Archive for June, 2005


Things you cannot make up

June 29, 2005

Duck: Hey, Stealth, gimme that hook.

Stealth: No, Duck, I’m the hooker.

Duck: NO, Stealthie, I’M the hooker.

Stealth: I’m the hooker.


Duck: Hey Mom, is Mark Velma’s Husband?
Me: Nope.
Duck: Yes he is, they just don’t know it yet.
Stealth: Wow, Mom, I love Bob Marley.
Me: That’s awesome, Stealth. What do you know about Bob Marley?
Sage: He’s my hero and his Mama named him after me.
Stealth: Hey Mom, you know Daddy and Grandpa?
Me: Yes, we’ve met.
Stealth: I have a secret about them!
Me: You do?? What is it?
Stealth: My secret is this : Daddy is my Daddy and Grandpa is my Grandpa.
Duck: Hey lady, my name is Duck and I’m 5 years old. Come meet my mom – I think you need her.
Upon seeing a very pregnant woman in the grocery store.
Duck: Hey Mom, you know Emily?
Me: Yes, Duck. Emily works at Willie’s – she’s a waitress.
Duck: NO, she LIVES there.
Me: No, Duck she just works there, I’m sure she lives somewhere else.
Duck: NO, Mommy. She lives at Willie’s. She has to – she’s all about the mayonaise.
Stealth: Mommy, do you not have a penis?
Me: No, Stealth, I do not have a penis.
Stealth: Let me see.

Peek-a-Boo, I see you

June 29, 2005

Peek-a-Boo, I see you


One way or another

June 28, 2005

I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha
So, I’ve mentioned that I have two sons, but I see that I’ve nearly only written about and posted photos of Duck. That kid is just so out there! Yesterday, after a particularly intense “NO WIRE HANGERS” moment on my part, Duck came up to me and said, “That’s okay, Killer. We all make mistakes.” Seriously, how can you not write about that kind of stuff?
But, I have 2 sons and the other kid is just as much of a character.
Stealth, also known as Monkeyboy, Scrambler, The One to Keep Your Eye On. In Stealth’s 3 years, he has managed to find all my buttons and create a few new ones. He makes me think. He challenges me. He is fiery and passionate and opinionated. He’s a dare devil and couldn’t give two shits about what anyone thinks (except maybe his hero, Duck.) He’s an artist, a dreamer, a punk rock kid. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and couldn’t hide his feelings for the world. He screams and kicks and spits and hits and throws things. And he cuddles and comforts and loves and kisses and gives. You can look into his eyes and tell that no matter what you’re trying to front, he can see right through you. He’s lived a thousand times over.
He’s just like me. He drives me insane.
Stealth and I have been struggling pretty hard with each other over the last couple of weeks. He’s probably spent more time in his room than out of it. He’s just BARELY a Taurus, really really close to Aries, so he butts head with his Aries mom all the damned time. Frankly, what it boils down to is that we both just don’t really know what to do with each other and neither of us will back down. Now, of course, I know that as the grownup, I should be open. I should listen. But, of course, I don’t. We fight and argue. I know it’s more important to be happy than to be right and if no one’s going to die, well, then I should very well just make peace. But I don’t – and I don’t think he wants me to.
Don’t get me wrong, Stealth is my baby and I love him more than Sushi (Shhhhhhhhhhh – don’t tell ANYONE that I love ANYTHING more than sushi. You never want to anger the sushi gods.) The same things about him that drive me insane fuel my love for him like a Molotov cocktail. I could spend hours looking into his eyes trying to figure him out, knowing that he’s known every single bit about me since before he breathed air. I know that he spends more than two thirds of his time just waiting for me to catch up. I know that he’s met Bob Marley and Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jerry Garcia, and all the rest. I know he carries with him their power and love and truths. I know that Stealth’s role in this world is to change it. He’s going to shatter misconceptions. He’s going to bring the truth to light. He’s going to paint the sky.
But for now, he’s gonna drive me up the wall.
Stealth is independent. He doesn’t want to need anyone. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s aware that anyone else in the world exists. He is his own man.
But, he’s only three years old.
When we butt heads and fight and push each other’s buttons, we both pretend that we couldn’t care less, that we don’t need each other’s touch. That we don’t want to cuddle and kiss and laugh. That we could care less if the other one ran off to Vegas forever.
But it’s a ruse.
Around 4 in the morning, the truth comes out. Around 4 in the morning, I feel tiny little lips on my cheek. I open my eyes and I see my puffy eyed, fuzzy headed revolutionary of tomorrow standing beside my bed. I pull back the covers and in he climbs. I wrap my arms around him, smother him with kisses, and he snuggles in close. He whispers, “Oh, I love you, Mama.” And as we drift off to sleep, I can almost hear him thinking, “I gotcha again, Mom. I gotcha again.”

What I know for sure

June 26, 2005

1. When they ask for an epidural at 1 centimeter, it’s going to be a long night.

2. The only thing more precious than a brand spanking newborn baby is a brand spanking newborn Grandpa.

3. Cafeteria chicken strips and mashed potatoes at 1 AM will rival the Hoover Dam anyday – NOTHING gets past it.

4. An older male obstetrician can be so much cooler and with it than a young female OB. You know, anyone who will discuss the finer points of imports and microbrews in between pushes and hates Bud Lite is a good man.

5. A raging bitch can turn into a goddess – if you give her 3 years or so. Apparently, a nurse CAN learn from telling a laboring woman that she cannot make noise ’cause it will wake folks up and the subsequent verbal bitch slapping that came from saying just that.

6. Seeing a brand new family can make you miss yours more than anything in the world.

7. The best feeling in the world is coming home after a marathon and having your children and your husband climb into bed with you – just because they missed you and want to spend time with you – even if you’re sleeping.

8. Slight shoulder dystocia can be resolved while keeping the perineum intact – but you’ll never forget the sound of those shoulders popping free.

9. A placenta is NOT like a field of dreams – it will come even if you don’t do a damned thing at all. Certain folks would do well to pay attention to this fact.

10. Every time a woman gives birth, she changes the world.


Sarah Magnolia

June 24, 2005

best day evah – proof of me wearing a bathing suit!

When my husband and I were dating (okay, we never dated – we moved in with each other 6 days after our first kiss,) he used to say that Sugar Magnolia reminded him of me. A long time Grateful Dead fan, this moved me beyond reason. Truth of the matter is that I also used to see myself in the song. I felt like Sarah Magnolia. 6 years, 2 kids, a business and a mortgage later, I’ve been feeling like anything but Sugar Mag, Sarah Mag, frankly, I’ve been feeling about as alive and thrilling as Milk of Mag. Until yesterday.

Yesterday was AMAZING. Just great. And today and tomorrow gonna be even better.
‘Nough said.

Sugar Magnolia blossom’s blooming
Head’s all empty and I don’t care
Saw my baby down by the river
Knew she’d have to come up soon for air

Sweet blossom come on under the willow
We can have high times if you’ll abide
We can discover the wonders of nature
Rolling in the
rushes down by the

She’s got everything delightful
She’s got everything I need
Takes the wheel when I’m seeing double
Pays my ticket when I speed

She come skimming through rays of violet
She can wade in a drop of dew
She don’t come
and I don’t follow

Waits backstage while I sing to you

She can dance a Cajun rhythm
Jump like a
Willys in four wheel
She’s a summer love in the spring, fall and winter
She can make happy any man alive

Sugar magnolia
Ringin’ that blue bell
Caught up in sunlight
Come on out singing
I’ll walk you in the sunshine
Come on honey, come along with me

She’s got everything delightful
She’s got everything I need
A breeze in the pines in the summer night moonlight
Crazy in the sunlight yes indeed

Sometimes when the cuckoo’s crying
When the moon is halfway down
Sometimes when the night is dying
I take me out and I wander round
I wander round

Sunshine daydream
Walk you the tall trees
Going where the wind goes
Blooming like a red
Breathing more freely
Light out singingI’ll walk you in the morning sunshine
Sunshine daydream
Walk you in the sunshine


Get out your ice skates, hell just froze over

June 22, 2005

I’ve done it, that which never was to be done ever again.

I bought a bathing suit.

It has two pieces.

I need someone over here with a bottle of Jack Daniels RIGHT NOW.


At play in the fields of my truth

June 22, 2005
my coat of many colors

Okay, before we get started, let’s address the cleavage in this picture. Duck took this picture of me yesterday and I really love it. For those of you who are offended, get over it. I HAVE BREASTS! Surprise. If this sparks up any of you, hush up about it, I don’t want to hear it, and you’re welcome.

Yesterday Velma and Mark came to visit. Can I just tell you that it was kind of like Christmas, a Rainbow Gathering, a good therapy session, and art camp all rolled into one? SUPER FUN. BTW, if you read this, Mark, good on you for attempting to muddle through Mid-MO’s first day of summer and not hang yourself. If it gets too bad, you can borrow our pump to empty out your lungs.

Earlier in the day, the boys and I had painted some little wooden thingies and I had gotten a brush stroke of this gorgeous metallic purple paint on my shoulder. While sitting outside under one of our mulberry trees talking to Velma, it became undeniably clear that I had to have my arms painted. I couldn’t find a single reason for this – but it was calling me. So, I thought about it as I had deep and wonderful conversations with Velma, while Mark played with the boys and occasionally brought us mulberries from the other tree to eat. Yep, had to be painted, so I asked Velma to do it. But, being the wise woman that she is, Velma told me that Mark should be the one to do it. AH yes, indeed. He is, after all, the cat responsible for the Swiffer logo (in case his rant isn’t enough for you, you can see his work stuff here.)

So, with paints in hand and Johnny Cash blaring, Mark set off to work on my arm and my boys started painting my legs. Colors swirled and my skin tingled and the reason for all of this became VERY clear. I needed to paint away the false skin I’d been wearing for so long. The paint helped me to see the real colors inside. Keep reading – I’m going somewhere with this, I swear.

My children don’t know my truths and it’s because I foolishly have hidden it from them. Have I mentioned before that I have completely ruined my children? No one else seems to agree with me, but yep, I feel as though I’ve fucked them up for all time. No need to save for a college fund, I believe the money would be better spent on either therapy or bail. Okay, back to the subject at hand.

For some reason, I’ve been under some delusion that I had to be conservative and restrictive to be a good parent. For those of you who know me, stop laughing before you piss yourselves. Truth is that I’ve had these insane ideas of what I should and should not allow, what I should and should not enforce, what is and what is not important. I have never been very good at following this crap up, so I’ve been highly ineffective, which pisses me off, which makes me a bitch, which makes me go off on my kids, and thus, I have screwed them up.

HERE’S THE TRUTH – I can and should just raise them with my own ideas. For example:

At night, after the kids go to bed, I treat myself to something sinful – CANDY – about one week a month. This morning, my kids found my stash before Brian and I woke up. Any other day, I would have flipped out – today, I told them to enjoy it! Honestly, who cares if my kids eat candy for breakfast today? As long as they don’t do it every day, what’s the big deal?

I don’t have to make sure that they make their beds, that they don’t watch endless episodes of The King of the Hill, that they eat a fruit, grain, and vegetable with EVERY meal. They don’t have to match. They don’t have to wear a shirt if they don’t want to. Their shoes don’t have to be on the correct feet. Occasionally, my bras DO make wonderful super-hero helmets. It’s OKAY if they fight. It’s OKAY if they don’t want to go to the library today (although, honestly, I’ve never seen a day where my kids weren’t crawling all over me to take them to the library.) It’s OKAY if they want to sit and look at floor when the big show is in the sky. Maybe their show is neater.

And it’s okay to paint your skin instead of the wooden thingies.

My truth: motherhood can be fun. Motherhood does not have to be as hard as I’ve made it on myself. NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING has to be done exactly this second in exactly this way for exactly this reason. In fact, NOTHING has to be done at all. As long as we’re breathing and moving, we’re doing enough. Everything will get done. Maybe not the way that I envision, but who’s to say that I’m right?

Thanks, Velma and Mark. The paint washed off, but the art remains.


Just look what I’ve done!

June 21, 2005

my best accomplishment

When the phone rings at my house, it starts the next round of the newest family game. Kind of like “Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral,” we play “Playdate, Baby, or Fiber” on a daily basis. There’s never a question of who the call is for – it’s always for me. Anyone calling for my husband just calls his cell phone. He doesn’t even bother answering the house phone anymore.


Sometimes, it’s a girlfriend of mine wanting to get together for a girlie playdate (usually involves sushi, beer, shoes, yarn, or all of the above.) Sometimes, it’s a girlfriend calling for a kiddie playdate (it’s an odd thing with kids – its almost easier handle a ton of them together than to deal with just a couple. They fend for themselves and each other if there’s a herd.) Sometimes, it’s my dear friend, JP, looking for an adults only dinner (she and her husband with me and my husband.) Elvis, those nights are so fun -but few and far between.

But, mostly, the phone ringing means work. And the phone’s been ringing off the hook.


As my business partner says, “look at us -getting all the attention!” We’ve been contacted by oodles and gobs of gestating women in the last couple of weeks. We’ve had a couple of births, a couple of interviews, a million prenatals, and the calendar is getting full. It’s good, what we do. We love it. We’re good at it. And people know it. (SMOOCH, DDFF!)

Sometimes I have to take a step back and think, “Whoa, how the hell did this happen?” I’ll tell you how – years of hard work and sacrifice. I have been into birthwork now for 12 years, in some form or another. I never imagined that someday I would be noticed on the street as “That doula Sarah,” that folks would come up to me and say, “I’ve heard so much about you – I’m so glad to finally meet you,” that people would honestly say to me, “It’s an honor to finally meet you. I cannot wait to have a baby so you can be my doula.” (I swear to Elvis, someone said that to me. I couldn’t believe it.) Just this morning, I got a phone call from an old friend from whom I haven’t heard in years. She said, “I Googled you to see if I could find anything at all about you and you’re fucking all over the place!” Yep. All over the place – in more ways than you can imagine.


Last night, I sat back and realized that you could theoretically find my fiber creations (sewn, knitted, etc.) in several states. Missouri, Colorado, California, Minnesota, Ohio, Illinois, Kansas, Texas to name a few. A few weeks ago, I attempted to make a new bag, but it wasn’t looking right, so I finished it up as a hat. It just wanted to be a hat – stupid me for trying to force it to be a bag. Anyway – the hat became a birthday gift. At the birthday party, I got 2 orders for that hat! So, I made several to let the buyer have a choice. They all sold before the buyer got to pick. My husband, in his brilliance, held 2 back so that the buyer would still have his, but he no longer had a choice. I now have orders backed up for this hat that started out as a bag. It’s highly likely that my stuff will be selling in a couple of our local shops by fall. I’m getting phone calls or emails everyday from folks who are asking how much I charge for this shirt, that skirt, this hat, that bag, these pants – and how much do I charge for shipping because they live in a different state! Where the hell are these folks hearing about me? I don’t have a wesbite up yet. I don’t really much care how they’re hearing about me – I’m just stoked that they are!

Again, how did this happen? We grew up poor. Sincerely, I don’t think I had real butter until I was 17 years old, had no idea that cheese should be made mostly of milk instead of vegetable oil, and wheat bread? Forget about it. We were poor, but my parents busted their ass to give us the best we could manage. My Mom made most of my clothes and I grew up at the side of her old Singer sewing machine. I used to design clothes and then tell Mom, “Here’s what I want – you make it.” And she always tried her best, but I could see that she was thinking, “Make it yourself, you little freak! There’s no pattern for that!” So, I started making for myself. Crochet came out of desperation in my late teens and early 20’s. I’m telling you, when you’re in the desert and you’re tripping your tits off, it gets COLD at night. Hats are handy. I’m no longer in my early 20’s and I no longer trip (except over toys,) but crochet still serves me well. Knitting was just a short leap from there.

I’ve done so much more than I ever anticipated. I work for myself. I love what I do. I’m good at it. And no one, NO ONE, tells me what to do, how to do it, and no one does it just like me. Not bad for a gal who never finished college, who lived a rootless existence, who made some foul choices in my days.

I’m accomplished. I’m a business woman. I’m well known and recognized. I’m succesful. But that’s not what makes me most proud.

I’m most proud of the family I’ve built. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if it’s animal, vegetable, mineral, playdate, baby, or fiber. It doesn’t matter when the baby is due, who’s house we’re playing at, what color that baby sling needs to be. At the end of the day, I look at my sleeping sons and think, “those amazing creatures came from me!” As I slide into bed and curl up behind my beloved husband, I think, “This is my partner for life,” and I fall asleep dreaming of what we can accomplish, the four of us, together.


Sunshiney day

June 20, 2005

I think, every once in awhile, we have to do a reality check. I think that all too many of us are carrying around a grudge and chip on our shoulders. Or, maybe it’s true that we are all just still holding onto that little bit of us that wore black all the time with either Docs or Cons and thought that no one had ever felt the suckage of the vast wastland of our lives nearly as much as we had – you know, the teenager in all of us. But, life goes on, life gets better, and sometimes we need to be happy about it. If you feel good, show it.

I’m feeling fabulous today. So, I’m gonna show it. And, I’m going to take a minute and list a few of the things that I’m so happy about – or, well, things that I’m so glad I have got going for me.

In no particular order:

I can get sushi in my area 7 days a week (although, the quality is better on 6 out of those 7 days.)

My boys are healthy and beautiful and smart.

My boys are incredibly forgiving when I screw up – which is often.

I can read and therefore the whole world is open to me.

I live in a country where I can say that the president is a total tool -and I do it every day.

I like myself overall, and I can face the parts of me that I don’t like in order to fix them.

I honestly am learning to eliminate negativity from my life – and that includes people who suck the life force from me, family members, so-called friends, and all.

I feel safe and loved in my marriage.

I trust my husband implicitly.

He still makes my knees shake, my toes curl, and my heart race. And all of that happens just with the thought of him. I’m keeping what happens when he’s in the room private. Heh Heh Heh.

My family has a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and love in our hearts.

I can hear music.

I have dear girlfriends who fit the following roles: The Cheerleader (you can do it, Sarah,) the Realist (are you out of your fucking mind, girl?,) the impulsive one (oh, Sarah, you just gotta buy that! When else are you going to find a glow in the dark can opener?,) the caretaker (You have cramps? I’m on my way. Do you want one pint of Ben and Jerry’s or two?) The drop of the hat girl, (I’ll be there in 2 seconds – do I have to put on pants first?) the smokey boozers (girls night out, Sarah. I’ll pick you up and give you an ibuprofin and pedialyte IV.) I have girlfriends who inform me of new books, new music, new food. I have girlfriends who fill all those parts of me that need filling and that my husband just cannot fill. I am blessed to be around women, to love women, to appreciate women, and to NOT FEEL THREATENED by other women. I’m grateful to you all, ladies.

And I love men.

I have learned to be still and feel the air on my skin.

I get to see babies be born.

I love fibers and know what to do with them.

I have folks who will read this.

I could go on, but I have a kiddo who needs some lemonade and then we’re going to paint wooden turtles. We might go swimming later or we might take a nap. But, whever we do, it’ll be a sunshiney day.


Daisy Head

June 20, 2005

Daisy Head