Last month I planned a party for Maggie’s 5th birthday.  I had grand ideas, fun imagery & a confidence that I could pull it off.

For some reason having a child implants this chip like device in your brain.  Now some women get it and some just don’t.  Those lucky women who don’t get the chip live normal lives and don’t take themselves too seriously.  I desperately wish I was one of those women.  This chip I’m referring to is the “over-thinking, doing, and maternal stereotype achieving but not so much June Clever” chip.

This chip activates around birthdays and holidays transforms me into a person I’m not.  Crafty.  Crafty with kids.  For Maggie’s birthday party, we decided to have a tea party.  A mad hatter tea party to be exact.  The kids would decorate hats (that I will make), have hot chocolate for tea (while wearing hats) & eating little sandwiches and cakes.  In theory this party sounded sweet & fun.  In practice a whole other party went on.

For starters I wrote on the invites that the children should dress “silly”.  One child dressed silly and by the time the second child showed up unsilly, Maggie asked to change back into her regular clothes.  Okay.  I thought… no big deal.  Everyone is munching a bit, the kids are running around this is good.  This is what kids do.  Then I decided it’s hat decorating time.  Great!  Kids belly up to the table that I have very large Cat in the Hat style yellow hats (maggie picked the color) with bags and boxes of adornments to be applied.  Feathers, stickers,ribbons, all for the taking.  I felt good, until one child didn’t want to decorate.  Hmm.  Didn’t expect that.   Oookay.  O for 2 here.

Maggie is sitting on the couch.  I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was bored.  I suggest opening gifts.  She was all for the gifts.  So we never really actually had the tea party part.  Through out the party I filled up little tea cups with hot chocolate, but not actual tea party style.  It was during the gift opening experience, that Maggie stops.  Stops cold with a look on her face.   A look I know very very well.  She stands up and I look at her and ask “are you going to be sick?”, she breaks into a full fledged run and goes to the bathroom to throw up.  Mind you before this she downed two cups of hot chocolate that I made with milk.  Not remembering that if Maggie drinks too much chocolate milk it makes her sick. Therefore by making the chocolate hot my brain did not pick up the fact it was the same thing as chocolate milk.  Basically I poisoned my child with hot chocolate. At her own birthday party.

By the end of the party Maggie had a 102 temp and I started to drink rum and apple cider.  It’s quite nice, really.  A fall themed drink.

I may never throw a party like that for my girl any time soon, but I think all in all everything turned out okay.  Even if every kid cried at least once.

It’s hard to believe that she’s 5 now.  I always get very depressed around her birthday & I can never pin point why.  I cry for about two weeks & this time was not different.  I look at that face.  That sweet beautiful face and remember the day she was born and what a cool baby she was and how sad I’ll never get those times back.  I try not to live in the past, but I loved that part of our lives so much.  Getting to know her, taking care of her, loving her was/is so precious to me.  Don’t get me wrong I love that I can continue doing that as she grows up because she changes so much, but I miss that time.  I miss the newness of our life together.  But I love I get to grow old with that face.

 

Found, originally uploaded by mehannon.

I’m still here, still writing,  still taking self-portraits just really busy.

Found this on a walk by a ravine. A ravine where lots of people are known to shoot up and homeless people live. I’m curious of who this little boy is and where he is now.

I’ve also decided to find a career that pays for witty quips. I like to quip.

Lately I’ve been in love with design blogs.  I admire the creativity that goes into crafting something that we use everyday.  I love the innovative ideas for simple things & then prest-o! The end result is completely jaw dropping.

My new love is

http://theindigobunting.blogspot.com,

The post on the wedding invite brought tears to my eyes.

You must check out the subway party

And the gift section, HOLY COW

I feel like such an under achiever.

At the moment I’m supposed to be preparing for my daughter’s bday party, instead I’m writing this post.

, originally uploaded by mehannon.

When I buckle Maggie into her car seat, I always kiss her. I have since she was born because I’m irrationally paranoid about being killed in a car accident & I always want to make sure the last thing I do with my child is kiss her. I know it’s morbid.

This morning I was in a rush and buckled Maggie in and didn’t kiss her. She reminded me that I didn’t and I told her I would when we got to school. As she got out of the car, she totally took a face plant on her lunch box and bruised her sweet face. I hung out for a bit and as I was about to leave, face red, still sad about getting hurt, she asked me to read her a story. I told her I would later.

I’m such a dickhead. There might not be a tomorrow. I’m not absorbed with the idea of dying, but I forget to take in the moment. She’s going to be 5 soon, next thing I know she’ll be 15 & I won’t be reading stories to her anymore. She won’t ask to cuddle with me in bed or to sit on my lap. I need to stop taking her age for granted.

Is it weird to think about her growing up and already miss her being the age she is now?

This was my favorite Springsteen look.  So dirty, raw, sexy.  The Born To Run album reminds me of youth.  Feeling young, free, without responsibility and full of passion.  While I’m not getting any younger and my responsibilities are very much real & at time overwhelming… I am still very much full of passion.

Thank goodness.

I like the mornings because when she wakes up, I feel the same awe for her, as I did when I saw her face for the very first time.

My great-aunt died.  It wasn’t a shock when she died for she had been ill for quite some time.  Alzheimer’s.

When I was a little girl I wanted to look like my aunt when I grew up.  All of my grandmother’s sisters were beautiful.  Dark thick hair, dark eyes with high cheek bones.  My mother looks exactly like my grandmother & her sisters.  I look like my dad, only I’m not bald.  Or a man.

I made the 2 hr drive to where my family lives.  It seems the only time I see them anymore is when someone dies or when I can actually make it to the family reunion.  It’s these brief visits that make me long for our family to be closer, more tight knit, like we were when I was really young.

My mom is the fourth out of 7 children.  I remember Sundays when we would visit, going to church with my grandparents, falling asleep during the sermon with my grandpa & then learning songs in bible school.  After church we would go back to my grandparents where my grandmother would make a huge meal, that was absolutely delicious.  We would all be there.  All the grandchildren.  I haven’t thought of those days for a long long time.

During the funeral service they spoke of my aunt and her life.  She was fun, laughed a lot and was extremely generous with everyone she met.  She loved and buried two husbands and spent the last decade of her life with a loving companion.  When they were about to get married, they learned my aunt had Alzheimer’s so instead they became companions, living as if they were husband & wife.

My aunt’s companion loved her in a way you only hear about in movies.  They cherished the time they spent together.  When she became ill, he took care of her.  When she could no longer complete simple tasks such as dressing, cooking and even bathing herself, this guy, this beautiful man took care of every need.  This love & care continued until my cousins convinced him that they could give my aunt the best care because her needs became more demanding.  But he came to visit every morning & made her breakfast.  Whether it be waffles, pancakes or biscuits, he was there to share that with her.  Knowing her sweet tooth, he came by with treats he knew she would enjoy.  Some days she didn’t know him, other days he’d walk in and she’d say “I know you! and I love you”.  But he didn’t care either way, being with her is all he wanted.  At our family reunion this year, he attended on her behalf because my aunt was too ill to make it.  He truly is apart of the family.

As I heard this story my heart melted.  I cried.  To love and give so much of yourself to someone who can’t give back (at least not in the same way), you don’t hear about people who love like that anymore.  At least I don’t.

We should all be so lucky in love.

Fast Food, originally uploaded by mehannon.

or in this case, not so fast (or edible) food.

www.photofriday.com

Self-portrait. Bathroom (Loo), Tate Modern, London.

Sometimes I walk around with my head so far up my own ass, I never really think of the bigger picture.  Sometimes I don’t think of my inner picture, just what I think is perceived by others about me and therefore I create into value for myself.  It’s dumb, I hate that I do it & I constantly do it.

Prior to our trip I had been in a state of doubt about so many things and when my life is plagued by major doubt it takes a dramatic toll on how I function.  On the heels of the Lindsay Gallery show I felt lost.  Here I was surrounded by these tremendously talented women and I felt like a fake.   I shouldn’t be there.  That feeling had me seriously consider quitting.  Quitting taking pictures, making art, creating. I hated the way I felt that night in the gallery, nothing particular happened to make me feel any different than any other day, but this pain in my gut, my heart & my mind was too much for me to deal with.  I can only equate this to the same emotional pain of being dumped by someone you really really loved.

Walking through the Tate that day, reawakened my mind.  Got rid of the need for validation that I sometimes crave for my art.  Because my photography so important to me.  Somewhere deep in my mind I was always afraid of being that girl who wanted to be a photographer, just for the sake of being a photographer. I thought of Lost in Translation when Scarlett Johansson said

I tried taking pictures, but they were so mediocre. I guess every girl goes through a photography phase. You know, horses… taking pictures of your feet.

Walking through the Tate I looked at the abstract, obscure, racy and peaceful paintings, photos, movies, sculptures, and was reminded that everyone’s art and eye are different.  As is mine. All of these pieces were ideas in someones head.  That’s all nothing more & nothing less. Some of their ideas were spectacular, some didn’t receive as much praise.

Leaving the museum, I became a freer person.   I can’t fit in the mold of something pretty you hang on your wall.  I don’t fit in that mold.  Perhaps more people will not like what I create compared to those who will, but does that matter?  Not anymore.

I’ve realized regardless of what ends up in a show, on my floor or in the garbage I need to make something.  It could be an ashtray out of clay, a photograph of my child or a blog entry.  Whatever it maybe I realized I have to stop forcing myself into a category of what I should be doing.  It makes my head hurt.  I end up crippling my motivation by trying to live up to ridiculous expectations because I dear world can not control your mind, thoughts or opinions.

This doesn’t erase the doubt, the inadequate feelings I have, but it reminds me that I need to be true to myself.  Whether it be photography or anything else I decide to take up.  I’m not quitting.

The face that could launch a 1,000 ships

The face that makes me cry

The face that makes me so angry I could pass out

The face that makes me feel more love and warmth then I’ve ever known

The face of a girl that’s almost 5 and talks about it everyday

The face that NEVER stops talking

The face that sings constantly

The  face of the one person in my life I could never live without

The face that makes me feel like the luckiest person alive

Photo Friday faces