to at least three as-yet-unseen damages to the house plus something about talking in line at school...

but, lill. she's just looking at me. those chocolate browns of hers all puddled up.

it's like you tell a lie, she said. and you lose everything.

ooh. tomorrow...or next week...remind me to tell them about fibbing. just let me enjoy a lie-free weekend.

last night, i told uncle sugar i wanted to run away. he asked, what's that supposed to mean? it means i am cold. and i want to run away. to the un-cold. i still don't think he knows what that's supposed to mean. maybe i don't, either. all i really know is that i am cold. photos via weheartit.

strong girls giggling...

flat out. hands down. hottest flickr stream i've seen all week.

i don't know about you, but i like me a strong girl. {and i take that back. i know about you. and you like you a strong girl, too.} a girl who rocks her strengths and giggles away her weaknesses. a girl who's less romance novel and more children's book: easy-to-read with a fresh discovery every single time, the closer you look, and you'd never want to leave home without her. it just wouldn't be nearly as fun.

like ten minutes till bedtime. with a naughty twist.

anyway. i've been thinking about girls a lot lately. specifically, mine. lillie and grae...man, i worry about those two. i wonder how they're adjusting to life in the states. i wonder if, like me, they feel a wee bit homeless. homesick. or any kind of sad, really.

they're a smidge shocked at their classmates, i think. the girls, in particular, are pretty mtv-advanced. mobiles and boys and texts and boys. my girlies have really only attended british schools before this, where the emphasis was not on appearance or popularity...just brains and athletic ability and fun quotient and staying the hell away from toughie secondary girls that could possibly do some serious damage during first break, lillie!

they looked so cute this morning. grae was wearing hot pink polka-dotted leggings with yoga shorts and a skull tee and a black hoodie and uggs. lill's outfit was similar, but she always throws in something preppie...today it was a kelly green cardi and leopard ballet flats.

i told them they had style. and they both beamed. just beamed.

but what i really wanted to tell them was stay. this. way. please stay this way, my babies. please stay shiny and strong and psyched to own opinions that mean something and dress for yourself and not for anyone else and for god's sake certainly not to impress anyone and entertain yourself better than anyone else can and remember to keep trying new no matter how frightening because new means different and different is daring and...most importantly...be on the lookout for other girls who are trying to be all or some or any of that.

smile at those girls. tell them well done. and mean it.

uncle sugar always teases us about this girl power vibe of ours. especially when we beg him to kill a deadly and aggro giant insect on the ceiling. otherwise known as a mosquito.

why don't you kill it with your girl power? he asks.

but being a strong girl means giggling away our weaknesses. so we giggle. he kills. and as we watch him with no small amount of glee, this grown gruff man balancing unsuccessfully but oh-so-prettily on a tiny toothbrushing stool, wielding his crossword puzzle club mightily at the offending quarter-ounce offender...

we're sorry. we can't help but giggle harder.

i don't remember where i first saw fine tuning's photos. i only remember that i was mesmerized. it was for sure a blog i read this morning. tell me if it was yours.

things...

i'm still feeling a wee bit homeless.

our biggest and final shipment is supposed to arrive soon. over seven thousand pounds of things we desperately need. added to the over six thousand pounds of things we desperately missed during our years away. added to the eight hundred pounds of things that are seriously our barest essentials.

to rescue us when we are desperate. or bare. don't judge.

today, that eight hundred pounds of bare essentials saved me. because i looked at esmé's room and smiled...

esmé was our overseas surprise. our turkish delight of sorts. and everything in her little room was acquired while we were away. which means our eight hundred pounds of bare essentials include a bit of mrs. french and jennifer ramos...

a bit of a salinger sculpture by two hidden heads.

and a well-traveled birdie for my well-traveled birdie from cotton bird designs.

these are our bare essentials? eek. makes me feel a wee bit ashamed.

{read the following in a hushper, please.}

ashamed...but very. very. undesperate. and unhomeless. not to mention unsad. and unchubby.

{what can i say? inspired art makes me feel thinner. and you know i normally believe- as the saying goes - that the best things in life aren't things. just not today. thank you for understanding. as you were. and xoxo.}

snailing the seven sneeze...

happy columbus day. it's actually columbus day eve, but i know i won't be around tomorrow.

i feel a cold coming on. i should get some sleep, but lill and grae just watched an episode of untold stories of the e.r., and are now in a bit of a state. they were mesmerized. obsessed. and no matter how many times i warned them that this was a nightmare-inducing show and no matter how many times i reminded them that they were not nightmare-loving girlies, i couldn't tear them away from the telly.

it's funny, though. grae was mesmerized for pretty much the same reason uncle sugar would be; they do enjoy the gore. grae, like her dad, smiles for the entire show. i hear oaw! and a major giggle at the grossest parts. it's only later, as soon as she turns back into a little girl, that it hits her...she's a little girl.

but lill is like me. watches with a broken heart, holding her breath until the hopeful ending. just crushed if it never comes.

let's be honest. a guy with an eight-iron through his head? a woman shot in the face? how do you define hopeful ending?

i would so much prefer they watch the latest movie with which esmé's a little obsessed. yeah. she talks about this movie all the time. to us, to strangers, to her best friend tootie...

ALL. THE. TIME. which would be fine if her pronunciation wasn't so painful.

assho boy. coming soon to a theater near esmé.

i thought it only fair to show you my obsessions of late: bone playing cards and marni boots. neither of which are nightmare-inducing whatsoever.

you mustn't...

miss this, that is.

now. i rarely give orders. unless your name happens to be lillie. and unless you haven't worn your retainer in at least a week. and unless you haven't even {gag} brushed it in as long. then? i order. plus maybe threaten.

{by the way. if your name is lillie and you haven't worn your retainer in at least a week and you haven't even brushed it in as long and you're not living in my house? well. then i am sincerely sorry for calling you out. this is awkward. let's move on.}

i think i probably know a few things about you...

you're probably creative. you're probably very very good at something. whether you know it or someone else knows it or no one knows it yet. and maybe? you're probably a bit of a dreamer.

i could be wrong. it happens. like, at least seven times. hourly.

but. if i'm not? if you're dreaming of something different? today or tomorrow or next month or as soon as esmé goes to school? then you should check this out...

and if you live near me in the northern virginia/washington dc area? then you should check this out...

i'll be there. so will she. i like her smile, don't you? say yes...and let's hang out. {and that's not an order. it's just a sweet request.}

this is mary ruffle's workspace before she works. i've begged her to snap a pic of her space after she works. we shall see how she responds to my order. threat. sweet request. whatever. and xoxo.

fly to me...

i'm guest-posting at la blog de madame francais.

{impressed? thought so. bet you didn't know i spoke and wrote french. it is the language of love. but you knew that already, didn't you? smarty-pants.}

in anglais now. {sorry...i meant english. it's just so difficile to be bilingual. sometimes i forget the words.}

i'm guest posting at mrs. french's blog...le bliss. {sorry...i meant bliss.}

fly to me, won't you? say oui...

by the way. did i ever tell you about the time i met amy of little alouette? no? then i will now.

she was on the phone in a hotel lobby, which is always how the best stories begin, you know. gesturing wildly and telling some finn person that mommy loves you and i miss you and no, i love you more and i miss you so much, baby.

her curls were shiny blonde chubby circles. you couldn't draw them more perfectly if you had a protractor. her eyes sparkled. they honestly sparkled. and raced 'round the room to see everything all at once. which is always how artists' eyes are, you know.

her skin glowed. it honestly glowed. which i found particularly lovely because...if you know this lovely little thing...she's not the sort to avoid smokes or starbucks or staying up all night singing with her husband. that eight-glasses-of-water-a-day and ten-hours-of-uninterrupted-sleep business is for the birds, yes?

oh. birds. specifically skylarks. if you're lucky enough to speak and write la langue d'amour, you'd know that little alouette means little skylark. there's even a nursery rhyme about those little guys.

which i find particularly lovely because...if you adore this lovely little amy as i do...she's exactly the sort to name her shop after a nursery rhyme with lyrics that go a little something like this...

skylark, gentle skylark. skylark, i shall pluck you. i shall pluck your head.

it sounds better in french. trust.

one more thing. do you know the first thing amy said to me? i do. she squealed with pure joy in that hotel lobby. smiled this rockstar kind of smile. with those blondie curls just dancing. and yelled ohmygodiknewyou'dbetinyandcool!

it sounds better when she says it. trust.

one more thing. when you buy a goodie from her shop? it feels like she's sending you a piece of her joy.

trust.

read my post at bliss here. order your own skylark here. and read more of amy here.

hide and seek...

i'm more than a little intrigued these days with hidden fancies.

accessories that very few would spy.

but even if someone did sneak a hint of a hint, very very few would see the gorgeous ending.

also. i'm more than very-much-so charmed by obscene amounts of religious icons. layered. with no one faith dominant. more is always better, yes? especially when you're talking about faith. or dominance. whatever.

i sort of think this could be the new...{insert current trend here. are we still on moustachios? are owls over? peacock plume? cupcakes? eh. you decide. xoxo.}

jennifer fisher cleavage chain. francisca botelho scapulars, but only because i couldn't find a detailed image of the bodyguard necklace. it's sick. i covet. harnesses from leviticus jewelry. and while i'm sure they'd look stunning over a simple tee, i think i'd prefer to wear one...otherwise. and you?

debating...

i love my sunglasses. except for the smudgy scratch smack in the middle of my left lens. and the fleck on the upper-left of my right that makes me shoo away faux flies. which makes me look loony.

i need new. please help?

yves saint laurent...



burberry...



or kate spade...

{any other options you love would be greatly appreciated. i much prefer the advice of imaginary friends over the annoyance of imaginary insects. any day. xoxo.}

rewards...

i'm spending the day with esmé.

ignoring three deadlines and a few decisions as a little reward.

because my old lady fairy only woke up once last night. summoned me to her bed without much success, as i was playing hard-to-get. even though i am admittedly pretty easy-to-get.

it wasn't until lill appeared like a disheveled dream wearing a retainer and accompanied by two very. judge-y. dripping with disdain. words: your daughter?

can you just hear her click her tongue? charming.

by the time i reached mémé, she was asleep again. a sight more rare than...a sight more rare? {hmmm. i seem to be missing some words today.}

so. as a reward, we are going to nordstrom. and then we'll pack a few snacks and head to the little creature-filled creeks leading to the potomac, just a tiny trek from our home. hopefully, we'll return from our day together with a new pair of sunglasses and a jar full of slugs and clams.

hope you get a few rewards today, too. catch you later, friends.

cathy cullis. handmade hearts daily. right here.

i totally digress...

when i was a little girl, i watched a lot of starsky and hutch.

some of you may remember my childhood icky-odd fantasy of somehow becoming the lovely couple's adopted daughter. and some of you might be all wrinkled up right now, asking yourselves were starsky and hutch a couple? {answer: no. but they should've been. because the three of us would've been magic together.}

never mind that. because if there was a point to this post, it wouldn't be that.

the other day, i was cleaning. {wait for it...there. did you hear uncle sugar snort? i swear i did.} toilets. {i'm certain uncle sugar is now laughing. unfortunately, i can't seem to hear anything over my own sobs.}

never mind that. because if there was a point to this post, it wouldn't be that.

apparently, i missed one episode. luckily, it was the only episode my opera singer friend with the aria laugh did see...

scene: a tired, bedraggled mom loads her groceries and baby into the back of the wood-paneled family station wagon. her mind is obviously elsewhere. {director's note: she is probably distracted because she is not looking forward to cleaning toilets when she gets home. plus maybe she feels a bit silly for asking the grocery guy in which aisle she could find the pneumonia. he didn't laugh really hard like she did. awkward moment.} the mom gets in the car and doesn't buckle up, but does press the silver locks. hmm. the camera shoots the bleach and ammonia in the back - an accident waiting to happen - and, sure enough, the mom passes out {director's note: as i almost did when i tried to super-clean the toilets. so i'd only have to do them once. a month. at most.} and gets into a car wreck. the tension builds as my two dads try and try to get into the car as this horrid gas in the way back starts spreading toward the baby. after an eternity {or at least three commercials, one of which is surely that and-so-onning breck shampoo stroke of genius.}, starsky and hutch rescue the unconscious duo, dragging them to safety. {director's note: all that before they picked me up from ballet. later that night, we ate at huggy bear's. my heroes.}

never mind that. because if there was a point to this post, it wouldn't be that.

where was i? cleaning toilets. pneumonia. starsky and hutch. oh, yes. my point is {read the following in a firm, i mean it this time, mister, sort of an i'm not yelling but we both know i am yelling voice, please.} that i will NEVER CLEAN TOILETS AGAIN...

{and then read the following in a defeated deflated sort of a whisper, please.}...with bleach and pneumonia.

never mind that. because if there was a point to this post, it wouldn't be that.

when i was a little girl, i didn't have a barbie doll. but i did have a skipper doll. i loved her so much, i fear she became my beauty ideal somewhere along the way.

never mind that. because if there was a point to this post, it wouldn't be that. it would be this...

doesn't she look exactly like skipper? swoon.

found on sass and trash. plus a special kiss to sweet 'aroline.

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.