Where I'm From

George Ella Lyon started a tapestry of poems by people across the globe when she published "Where I'm From" over 10 years ago. Since then she has united each person who describes their unique origin using the template from her poem. So I decided to try this assignment from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today. A lot of childhood memories surfaced as I began filling in the blanks...

  Where are you from? 

Where are you going?

I am from soccer cleats,
from Cadmium Red fumes and diary keys.

I am from the suburban sprawl over pockets of Midwest corn.
   (Row after row,
      by default.)

I am from the abandoned lot of Fescue grass, the maple red-bronze and gold-green,
   that melted in between wax paper and Crayola shavings
   under my mother's iron.

I am from birthday breakfast in bed and Thunder Thighs,
from 50 Mauck Lane and south side Chicago.

I am from the story tellers and poets, from survivors who eat table crumbs after meals and
   Christmas money envelopes on the tree, from the gift to enjoy childhood and no college loans.

I'm from Crying Doesn't Help and You're Not Average.

I am from Baptist and Republican,
from Catholic and Democrat.
I'm from the space of seeking a belief, the yearning to know the truth.

I’m from Midwest statelines, apple crunch and Fresh Bread Tonight,
from the yard Grandma B. set on fire to the departing pulse of helicopter blades over my father in Vietnam fields.

I am from sheltered closets and superficial hallways,
   scratching to escape and find a corner in the world where I belonged,
   only to discover after roaming the world
   my corner is home.

Memories of September 11th

This Sunday has been on my mind for so long now.

Each story, each memory shared that I've listened to or read makes me want to reach out to every human being. By connecting with one another we may find peace in the comfort of one another.

This single day is surrounded by days of loss, mourning, confusion, sadness, fear and hope.

In memory of all of the lives lost and impacted by September 11th, I will refrain from writing on my blog from now through Sunday, as I want to spend this time with my family and connecting with people in my community.

I've never attempted to write about September 11th, so when Mama Kat offered it in her Writer's Workshop set of prompts I thought maybe I would try.

September 11th began for me the moment my friend, Danielle Lee, entered our grad class on ecology and announced we had been attacked in America. Confusion reigned and our professor conducted the remaining parts of his lecture, then we all fled to learn more about what had happened.

I don't recall who told me the towers had been hit.
I don't remember what my colleagues were saying.

I remember returning to my office, sitting in my chair and not knowing what to do.

Then I remembered my best friend Meredith was flying that day, and I wasn't sure if it involved Boston. So I called her, only getting a voice mail. And thankfully I later found out she was safe.

So I left my university for my apartment.
The gas station by my apartment was packed with cars, waiting 12 deep in line to get gas.
I worried, "Did I need to get gas? Will life cease to go on as I knew it?"
I continued on and burst into my apartment, seeking refuge that only followed me inside, refuge from being afraid of the unknown.

Then I was alone.
I did not have a roommate.
I did not own a television or a radio.
So I called my mom.

She told me it was on the news, video after video of the planes hitting the towers. It would not be until weeks later that I would finally see these videos that she taped for me.

Knowing that people had died and were dying frightened me, but it wasn't until I saw the visual images of the planes hitting the towers and people falling and flames and smoke everywhere, that I felt the impact of such an attack on our country, on our people.

I don't remember what I did for the remaining hours of that day.
I do remember I stayed inside my apartment, feeling confused and sad and scared.
I do remember going to bed early that night, so I could pray and curl up under my blanket.

I felt so lonely.
I was 22 and I felt like a child.

So now I will pause from blogging until Monday as I pray and think of all of the lives impacted by the events of 9/11. Please share your thoughts and memories of that day with me, it helps to know we are not alone and that we have each other.

Their Watchful Eyes

Crank it up!



"The Police said it best when they said,

"Every breath you take/And every move you make/Every bond you break, every step you take/I'll be watching you". 

Write about a time you believed someone was watching you."

I chose this writing prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, because I couldn't get the song out of my head for two days after I read this prompt! And now I am tossing the ball over to you.

PLEASE don't leave a line from an 80's song in the comments. It will be stuck in my head for eternity!

Their Watchful Eyes

It's no secret.
I whine about my daughters' habit of rising at 4a.m. every morning.
I beg my readers for advice on how to get them to sleep in.
I blog about how tired I am, how grumpy I am, and how by 5 a.m. I am reduced to a bad-momma, letting my girls watch a movie so early in the morning.

But what I don't often write about is how much I love cuddling with my girls.

By 4a.m. my two-year-old is in bed with me, wanting both of my arms wrapped around her. She sings to me. She says "Dora" over and over, wanting to go downstairs to hear "Come on Vamanos."

And then by 4:30a.m. my four-year-old is laying in bed with us, cuddled up on my husband's pillow. She says "Mama, I slept in like a teenager!" or "I get to choose the first movie."

And in that brief moment their eyes are completely on me, waiting for me to start our day.

Every breath you take, Mama, and my two-year-old matches it.
Every move you make, Mama, and both of my daughters shift around my 24 week pregnant belly.
Every bond you break, every step you take, Mama, and both of my daughter raise their voices in protest if I try to curl up on my side away from them, trying to fool myself into thinking I can fall back asleep for even just one minute.

I'll be watching you, Mama, and I sit up.

The day has begun.

So my two-year-old runs to my closet and grabs my bra.
"Mama, bra!" she shouts.

My four-year-old turns on the bathroom light for me.
"Mommy, watch this!" she shouts, twirling in front of the closet mirror.

And downstairs I hear our Sheltie puppy begin to whine.

Our house is a chorus of chimes and whistles. It is a home of watchful eyes, never letting me out of their range for very long. I once wrote on my blog about being Tethered to the Umbilical Cord. Both of my daughters and I go back and forth with being inseparable and independent.

And I know one day their eyes won't be so watchful of me. One day my husband and I will wake up in our bed longing for those little arms and legs wrapped around ours. One day I will read this post and have tears in my eyes.

In the not-so-distant future, my girls will be springing not toward me, but away from me.

The Dreaded Suit

Loss (Yet Gained)

Skin stretched

rippled with marks

Muscles divided

diastasis

Ribs expanded 

never shrunk

Hips widened

staying put

A vanishing 

former body

morphs into something

gained.

Three pregnancies of transverse lie babies (holding 10 lb. babies entirely out of my pelvis) equates to looking in the mirror at a foreign body. So much is lost, forever. Yet, the marks and sags and rolls show my gains. Who needs mirrors when I've got smiling girls doing the wiggle in front of me?

Then swimsuit season hits.

I made it through two  pregnancies without having to step into a maternity swimsuit.

But this time around, no such luck.

The neighborhood pool is next to our house.
Both of my girls are fish they love the water so much.
Unlike my first two (early summer babies), my third baby isn't due until late fall.

So, I broke down and purchased a maternity swimsuit online.

I didn't want a two piece or even a tankini. My baby belly is already so big and full of a starburst of stretch marks, that it stays hidden under wrap as it should.

But this one piece shows major cleavage, so I wear a tank top over it. Silly, I know. But I don't want the dads at the pool to be eyeing my belly nor my boobs.

I love being pregnant. I love the feel of my little girl tapping and kicking away inside me. But my reflection in the mirror is hard to swallow. I always have the watermelon baby belly since I don't carry the babies deep inside of me. My stomach muscle walls separate. I get swollen and puffy. Even sitting here in my writing chair, typing on my blog, my toes are all swollen little sausages.

How ever do women give birth to 20 some children? I met a Costa Rican woman who had 23 children, and she was still petite and vivacious and beautiful.

I don't think I'll ever be able to fit back into my old swimsuits, much less my old clothes.

Is there any hope?

The Simple Things

I don't pretend to be a fashionista. I long ago found fads and fashion to be a waste of time, money and effort.

So when a mom gave me a piece of unsolicited advice about fashion,

"Take it from me, wait until your daughter starts the school year, so she can find out what clothing is in. Then go out and buy her those outfits. She won't be ridiculed that way,"

I bit the "hmphf" that almost flipped off my tongue.

I abhor materialism. I hated high school hallways where girls eyed girls to see who was wearing the latest trend. I don't see the point in owning 30 pairs of shoes. But this is just me, my choices. I don't think badly of people who choose to have five closets full of clothes. I just don't understand them.

I didn't and don't dress in a brown paper bag. But sadly, these days I probably fall more on the "frumpy mama" end of the scale rather than the "ultra-chic mama" end. I'm doing good to shower and wear non-wrinkled clothes most days.

My daughters make up for my lack of enthusiasm towards clothing. My four-year-old is determined to become a fashion designer and loves to pick out different ensembles. My two-year-old has to wear a tutu with every outfit every day (I am still in denial that I have purchased five tutus for her; I'm not perfect).

I loved living in the rainforest for many reasons, one of them being the lack of materialism. The women in the valley where I lived each owned one dress, something floral and handmade. They loved to simply sit down and enjoy a "cafecito" with friends. No one rushed, things moved slow. It was simple. It was beautiful.

What kind of world am I creating for my children? They have too many toys, DVDs, books (well, I don't know if that's possible), and choices. I know I won't put any emphasis what so ever on buying the 'in' clothes for my daughters, but I do buy them clothes, way too many clothes. I feel like a hypocrite every time I let my children get a new DVD or a new toy, because as much as I dislike materialism, I am feeding this way of living more than I should be.

Why is it so hard to live more simply?

Link up to Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today!

Bad Days Need Band-Aids

Photo by Christian Montone, used with Creative Commons license.

And that's where my daughters come in. They are my Band-Aids. They help me to let it all out. They help my skin to breathe. Without them, the ends of bad days would fester and sting and never be better in the morning.

The Bad Day: I've been going on three hours of sleep each night for three days. I am starting to lose it.
The Band-Aid: My oldest daughter asks me to take her to the rain forest where I used to live, and I remember. I remember.

The Bad Day: I drop a brand new glass bottle of Worcester sauce in the kitchen, with a puppy at my heals as I bend over my 20 week pregnant belly to wipe it up.
The Band-Aid: My girls knowing to stay out of the kitchen and singing the clean up song for me the entire time.

The Bad Day: Finding sand in the office, family room, hallway, and bathroom from my oldest daughter after I just vacuumed. 
The Band-Aid: My daughter telling me she got to go "really fast" on the tire swing at preschool and that's how she got all that sand in her shoes and in between her toes.


The Bad Day: Not hearing from my husband, who is deployed, when communications are down.
The Band-Aid: My girls asking me to tell them stories about their daddy when he was a little boy.


The Bad Day: Reading in the news a story about a little boy's murder as he walked home from school alone for the first time after his parents did practice runs with him.
The Band-Aid: The hugs and kisses my girls give me, reassuring me that they are okay and here with me.

The Bad Day: Recalling every day a memory that still is taking time to heal; less deep but still painful.
The Band-Aid: My girls hugging one another and giggling together without knowing that I am watching them.

Mama's Losin' It Writer's Workshop is today!

So hop on over to her site to check out the links to oh so many great blogs...

A Pet Peeve

It's Writer's Workshop today from Mama's Losin' It! 

Writing Prompt #4- Name a pet peeve you have about how other parents raise their kids. Go on…stir the pot.

I try not to grumble or bemoan other parents; I've got enough on my plate - I'm not the perfect mom, so who am I to criticize. But as my children get older, I realize they are getting impacted more and more by other children and how those children's parents raise their kids. Yes I feel like a Mama Bear at times, wanting to protect my children, but at other times I give my children much space to let them figure out how to handle situations on their own (as long as it is clear they are safe).

Nevertheless, a pet peeve of mine has come to the battlefield recently and it's time I wrote about it. For some odd reason, every time I blog about something I am stewing about I feel so much better afterwards. Blogger is my own personal therapist.

The Pet Peeve: parents who give in to their children ALL the time to a point where they are babied, given the keys, and held on a pedestal.

Like I said, I'm not perfect. There have been a handful of times I have given in to one of my daughters to appease their crying or distract them from a meltdown, but I can count these times on one hand. I'm also not the strict, wrist-slapping nun who doesn't give children an inch (my mom grew up with teachers like these, not a mom - my grandma was a wonderful mother).

There's a boy my daughter plays with occasionally, and he just turned four. He pushes her. He rolls his eyes at me. He cries for every toy at every moment. He whines until he is held like a baby. And his mom gives in to his every whim. I don't know if there are special circumstances, so I can only say this here, once. But it irks me that he is so spoiled and so allowed to hurt others to get his way. I leave, with my daughter, feeling peeved.

We may be at a playground , the play area at the mall, the library, the grocery store... it happens everywhere. Parents giving in to fussing children. I've been there and done that. Children fuss in public and sometimes we just have to mollify them. Sometimes we don't.

But it is in our homes or in preschool, a place where the children are comfortable and at ease, those are the places where babying ill-mannered, aggressive children really bothers me.

Phew! I feel horrible steamrolling parents who do this, but it does help to write about it. I bite my tongue around these children and their parents. My daughters and I simply walk away  rather than deal with it.

So I apologize if this post offends anyone. Writing this probably helps me so I don't actually one day just let go and blow up in front of one these parents.

A Poem

 My Oldest

 (Disclosure: I am not a poet. Not even a closet poet. So sorry to disappoint.)

My princess scales walls

with her sister in tow

Her spider-sense makes her a cuddlebug

She shares the stage with a starlight

And isn't afraid to lead

She's my girl, 

my firecracker,

my love.

I went with more than one photo for my writing prompt from...

Mama Kat's Workshop

My six-word memoir for today's writing workshop:

Rubber boots. Flip flops. Barefoot. Heals?

4a.m. Again and Again

Starting My Day Over, One Minute At a Time

I repeat the a.m. hours
over and over.
It's 4a.m. I wake
to crying, fussing girls
I roll over and get up
on the wrong side of the bed.
By 5a.m. they've eaten
toaster strudels
eggs
strawberries
smoothies
and now they want pancakes.
By 5:05a.m. Dora is on
God help me
I scream
(in my head)
Let's do this over.
It's 5:52a.m. my patience
has evaporated
I cry in the mirror
at my tangled hair and clown dark eyes.
Shower? Shower?
Big sister is crying,
Little sister bit.

Oh my God,
It's only 7:32a.m.
We've done everything already,
the coloring,
TV,
Play-Doh,
books,
toys.
Okay wait,
the playground,
surely we won't wake
our neighbors up.

I am on my second piece of chocolate and close my eyes.
Fantasize.
Starting Over.

I wake up
It's 6a.m. refreshed
Girls sleep in until 7a.m.,
no let's make it 8.
I drink some tea,
check my email,
write and hear the birds outside.

I start my day over and over
and over again in my head
until I roll over on the right side of the bed
Now I have the smiles and patience
for this long day ahead.

Hey, it's already 9a.m.
Almost Nap Time!

A Chance Meeting

It's Saturday morning and I've been reading through my past blogs, trying to get a sense of my blog. How has it evolved? What posts mean a lot to me? How can I get back into blogging? How do I find my voice?

One thing that has always come up for me as a blogger is how much information do I share. There are privacy issues, there are personal issues. Holding back on the big stuff is important to me, but also sharing a part of myself in my writing helps me to reach the truth.

My blog isn't particularly witty, humorous, sarcastic or chic. There are so many amazing blogs out there and I love reading them. But here, my blog shows me: the serious introspective introvert trying to find meaning in my life as a mother and writer, a wife and a woman. 

Writing workshops definitely help me to branch out and try new things in my blog. Like this post "Jiggle, Jive, and Break Dance" that I wrote some time ago from Mama Kat's Writers Workshop.

When a Writer-Mama Takes a Break She Creates a To Do List

1. Break-It: Accidentally break the shrinky dinks my toddler created that are now small, sharp objects capable of being choking hazards.

2. Break-In: After the 2-year-old and 2-month-old are down for their naps break in to the chocolate covered pretzels as a reward.

3. Break-Up: Given that I started Weight Watchers today, break up the chocolate covered pretzels into tiny morsels so they will last longer.

4. Break-Down: Allow two minutes of self-pity when my 2-month-old wakes up after only sleeping for 10 minutes. Don't have a breakdown. Just search for crumbs of the morsels.

5. Break-Through: While rocking baby back to sleep give myself the time and space in my head to think about writing. Let creativity run its course to reach a break through with writing ideas.

6. Break-fast: Eat breakfast even if toddler is running off after only two bites of a peach and baby is demanding to be nursed.

7. Breaking-Away: Take advantage of the opportunity to breakaway to Starbucks alone on the weekends when Hubby offers to watch the girls for a couple of hours.

8. Break-Even: Maintain a budget for how much I spend as a writer, so I know when I start breaking even.

9. Break-Dance: Jiggle, jive, and break dance each time a writing piece is accepted for publication!

 Sometimes I read a post in a blog written by someone I usually don't know and I connect so deeply that it makes me realize that despite the effects of globalization on the loss of community I feel connected to other mothers and writers. 


My husband and I met eight years ago on eHarmony. I was in the process of changing courses from getting a PhD to a Masters and he had just completed graduate school and was PCSing to Japan for the Navy. The instant I read his profile I knew. Isn't that silly? But it is true. We had never met, yet somehow through the two-dimensional connection of the Internet I connected with every aspect of his being. I finally understood the core of my soul as it was reflected in him. 


We talked on the phone for three months, usually 4-5 hours a day, sometimes more. Looking back now we both laugh - "Whatever did we talk about for so long?" We then met and less than a year later we married. 


I laugh at myself for meeting the love of my life through something so impersonal as a computer, because I am such a nature girl. I love living as naturally as possible. I love simplicity. I abhor materialism. And yet, here on the Internet I let myself go as much as I am willing too. And I connect with others. 

It's great to be back here, blogging again. I look forward to discovering more writers and mothers who have been blogging while I've been gone for a year!

Jiggle, Jive, and Break Dance

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop is a great exercise for writer-mamas! If you'd like to take a survey after browsing my blog today, I'd appreciate it! Check it out in the sidebar!

Prompt #4: How did you break it?(inspired by Brandy from Not Your Average Soccer Mom)

When a Writer-Mama Takes a Break She Creates a To Do List

1. Break-It: Accidentally break the shrinky dinks my toddler created that are now small, sharp objects capable of being choking hazards.

2. Break-In: After the 2-year-old and 2-month-old are down for their naps break in to the chocolate covered pretzels as a reward.

3. Break-Up: Given that I started Weight Watchers today, break up the chocolate covered pretzels into tiny morsels so they will last longer.

4. Break-Down: Allow two minutes of self-pity when my 2-month-old wakes up after only sleeping for 10 minutes. Don't have a breakdown. Just search for crumbs of the morsels.

5. Break-Through: While rocking baby back to sleep give myself the time and space in my head to think about writing. Let creativity run its course to reach a break through with writing ideas.

6. Break-fast: Eat breakfast even if toddler is running off after only two bites of a peach and baby is demanding to be nursed.

7. Breaking-Away: Take advantage of the opportunity to breakaway to Starbucks alone on the weekends when Hubby offers to watch the girls for a couple of hours.

8. Break-Even: Maintain a budget for how much I spend as a writer, so I know when I start breaking even.

9. Break-Dance: Jiggle, jive, and break dance each time a writing piece is accepted for publication!

Toddler Tales Top Ten

A little late, but here I am . . .
It's Mama Kat's Writers Workshop today and I've finally gotten a chance to check out my favorite blogs and write on my blog!

2.) Things I have learned from my toddler.

1. Discipline is hard on both of us. (See tomorrow's post for details)
2. Toddlers thrive on their senses. My little girl finds comfort in resting her hand upon a chin, stroking an arm, and resting her foot on a leg. As long as she is touching another human being, she is at ease.
3. Terrible Two's isn't really so terrible.
4. It's hard not to laugh in the face of tragedy according to a toddler (dropping half a cookie on the floor, only being allowed to wear five panties under a skirt, having to change out of PJs by noon, waiting until 8a.m. to eat ice cream, and being forced to get out of the water when her skin resembles a raisin)
5. Unconditional love is not only given to children but is also reciprocated.
6. Receiving unconditional love from a toddler is the best feeling in the world.
7. The human brain is a sponge, and a toddler's action show the physical development of a brain growing exponentially every day.
8. A toddler's conversation with herself reveals a stream of consciousness as her brain thinks and she talks simultaneously.
9. Every day is better than the last, full of a deeper love and more joy, it's unbelievable.
10. My toddler is the teacher and I am the student.

Out of the Rainforest and Into the ER

It's Mama Kat's Writers Workshop today! I haven't participated for a few weeks, but I'm back!

The Prompt:
1.) Your trip to the ER...spill it.(inspired by Stephanie from This Blessed Life).

During the few years I spent living in a Costa Rican rainforest, I visited the ER a few times. A trip to the ER wasn't particularly easy as you'll see from my story below (true story):

I was a typical young woman denying discomfort 'down there' after using the outdoors for my outhouse during the night for several weeks. My little hut that I lived in by myself was a good 3-4 minute walk through the rainforest to the nearest outhouse. I loved hiking through the forest at night, and often did it without my flashlight, but I didn't really enjoy going to the outhouse because of its inhabitants: scorpions, spiders, mice, and bats. I always managed to pick up a hitchhiker on me when I did go there and did not like the company back at my hut.

So after peeing and such outside in the black darkness for many weeks, I got a bladder infection, which I ignored. I was invincible as everyone is at 23 years old.

The pain around my middle got so bad that one morning I couldn't get out of bed. My absence was noted in the local research station where I was volunteering as a naturalist. Soon my little hut of 5 feet by 8 feet was bursting of Costa Rican mothers, babbling away and feeling my forehead and abdomen. Eventually a tea of rainforest plants (I think they used over 20 different species in it) was handed over to me. I prayed it wouldn't poison me, and sure enough, it brought me enough relief that I managed to get out of bed and amble down the small trail through the rainforest.

My destination: a taxi. It had descended the mountain from a town one hour away and driven to me on a narrow road puckered with potholes and dotted with horse and cow pies. I climbed inside and began the 5 hour journey out of the rainforest to San Jose, Costa Rica.

The ER of my choosing was a private one and upon my admission I tried to find a way to say in Spanish that I faint every time my blood is drawn, but my limitation with the language failed me and the doctors went crazy when I toppled over.

When I woke up a few minutes later I was well on my way to recovery as they started the meds. I stayed at the ER for a few days and paid a total of $115 (and that wasn't even required given their socialized medicine).

Meanwhile my parents back in Memphis had telephoned the research station to just check in with me. One of the other naturalists, the one who was high on marijuana the entire time, happened to answer the phone.

"May I speak with Kimberly?" my mother asked.
"She's like sick, at the hospital," answered the naturalist.
"What? Is she okay?"
Click. Like many days and nights, the power was lost in the rainforest due to strong winds and buckets and buckets of rain. And the phone went out.

An hour later (and three glasses of wine according to my dad), my mom reached the station again. This time the station director, an elderly science professor, answered the phone.

"What's wrong with my daughter Kimberly?" my mom bellowed.
"Why nothing's wrong with her. She's a lovely young girl. Hard working naturalist and she..."
"I know that. I mean what's wrong with her PHYSICALLY?"
"Oh, she's at the hospital getting treated for a bladder infection. She'll be okay. Do you want the hospital's phone number?"

My mother survived (with an additional few white hairs). I survived. But it wasn't the last time I'd see the inside of that ER.

Making the Cut

Mama Kat is hosting her Writers Workshop today, and I've chosen prompt #3 to answer (Describe a difficult moment that you survived.)...

The first words out of my mouth to my husband yesterday when he walked in the door was "I don't think I'm cut out for this." I had a weak moment with a howling newborn in my arms and a screaming toddler in the kitchen around the corner. This had been our entire day, one child screaming or both screaming at the same time. How does any mom or dad do this?

I could handle one child just fine, but two? It's so hard. My toddler's high energy keeps my newborn awake, who then cries and howls from being overly tired. If I take my newborn to a quieter place in the house to get her to fall asleep, then my toddler gets into things that are off limits. Sigh.

We survived yesterday afternoon, but I gave in one time too many to make it through the day: my toddler ate two Hershey kisses, watched an hour of "The Bee Movie" while eating dehydrated blueberries on the white couch, and required my help with activities while my newborn cried. Rocking and nursing did not cut it with my baby; she wanted sleep and to get sleep she needed a dark quiet room.

So how does any parent make it through the day with two children under two years of age? Every mom I've met said the first year is the roughest, and yet they all survived but how? I want to be a stay-at-home mom for my girls, but during moments like yesterday afternoon I shut down my mind so I can ride the tide through. Any helpful hints writer-mamas?

I feel so bad when I see my little girl's face so upset, so frustrated and when my baby cries from being overly-tired...

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop

Today is Mama Kat's Writers Workshop, so hop on over to Mama's Losin' It to read what everyone is writing about! Here are my responses to this week's writing prompts...

3.) I'll be happy when ________________.(inspired by Tracy P.)

I'll be happy when my two girls wake up. Of course I'm happy right now since I am getting a lucky start to my day as a writer with them both sleeping, but I'm always happier when they are awake and in my arms. Funny how I want more time to write and read, but how I long during extended moments of writing time for my daughters. They are both within 25 feet of me and I can see them sleeping peacefully on the baby video monitor we have, and yet I can't wait for them to wake up so we can talk and play together!

5.) Show us something you made!(inspired by Janis)

Two things: My little baby (Grace) and the blanket she is wrapped in! She's not so little anymore; already one month old and weighing close to 12 pounds! The blanket won't fit around her body soon, so time to drag out my bags and bags of yarn skeins to begin crocheting a new one!

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop

Yay! It's Writers Workshop day at Mama's Losin' It! Join in on the fun!

The Prompts:

1.) Interview a child.(inspired by Quilao Triplets)

An interview with my 23-month-old daughter (yesterday morning):

Me: Good morning Sweetie!

Ayla: Up! Aya up! Mama up! Baby no no!

Me: (placing my newborn on my toddler's bed so I can give Ayla a hug) What would you like to do today Ayla?

Ayla: POO

Me: You want to go to the pool?

Ayla: POO

Me: Oh, okay we can watch Winnie-the-Pooh after we eat breakfast.

Ayla: POO (getting more exasperated)

Me: OH! Poo! You went poo-poo. You want Mommy to change your diaper?

Ayla: YEA! (with a Swedish accent) YEA!!

5.) Create a Help Wanted Ad.(inspired by Jenners)

In dire need of a "mommy-writer helper" who is willing to come at optimal moments of my toddler's happy-state-of-mind (so at a moments notice). Must be capable of playing with a toddler who runs and dances and climbs up on windowsills continuously. Must be capable of preventing falls and crashes. And should be willing to kiss boo-boos even if they occur on big toes, bum bums, and runny noses. Seeking a mommy-writer helper to spend 2-3 hours a week with my toddler so I can write! If you have a friend who is also a mommy-writer helper that can take care of my newborn for 2-3 hours (I'll have to pop in to nurse her), then you're both hired!

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop

Hop on over to Mama's Losin' It to join in on the fun! For my TGIFs meme prompts, scroll down after this post!

The Prompts:

4.)Tell us about your blogline...how long have you been blogging, when did you start, what were/are your goals for your blog, etc.(inspired by Corn)

Several months after the birth of my first daughter I found myself needing to reach out into the community of writer-mamas. As a writer, I also decided blogging would serve as a springboard into writing each day. Over a year has gone by and my blog still serves as a daily journal entry for me, but it has also taken on a deeper meaning.

The goal of my blog is to stretch my mind and the minds of my readers to think outside the box about the relationship between writing and motherhood. From the tiniest of details of mothering moments to philosophical realizations I gain over periods of time, being a mother and a writer is a complimentary relationship.

Recently I have begun brainstorming and planning a new blog. My second blog is titled "The Motherhood Muse" and it will be a source for writer-mamas to go to for literary writing workshops and publishing opportunities! So stay tuned!

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop

Click on Mama Kat to jump on over to her Writers Workshop today! She's got a whole set of excellent prompts to inspire your blog muse...

1.) What is your life's anthem... From childhood scrapes and bruises to adolescent woes and joys to adulthood discoveries and falling in love, the song of my life has always been "My Favorite Things" by Oscar Hammerstein II and Richard Rogers. I simply remember my favorite things every day of my life, whether I am in the middle of writing or playing with my daughter or snuggling with my husband. Life has its ups and downs for everyone, but this song makes me want to sing no matter what I am feeling or experiencing.

On that note...

5.) List ten things that make you HAPPY...

1. Watching my daughter shriek with pure joy when my hubby walks in the door after a long day at work.
2. Watching my hubby's face light up with the ultimate expression of love when he sees our daughter's happiness at the sight of him.
3. Listening to my daughter talk to the baby inside my belly.
4. Feeling my baby kick and move inside of me.
5. Spending Christmas morning with my entire family.
6. Knowing when I've written a manuscript that is good.
7. Hiking outside in nature with my hubby and daughter.
8. An extra hour of writing or reading time when my daughter decides to take a longer nap than usual.
9. Playing with children alongside my daughter.
10. Realizing how lucky I am to have such a healthy life and loving family.

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop

Yay for Thursday at Mama's Losin' It! One of my favorite blogging opportunities is Mama Kat's Writers Workshop. This is my third week participating, so here goes...

The Prompts:

1.) Share a love letter. My first thought happened to be a letter my grandfather wrote to my grandmother after meeting her for the first time on a city street corner in Chicago, which I'd love to share with you but it's currently residing with my younger sister so I need to ask her to email it to me!

So in lieu of my grandfather's poetic letter, I will present the following love letter: A.

A for Ayla, my Amazing little girl,
who Always fills me with Amazement with her
Awesome hugs,
Adorable kisses, and
Adventurous spirit.

2.) Memorial Day Weekend plans?? Do share! If I'm lucky I will go into labor! But I went 10 days overdue with my daughter, so I'm not holding my breath. I'll certainly be out walking, driving over bumps, and eating eggplant since those are the recommendations I've received from old wives! If you know of any others, please send them on to me in the comments! I'll be grateful.