All set for summer! Psyche! Not! LOL!

This week on, I wrote about summer. Which is coming. In one week. And yet. I have made. No plans. Because. It stresses. Me out. Also? CAMP IS NOT CHEAP. It used to be When we didn't have so many kids. Ha! Who knew?

(We have booked one week of theatre camp, actually. Other than that? I got nothin' guys.)
The other thing—and this is the bigger issue—camp is not cheap, and frankly, we cannot afford to put kids in camp full (or even part) time this summer. Not with preschool tuition and life being life-ish. SO. Improvisation it is. Less money, mo improv... 
You can read the post in its entirety, here. In the meantime, what are your plans? I am especially curious how all the work-from-homers deal with summer/camp/kids activities. I already feel like I've failed everyone and summer hasn't even begun.

The Hand on the Mirror

The following post is sponsored by Grand Central publishing and the new book, The Hand on the Mirror, a true story of Life Beyond Death, now available in book stores. 
When I became a parent, I knew I would be asked questions I didn't know the answer to, and when Archer finally asked me the ubiquitous question, what happens when we die, I felt relieved. Because I didn't know. And I wasn't supposed to know. Because nobody really knows... 

And that is what I told him.

And then I started asking questions. Because sometimes the only way to answer a question is to ask one in return.

"What do you think happens when we die? Where do you think we go?"
Over the years I have found that children are far better at digesting, accepting and healing from the passing of loved ones. Maybe, as adults, we know too much. Or maybe we don't know enough...

Four years ago, I wrote this:

...We talk about how much we'll miss each other when we are no longer able to hold each other with our bodies but that we'll forever hold onto each other with our minds, our stories and words, our hearts. And in the meantime... how fantastic that we get to, right? And we do. Constantly. We pile on top of each other like puppies and tell each other all day long how much we love each other. Because we can. Because someday that won't be the case. Que sera. C'est la vie. Life is short. Etc... Of course these things are difficult to talk about. All the fascinating stuff is. Complex and challenging. Emotionally daunting. Easier to ignore than face. Overwhelming, clearly. But if we can't talk openly about the certainties of life then where does that leave us as parents? Isn't it better to prepare our babes for emotional hardship? For sexual awareness? For real life? Isn't it more beneficial to our kids to hear these things from us? As opposed to some kid on the playground? A Pixar film? Personally, I rather have these kinds of discussions at home. Where it's safe and so are they to fill in their own blanks.

Janis Heaphy Durham's memoir recounts her experiences after her husband's passing and his crossover from the afterlife back into hers.

In writing her memoir and interviewing scientists and spiritual practitioners, she discovered that the intersection between life and death is love... that LOVE, much like death, is defined by personal experience and reflection.

And signs.


Towards the end of the book, Durham writes this:

Suddenly I saw before me a walking bridge. Boldly embossed on a plaque were the words: THE MAX BRIDGE. I stopped in my tracks. What was this doing here? It wasn't here the last time I was in Cambridge. I found myself asking the old familiar question: is this a coincidence? I know Max is not an uncommon name, but still, what are the chances? Naturally, I couldn't help thinking that a bridge goes from here -- to there. What a metaphor. And then I remembered Traci Ireland telling me that Max needed to cross "the bridge."... 


What happens when someone leaves their body but stays with you... what does that look like? What does that feel like?

In this vast expanse of knowing and solving and having "all the answers" at our finger tips, it has always been a relief for me knowing that life's biggest questions have no answer. And in times of stress and overwhelming lostness, I turn to the unanswerable questions to reinstall my faith and restore my heart.

At its core, Durham's story is about love --  how it thrives and survives in the hearts and souls and stories of those of us who continue our journeys on this side of the bridge.
IMG_5758 Revi and her great great great grandmother


For more about Janis Heaphy Durham and her book, The Hand on the Mirror, go here. And thanks again to Grand Central Publishing for sponsoring this post. Also! I have a copy of The Hand in the Mirror up for grabs to give away. To win? Comment below and I'll pick one winner at random next week.


Tracking Pixel

Eat Well: Apples to Apples

The following post was written by my mom, WWW. Thanks, Mom!
I totally get why kids balk at cut-up apples that have turned brown in their lunches because when I was little, I turned my nose up at the sight. When my kids were little, someone told me to sprinkle the apple slices with cinnamon so that they couldn’t tell that they went brown, which is kind of an ingenious idea and works if your kids like cinnamon. But they kind of look gross and the juice comes out of them a bit so it might be unappealing to most kids.

The other day, one of my friends shared this video on Facebook and I wanted to share it with you all because it is awesome and I wish I had known about it when my kids were young. All you need is a knife to cut up the apple and a rubber band after its cut…no plastic bag needed.

I tried it the other day when I brought an apple with me to work for a snack, and I thought, “Wow… this is totally a fun way to have an apple! I would have LOVED this when I was a kid!”

So…here it is. A totally awesome and easy way to cut up an apple and keep it so that it won’t turn brown.


ED: Rebecca, here. I tried it, too and IT TOTALLY WORKS GO, TEAM!
IMG_1826 just after cutting
IMG_1839 just after opening (six hours later)


"...Before the World was Big."

1. "I just miss how it felt standing next to you wearing matching dresses before the world was big." - Girlpool, Before the World Was Big (via Rookie)

Sunday Video: Girlpool – "Before the World Was Big" from Rookie on Vimeo.

2. "You know I never loved you more than when we were hiding from those sirens. sirens. Oh, we laughed so hard. Threw up in your mother's azaleas... That was before. We. Had made. Any terrible mistakes..."   - St. Vincent, Teenage Talk

3.  "If you've got a spare half-a-million. You could knock it down and start rebuilding..." - Courtney Barnett, Depreston

4. I'm looking for back-issues of SASSY magazine circa 1991-1994 for a project I'm working on about being a teenager in the 90s. (I've been working tediously on said project and will write something about it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please bear with me and the sporadic 90s/teenage references.) SO! If anyone has a stack of Sassys in their garage and is looking to sell them at a reasonable price... I will be eternally yours. Signed, Girl's Gone Vagueblogging.
via Sassy Scans

...In the meantime, I did stumble upon this gem (see above) which boasts some pretty sweet scans from the 90s. I actually had this silver angel spread on my wall/one of the images on my school binder... and actually taught myself how to emulate the silver eye-makeup thanks in part to an obsession with MAC's iridescent eye shadows:
(I later went on to perfect the look thanks to holy bible, Kevyn Aucoin's Making Faces.)

Anyway... Sassy Mag back issues, anyone? I literally saved EVERY SINGLE thing from yesteryear EXCEPT my old magazines (which I cut up and used as wrapping paper/book covers when I wasn't wallpapering my bedroom walls with the pages) and I'm kicking myself that I didn't save SOME of them, at the very least. This one, especially. Classic.
I mean. 
I mean!
I mean. 
(I mean.)



Favorite Family Films (For now, anyway)

IMG_8973_2 Cozy o'clock

This week on, I wrote about playing favorites.... in the movie department. As many of you know, trying to decide on a film FOR THE WHOLE family can be difficult, and while we usually take a vote (democracy 4 prez) we have established a few must-have movies that appeal to ALL four children's tastes and textures. These movies are currently on rotation in our house.

1. Hotel Transylvania -

This is the current favorite. TRULY. All four of my kids love this movie most. Which is a first. I mean, how often do four kids love the same movie? It's rated PG but you will find nothing scary, here. Or inappropriate. I don't think. I mean, my three year olds love it as much as my ten year old. (And yes, as of tomorrow, I have a ten year old. Which is insane. Moving on...) This movie is fantastic. It's hysterical. I actually cry-laughed in two different parts so PLEASE join your kids when you sit down to watch this one. Because LOLs are good. LOLs are necessary. LOLs are very much needed these days.

2. The Book of Life

This movie is a masterpiece and several weeks back I went on a twitter rant about how messed up it was that The Book of Life didn't win all the things. Because it is a WONDERFUL movie. The music is incredible. The animation is incomparable. The story is beautiful. The characters are nuanced and insightful. And it deals with death (a la Dia De Los Muertos) in a way that isn't scary, but beautiful and comforting. It's really good, you guys. We dig.

3. The Gnome Mobile -

This was one of my favorites when I was little and it was one of my mom's favorite when she was little so it was very exciting to show my kids this wonderful gem and to find that they adored it as well. Even if it is a little outdated. And sexist. And outdated and sexist. (Fable stood up several times to lecture dudes something fierce which was pretty amazing. When I was a kid I didn't even think twice that ladies weren't being treated fairly... Kind of exciting how in-the-know today's young ladies are. I was DENSE, man.)

Beyond that, what I love most about The Gnome Mobile (which stars the Mary Poppins kids) is that the grandpa believes in the same magic they do. Usually it's kids vs adults, but in the Gnome Mobile, grandfather is just another one of the kids and I love that. I love that he believes his grandchildren and helps them protect the gnomes! GO, GRAMPS! Go, gnomes! Go lady gnomes! Go, ending musical sequence! (THE BEST PART BY FAR OMG SO GOOD.)


You can read the rest of our recommendations over on, here. (I also wrote a post last summer that includes some of our other favorite family films. The Tinker bell movies are also a huge it in our house. I kind love them all. Especially the recent Neverbeast one. That made me cry, man. I love a good movie about GOING WITH GUT and TRUSTING goodness in others. Even when society tells us otherwise. Question everything, kids. And, yes, I know it's Disney but WHOA. Very E.T... but, like... a LITTLE less upsetting. 

P.S. I would love to hear what's on current rotation at your house. I am especially curious to hear from those with kids of all different ages because when tastes range from Star Wars to Secret of the Wings it can get a little tricky...

Thanks in advance and have a great weekend, all.


For Brooke, Micah & Baby Piper

I have had this song in my head for the last week so I'm posting it today, along with the fundraising page for my dear friends, Brooke, Micah, and baby Piper, who came into this world with severe complications last week and will be leaving her life here, soon. Please take a moment and direct all prayers and strength to my incredible friends who have shown these last few days what true love looks like. I am in awe of their light, love and unfathomable strength. I also ask, for those willing and able to donate to their hospital fund, to do so here. 

Brooke and Micah, I have never been more in awe of two parents than I have been of you these last few days. Piper, you were born an angel and your being here has made the world a more beautiful place. Mattson/Marshall families, you are in our thoughts and prayers now and always. We love you so much. 

"Sepia" by Khamal Iwuanyanwu + Classic Slam Recap

Khamal Iwuanyanwu is a Junior in high school and was one of the stars of The Classic Slam here in Los Angeles. You're about to see why in 5, 4, 3...

And this, from a mama in the audience:

The more I listened, the more I heard a melody of teen voices teaching us about the society we’ve created. It’s not a pretty picture, and their uncensored words don’t go down easy. As a parent in the audience, you just take it on the chin and make a mental note to bring Kleenex. At each performance, however, there are moments… moments of salvation… moments when these kids see past the constant news cycles of gore to remind you: MOST OF THIS WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL, AND PEOPLE LOVE EACH OTHER. Just when you thought humanity had utterly and entirely failed our children, you hear a voice of hope… a voice of forgiveness… a voice of love. For these children still love us despite how we’ve failed them. They are telling us to stop, look, and hear what they have to say. Much of it is beautiful, and all of it is empowering. The Get Lit program empowers the youth of our asphalt jungles to reach past the gutter and find the stars....
For those of you who have teenagers and access to local teen poetry slams, I highly recommend you take a night and witness the fitness. Archer was too young to bring this year but in a couple years, this is going to be an annual pilgrimage for us (girls, too, when they're older) and I can't wait. These kids are my heroes. More video to come... 
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Go in, Poets and thanks again to Get Lit, for including me in this year's event. 


"You are (all) my favorite."

This week on, I wrote about favoritism specifically, what to do when someone else so blatantly favors one of your children. Which is a thing that happens.

Over Dim Sum.

On Mother's Day.

(And everywhere else.)

Over the weekend, as we finished up our Mother's Day Dim Sum, Revi made a friend. Revi makes friends everywhere she goes. So does Fable and Archer and Bo, of course, but Revi could go pro in the "Let me fold my hands nicely in my lap and be cute on command" department. She sits quietly in chairs and smiles. Which makes her a hot commodity, especially in busy restaurants.

And so, as an elderly woman two tables over began playing peek-a-boo with Revi, I knew what was coming. Their game of peek-a-boo soon became a lovefest of flowers and treats until Revi was cradling a bouquet of carnations and bag full of candy.

"But what about me?" asked Bo.

"Yeah. What about us?"

"I know. This is... let me just... hold on..."

...I realized halfway through my attempt to "fix" the situation that the woman did not speak English and/or was not concerned about playing favorites. She only had eyes for Revi.

At this point, Bo had gotten out of her seat and started yelling, "WHAT ABOUT ME! HELLO!? WHERE IS MY FLOWER!?"

I wanted to echo her words because COME ON! You can't give ONE child all of the things and ignore the other children... Revi responded (as she so commonly does) to Bo's frustration by giving all of her flowers to Bo who then proceeded to tear the petals off with her teeth.

Revi screamed.

Bo screamed back.

Fable tried to repair the flowers.

Archer shook his head.

CHAOS ensued.

Feelings were hurt.

Resentment was palpable

Nobody was hungry.

We had enough food to feed 100 people.

"Check, please!"

...My kids may be each other's equals in our house but outside? In the real world? On the playground? In a restaurant on Mother's Day? Not so much.

And I get that. I accept that. Being loved by all people is not the goal. I regularly remind my kids that there will be plenty of people they meet in their lives (good people!) that they will NOT vibe well with. And there will be many people who meet them (good people!) who will not vibe well with them back. And these people may vibe well with siblings. And friends. And significant others. And that's okay. We are all drawn to different things in different people. We all appeal to different people differently... That doesn't make anyone less than.

And in this age of social media and the success being (improperly measured) in likes and shares, I find it paramount to stress the importance of properly recognizing one's self without peer recognition. Because popularity is arbitrary.

We are not the sum of the attention we receive... Don't let the "haters" get you down. Don't let the "lovers" make you delusional. You are a person! And you are mess! And you are amazing! Own it all and own yourself! And I know I sound very self help seminar right now but that shit is TRUE. 


You can read the post in it's entirety, here.  Happy Friday, everyone. 
Carnations for all... 


"Even shaking with fear, you can still scale the fence."

The following is an excerpt from Jillian Lauren's new book, Everything You Ever Wanted which I started reading on the plane home from Mom 2 and have been unable to put down. (This is the fastest I've read anything in years. Literally. I am still working through four novels three, four and five years after cracking them.) Jillian is an incredible writer and mother and woman and her book is an absolute light. And so, it is my honor and privilege to post an excerpt from Everything, as well as offer a giveaway (see below!) to GGC readers. Take it away, Jillian!


There are three kinds of daylight in Los Angeles. There is the midday light—flat and relentless. Usually partnered with heat, it catches and suspends you, like a formaldehyde solution. It has weight, singes your lungs, would poison the rain if the rain ever fell. Makes you wish the bloody red sunset would hurry up and come already.

There is the light after a rare rainstorm—the cerulean blue sky that frames the Hollywood sign and breathes new life into a thou- sand impossible dreams. Shatters your heart into glistening David Hockney swimming-pool pieces. You feel rich. You want to be driving down Sunset Boulevard through Beverly Hills in a convertible. Forget that. You want to be driven down Sunset in a Bentley with tinted windows. Only tourists admit they want to be seen.

Finally there is the dawn—cool, pale, and still smudged with shadows from the night before. In Hollywood, for many people it still is the night before. But for those of us who wake with the dawn instinctively, it is forgiving. It is forgiveness. It is soft, from the humbler east, more understated than the garish twilight displays over the ocean. It yearns for something clean that never comes. No matter—it is the yearning that counts.The dawn is my time. I always rise before everyone. More often than not, I dress quickly, have a few sips of tea, and walk out the door to exercise.

On the morning of my eighteen-month-old son Tariku’s final adoption hearing at the Children’s Court in Monterey Park, I wake at five. The hearing is a formality, but a significant one. After this, he will be irrevocably ours. My husband, Scott, and T are sleeping next to me. The pale predawn light seeps around the edges of the curtains. We don’t have to be there until ten. I slip out of bed and lace up my sneakers.

There is a hill on the southern border of our neighborhood in northeast L.A. A road cuts over it, but the backside is undeveloped, with trails I’ve yet to explore. The road is steep and winding. A good hike, I think, and doable in time. If I walk at a brisk clip, I don’t even need the car.

I feel strong as I push toward the top. When I reach the crest, the trail looks clearly marked. I figure fifteen minutes to the bot- tom. Perfect. When I arrive home, Scott will have just woken up with T, the morning chores will be underway, and I will plunge in.

But now I’m headed down and something is wrong I hike enough to be able to feel when a trail is going wrong—probably heading to a dead end. I go back to the last fork and take another trail, which also ends abruptly. Through the branches, I can see the back of what looks like a high school down below. I figure I can bushwhack my way through the brush, then walk through the cam- pus and back out to the street. It won’t be far. After that my home is just over the next familiar hill.

It’s harder than I thought. Burrs invade my shoes; an errant twig scratches my face; another tears my favorite leggings. At the bottom, I remember that this isn’t the era I grew up in, of smoking pot and getting felt up in the woods behind the library. This is the era of high-security schools. A tall chain-link fence blocks my pas- sage.

My chest seizes and I recoil. When I was a kid, the jagged end of chain link ripped my hand open. I still remember the pale blue T-shirt I was wearing, the smell of damp earth after I hit the ground. It always takes me a minute to remember . . . this injury never actually happened to me. It happened to my father. When I was little, I used to ask my dad over and over again to tell me how he got the thin white scar that bisected his palm and ran down his forearm nearly to his elbow. I heard the story so many times it became almost as much a part of my own body as it was his. In my dreams, it’s always me: stumbling, light-headed, nearly bleeding to death, trying to hold my torn skin together with my blood-soaked T-shirt. I’m not delusional. If I think about it, I realize that of course that scar is my father’s scar. Still, the memory comes to me in a momentary stab of fear. 

I’m chilly in the shady grove, my sweaty shirt cooling in the morning breeze.

It’s one of my greatest fears that my hurt will become Tariku’s, in spite of my best efforts to give him a whole new world. Maybe the legacy of our parents’ pain is unavoidable. Maybe these scars are not just psychological but somehow cellular. Maybe the darkest moments of my story are so deeply inscribed in my body, my voice, my very soul that I won’t be able to help transmitting them.

I steel myself, wedge my toe into the diamond of chain link, and pull myself over the top. Maybe so, I think. But I can also transmit this: Even shaking with fear, you can still scale the fence. 


To enter to win a signed copy of Everything You Ever Wanted AS WELL as a signed copy of Weezer's new album Everything Will be Alright in the End (Jillian's husband plays bass in the band) please leave a comment below. I'll pick one winner next Thursday, May 21st.) You can also purchase your own copy of Jillian's book, here

unnamed-1 (I love her.)

UPDATED: Congrats to Erika C for winning the book + CD! And thanks to all for participating! 


Hey, LA! LilySarahGrace Fundraiser This Sunday!

LSG3 Invite Final
Hey, LA! The 3rd annual LilySarahGrace KidsArtFair fundraiser is coming to Los Angeles this Sunday at MILK studios! In three years over one million dollars have been raised for arts enrichment in public schools in honor of sisters Lily, Sarah and Grace Badger.

Lily Sarah Grace brings Art and Creativity back into classrooms through a method of teaching that is dynamic, highly engaging and most importantly inclusive to all types of learners.

Here's a throw-back to Karmin killing it at the first ever LilySarahGrace fundraiser in 2012. 

Hope to see some of you Sunday!

To find out more about LilySarahGrace and how you can get involved in supporting their cause, go here. You can also check out Sunday's event page to find out more about Sunday's awesome. 


Plant Well: Phal Pals

The following post was written by my mom, WWW. Thanks, Mom!
I am by complete accident an indoor orchid whisperer, which is really surprising since I have never been successful with houseplants. I don’t even have any anymore because I was really hopeless at keeping them healthy and happy—and that includes pothos, ferns, philodendrons and even snake plants, the easiest of all.  I think this has to do with the fact that I am not a great decorator/organizer/indoor house aficionado and so my houseplants, when I had them, were neglected the same way that my desk, closets and cupboards are.  Give me any excuse to be outdoors, on the other hand, and I’m there with fertilizer, water, and lots of love. 

All this being said, orchids (specifically phalaenopsis, or phals for short) thrive in my kitchen window, so much so that they bloom almost constantly, year after year after year…and I do, literally, nothing but water them from time to time.  This amazes not only me, but also my chartreus-thumbed mother who can grow anything—except phals. Cymbidium orchids outdoors, however, are one of her specialties. Ahem: 

As it turns out, success with phals has nothing to do with skill but has everything to do with where they are placed in your house, and it just so happens that my kitchen window has the exact right ingredients for happy phals.  I learned this one evening when I had my mother to dinner. 

“I can’t believe your orchids,” said she.  “Mine die and never re-bloom and yours are unbelievable!” I smiled with pride at my blooming plants, thinking that I must have the magic touch.

“Yes,” I beamed. “They sure do well for me.”

“Well, that’s because of their location.  You happen to have the perfect spot for them—plenty of light, no direct sunlight, humidity from your cooking, and cool temperatures at night because they are in a garden window. How often do you fertilize?”

“Fertilize?  Uh….never?” I replied guiltily.

The next day, I went to the store to buy orchid fertilizer, which I have had in my cupboard ever since…but have rarely used. Presently, I have nine blooming phals.  Most were presents.  Some were dying plants given to me by my mother or mother-in-law to bring back to life. All of them are blooming for the second, third, fourth time…some even more. I have many friends and relatives who cannot believe my success—who cannot keep them going and end up throwing them out.  And there is nothing wrong with that.  Phals don’t cost much more than a bouquet of flowers and keep blooming for months, even in a not-so-perfect spot.  
A blooming phal makes a wonderful present—better than a bouquet of flowers that dies in a few days, in my opinion—even  if you end up tossing it after it has finished blooming.  But if you are interested in keeping these guys going year after year, I am going to share with you what I have learned about them in my years of success.

Wendy’s very unprofessional guide to growing and enjoying phalaenopsis orchids:

1.     When buying a phal, look for a healthy plant that has many unopened buds.  This will ensure that you will have many months of flowers.  (One of mine has been blooming NON STOP for a year!!!!!!)

2.     Put in a location that gets plenty of light, but not direct sunlight.  My window is on the north side of my house, but has light from above and from the sides, too, since it is a garden window (a tree outside shades the plants from getting direct sunlight from the east or west).  If you have your phal next to an east or west-facing window, make sure there is a sheer drape so it won’t get burned from the sun.

3.     For best results, phals like a small temperature drop at night, so windows are ideal. (70’s during the day, 60’s during the night.) Keep them away from forced-air heat. They also LOVE humidity, so if they are in the kitchen or a bathroom, they will love the humidity gained from boiling pots of water/soup, or showers.

4.     WATERING:  If your plant is planted in peat moss, let moss dry out before watering (about every 2 weeks).  If it is planted in bark, water once a week.  DON’T OVERWATER!!!!! Water by putting plant under the tap (tepid water) and letting it run ‘till the water flows through the bottom, letting the plant sit in sink until all of the water drains out.  Never let the plant sit in water. (The pot should have a hole in the bottom.  If not, the plant is probably potted in an inner plastic liner.  Take the plant out of the pot to water and then put back in when done.) Also, don’t let the crown of the plant stay wet or new spikes won’t form.

5.     When all of the blossoms have fallen off the spike, cut the spike above the second node and it will bloom again in 2-3 months.  You can do this several times, but eventually will want to cut it all the way down to the bottom so another spike will appear within a year.
IMG_5634.JPG note: new growth already starting from node

6.     If the spot you want to put your phal while it is blooming does not resemble tip 1 or 2, put them wherever you want, but move to these conditions after they stop blooming and you’ve cut the spike so that your phal will bloom again (for instance, you can put them in a bathroom next to a window to bring them back).

7.     Fertilize (if you remember) with a phalaenopsis fertilizer from time to time, especially after it has stopped blooming, to encourage new spikes to form. Again…for some weird reason, my phals do great without fertilizer because they are by some miracle in the perfect spot.

8.     You can re-pot every couple of years in bark or sphagnum moss in spring or fall, but I have never done this and it doesn’t seem to matter.
Good luck and Happy Growing! 


Yesterday. In Photos. And Words... ish.

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Looking through these photos, I would never know that yesterday was one of those days. And that is one of the many reasons I so appreciate photography. Because a picture magnifies the magic that dwells in the cracks and crevices of error and injury. The last week has been a complete blur of AHHHH and OMG and WHOA (I just said, "Whoa" in my Joey Lawrence voice) ... Not that it's ever especially chill around here. It's always nuts. But, it has been ESPECIALLY nutty these last few days. And suddenly it's night time and I can't remember shit about what happened earlier in the day let alone the day before and the day before that.
(Hal and I play a game called "name three things that happened today" and we both end up staring at each other shaking our heads because neither of us remember anything ever.)
So THIS is what our life looked like this week. And this is where we are right now. Ordering way too much Dim Sum on accident. Tripping over logs in the bamboo forest. Stepping in (a lot) of Peacock poop (I had to scrub the back of my seat this morning). Forgetting the bandaids in the other backpack. Forgetting snacks in the other backpack. Forgetting the backpack...
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I am tired. The kind of tired where I feel like this might be a dream right now. Like I'm typing this post in my sleep. I wish I had something more profound to say but that's all I've got at the moment. TIRED. AM SO. I DON'T. YEAH. WHAT. COFFEE. GOODNIGHT. FUCK, WE STILL HAVE TO MAKE LUNCHES. OH. THE END.
And yet, this morning as I was feeling sorry for myself for being out of my mind tired and overwhelmed with how behind I am in absolutely every. single. way, I revisited these photos from yesterday's adventure and was reminded that in the greater scheme of things, NONE OF THAT EVEN MATTERS BECAUSE THIS. IS. WHAT IS UP.
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In the words of the great poet, Bjork, All is Full of Love. 
IMG_0912 Just twist your head around... 
IMG_0919 It's all around you...
IMG_0932 ... ALWAYS. Which is an overwhelming thing. Spectacular, really. My mind is perpetually blown. And exhausted. And blown. 
IMG_0916 IMG_0872 IMG_0833 Happy belated Mother's Day, all. Hope everyone had a lovely weekend. Now, let's all get some sleep* ready go.