musings - blackhouse studio

checking in

Amelia — Fri, 24 May 2013 20:07:46 +0000

You may have noticed that I have slowed down posting to this blog, a by product of the pace I've been keeping and all the balls I am trying to keep in the air simultaneously.

I've learned to recognize certain behaviors in myself when life hits fever pitch, here are a few things that I tend to do:

1. write less (never a good thing)

2. read less (probably worse than writing less)

3. my mind is always one step ahead of where it should be creating a persistent feeling of pressure and feeling behind

4. my kids are not nearly as entertaining to me when things are super busy

5. less time spent with the doc

6. the house reflects my generalized neglect of my surroundings

7. inevitably I hit critical mass and my motivation swings in the opposite direction, so...

8. I transition into this space of neglecting the important things and opt for a marathon viewing of Wallander

9. I avoid responsibilities and spend too much time on Facebook

10. I pull out my sketchbook and pencils instead of completing an important project that has a looming deadline

Crazy no? At first I dive right in to what must be done, but I don't come up for air enough. When I finally reach exhaustion and come up for air, I avoid diving back in....until I am once again overwhelmed with the pressure and the diving gear goes back on. This cycle is easily tagged as #insanity

I need desperately to develop the skills to balance all that is going on: end of the school year, work, book writing, new business venture, kids, home and oh yea, the cross country move coming up in 3 weeks.

I need to learn to better pace myself for a longer haul versus overkill and exhaustion. Balance the must do's with a reasonable sprinkling of saw sharpening activities like:

reading books inside living room forts
writing
drawing
running
cooking
long conversations with the kids and the doc
movies
etc. etc.

My hope is to begin working on this balance over this long, holiday weekend-

I hope your weekend is filled with fun and enjoyment!

Love,

Amelia

guilty mom confession #1

Amelia — Wed, 15 May 2013 09:02:00 +0000

We all know that the way moms manage their first baby is generally much different than our handling of our last baby. You hear jokes about the numbers of photo albums needed to capture all of the images of baby 1 while you're just grateful someone remembered to bring a camera along for baby 3,4,5,6 or whichever numbered child.

It's true for most moms and it is certainly true for me. When my oldest was a baby I honestly sterilized everything....literally. If you had come over to visit there is a reasonably good chance you would have been Lysoled from head to toe before you set your purse down. If she dropped her pacifier on the floor, a freshly sterilized one was produced while the germ infested dirty one was placed in the sterilizer. My floors were spotless and I'd rush to scoop up any trace of crumbs etc on the floor to prevent her from putting things in her mouth. If blogging had been around "back in those days" I would have been a product ambassador for Clorox.

Fast forward 20 years and well, things have changed. I'm much more relaxed (well, I tell myself that it's possible that I'm just older and more tired). When my youngest was using a bottle they would generally go through the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes...or if all the bottles were dirty well then I'd grab a dirty one and give it a good rinse and we're set. The numbers of cans of Lysol under the counter slowly returned to what would be considered "normal". The floors....well, let's just say they were cleaned...when they needed to be (and the definition of "needed to be" varied from week to week). There was a time when the idea of a cheerio being eaten off the floor would send me into gasps of shock at the very thought! Now, there's a cheerio on the floor, it's only been there a day or two, you're good, go ahead and feast.

The girl in this picture led a sterile childhood....the boy....not so much ;)

you.get.the.point.

For the most part the gradual erosion of my intense need to maintain a germ free environment has freed me up to enjoy life more. With age I've learned to prioritize and to pick my battles. The good news is, no baby was harmed in the making of this life of ours by my diminishing need to sterilize animate and inanimate objects and the loosening of rigid routines.

But....there is one ball I have dropped that has truly bothered me. Unlike my other children my youngest boy, who is now 4 1/2 years old, cannot read. But it's more than that, he doesn't know the letter A from the number 1, 2 or 3. I don't even have a good excuse for this other than to tell you that since becoming significantly out numbered by my children some days are a matter of survival. They are clean and fed and loved....whew...we've had a successful day then. Some days we're more into playing, walking, riding, going, doing.

Now, here's the tragic part of this, he will begin K-4 in the fall and I feel like I need to get him to the point where he can read by then or........ I will be judged, or worse, he'll be labeled as being "behind" or compared to the other 4 year old's in his class. Gulp.....Can I just say that the idea of this sucks...suckity, suck suck. Some days these concerns prompt me to pull out all of the Hooked on Phonics and begin in earnest other days I find myself thinking "crap, if the pressure begins at 4 to hit certain benchmarks or risk labels and comparisons, then this life is going to be long and stressful." Clearly I am not a Tiger Mom. So, I ride this constant line between guilt and feeling pressure to push him hard to learn to read and this desire to shrug it off and trust that he will learn to read....in time....until then, we'll enjoy our days.

Notice the name of this post is numbered....I'm planning ahead since it is very likely this will not be the last confession I make here ;)

not every morning is unicorns and rainbows

Amelia — Thu, 09 May 2013 13:49:32 +0000

Most days I wake in the morning, happy to greet the day. I feel grateful as I begin my morning routine. A hot breakfast is prepared with love and I’m aware of my blessings in every fiber of my being.

Then there are those morning,……the mornings I wake, dragging myself out of bed grumbling about the day ahead. I carry on as if the challenges of the day create a unique brand of suffering, just for me. For unknown reasons my thoughts get wrapped around some offense from the day before – I suppose I need some excuse to couch my mood in- I’m not thinking clearly enough yet to implement any tools for turning my mood around- I’m too busy wallowing in it.

I rummage through cupboards for brightly colored cereal boxes. Bowls, spoons, cereal and milk are placed on the table briefly before little hands begin grabbing. No need to wake them, they were up before dawn. An entertaining fantasy crosses my mind “one day when they are teens wanting to sleep in, I’ll wake them before dawn with a chore list” A slight grin tugs at the corners of my drawn lips. Unphased by my mood they delight in the autonomy of preparing their own breakfast.

I grope the cupboards for a coffee cup- wondering if it is possible to main line this dark liquid life force that makes my day possible. I grip my coffee cup with eyes closed and take my first sip – my first sign that things will be ok- that first cup is like meditation, it’s centering. I should have gotten up when my alarm sounded, it’s always better to have the first cup before everyone wakes but I had been too tired to get up.

I shuffle to my office certain that the music from Kick Buttowski will send me over the edge- I hear muffled waves of laughter coming through cereal stuffed mouths. “I’ll never understand why they love that show so much.”

I know I’m grumpy and I don’t have a good reason to be. I don’t know why these occasional mornings make their wake into the routine. All I know is that most mornings I feel my blessings upon waking....most, not all.

I know that regardless I will face each day whether I'm happy about it or not. I know that this makes me real whether it’s admirable or not. I also know whether the mood follows me throughout the balance of my day is a choice that I get to make....the coffee kicks in

happy birthday to this man-o-mine

Amelia — Thu, 02 May 2013 04:31:03 +0000

Today is my husbands birthday! So, I thought I'd share an abbreviated list of reasons that I'm glad he was born, why I love him so and generally why I think he is the shiznit, the bomb diggity, phat, tight, off da heezy fo' sheezy, the bee's knees, the cats pajamas's and any other hip (or otherwise) expression that fits here :)

1. you helped make some g.o.r.g.e.o.u.s. children (inside and out)

2. you possess an amazing capacity to forgive others, truly, your willingness to forgive and turn the other cheek is unrivaled by anyone I know

3. I love that you will stop traffic to help a confused chicken cross the street (next time that happens, go ahead and ask that age old question, why is he crossing the street?)

4. I love the way you routinely check in with your older girls to let them know you love them and let them know you are proud of them

5. I love the way you will drop everything you are doing and give your attention to your girls when they need your help, whether it's a medical question, needing money, advice etc.

6. you're a rare breed when it comes to physicians, it's extraordinarily uncommon to find a doctor who shows such sincere empathy and doesn't rush the patient

7. the way you hold your mouth when you are playing guitar

8. while in the mountains, hiking with the kids, you're so eager to educate them on the names and medicinal value of the plants we encounter, despite the fact that most the time they aren't paying attention because they are chasing each other with poison ivy trying to test your claims

9. the musical education you have provided our kids will spare them the embarrassment of having to ask "Pink Floyd, who are they?" They are so versed in old school music that within the first few cords they can identify Metallica, Pink Floyd, Ozzy, Rush etc.

10. the fact that you are a doc automatically means you will have all of the tough conversations with our children related to bodily changes etc....you know "the talk" because you use anatomically correct language and they will take you serious while I turn beet red and still refer to it as a "tee-tee"

11. you love watching BBC with me

12. there is a place on your chest that seems to be custom made for my head

13. you make the 17th anniversary of your 29th birthday look good :)

14. you love me, even when I'm not being anything that remotely resembles loveable

15. the way you respond to any and all nicknames I have given you over the years...and there have been a lot

16. you're as big a nerd as I am

17. the way you love my bare face best

18. I love the fact that you get me

19. I love that we will call or text each other at the exact same time, we do this so often

20. I love that when you think about the future, we're there together

Happy Birthday, I love you to the moon and back!

mindreading and motherhood

Amelia — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 13:45:00 +0000

Everyday that I pick my boy up after school, I bring a snack along for the ride home. You'd think we were traversing the state and nourishment were needed as a means of keeping him alive and alert, however, it's only 5-6 miles home. Try telling him that though. That boys stomach think his throats been cut everyday! I've learned from experience not to show up empty handed- unless I just want to subject myself to that particular brand of cruelty that is whining. This is the conversation that occurred recently upon loading him into his car seat:

Shep: mom, do you got me a snack?

Me: why yes I do!

Shep: Really? (as if he is shocked!)

Me: you act surprised, I bring you a snack every day

Shep: I'm proud of you mom (patting me on the head as I lean over to buckle him in)

Me: well thank you son

Shep: what is it? what did you bring me?

Me: crackers

Shep: wait.....what? (heads drops in despair, voice drops to a whisper) but I wanted cheese

Me: oh, well I didn't know, how was I supposed to know you wanted cheese?

Shep: because....(in a slightly irritated voice) you're the mom!

Me: oh, so being a mom makes me a mind reader?

Shep: you didn't know that? (patting me on the shoulder)it's alright mom, you'll get it right tomorrow

And there you have it- apparently I'm a mind reader and just wasn't aware of it. Are you a mom? Well then, you're a mind reader too :)

Happy Monday!

you might be an addict if....

Amelia — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 06:47:00 +0000

I recently accepted that I am an addict....my "drug of choice"? Candy Crush Saga

It is unnatural my draw to this game...my unending need to clear the current level to get to the next. This addiction has begun to impact varying areas of my life. They say the first step on the road to recovery is admitting the addiction, so I decided it was time to list the top signs that I've become addicted to this life sucking confection crushing nemesis. Perhaps this list can help you too....

The top 10 signs that you might be addicted to Candy Crush Saga
1. when you dream about fruit and look for ways to combine 3,4 or five of a kind
2. when telling your children, after dinner, that it is time to clear the table you slip and tell them to "clear the jelly"
3. when you see a chocolate bar and instead of eating you, you crush it to bits much to the bewilderment of the CVS clerk
4. when you wake at 3am to pee and you quickly check to see if you have all 5 lives back yet
5. when you can't go back to sleep after checking on your lives without a quick go at the current level
6. when you use all 5 lives while playing on Facebook so you switch to your phone app
for 5 more lives
7. when you have used all of your Facebook and phone app lives so you move the date on your phone ahead a day to replenish your lives
8. when you realize that when you switched the date back on your phone, you now have 3,000 hours before you get more lives so you delete the app and re-install, garnering you another 5 lives
9. when people begin to "unfriend" you for begging them for more lives
10. when you spend more on buying lives and boosters than you did in filling your gas tank for the week

These are some of the warning signs that there may be a problem....if you do not relate to this, count your blessings. If you just read this and you're all like "heck yea, she just described me" then I invite you into my blanket fort...bring your game

vagaries of memory

Amelia — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 05:13:21 +0000

Memories are the treasures that we keep locked deep within the storehouse of our souls, to keep our hearts warm when we are lonely.

~ Ritu Ghatourey

I’ve been reading through old journals lately, from more than a decade ago. It’s been an emotional experience for me, the truth? It’s kicking my ass.

These journals were written during an extremely difficult time in my life. I think it is safe to say that the landscape of my life then had been stripped of all pretenses , there had been withering in numerous areas of my life. Even now as I type this and think back to those years I realize that to talk about my grief during that time I would need a new alphabet. It was a time when I had fallen asleep in both faith and hope and despair consumed me.

As I read through the pages I began to notice a recurring coping mechanism, one I’ve never identified or given much thought to. During exceedingly difficult times in my life I disappear into memories of happier times. My body remains present but my mind travels back in time, to happier days. This coping mechanism isn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless it becomes a substitute for reality, which it did.

I was no longer inhabiting the moments of my present life…this is otherwise known as denial.

The cost of such denial? Vagaries of memory.

Many of the memories I was making at the time were related to the joy I experienced reliving old memories.

Old happy memories were recycled to make new happy memories…consequently…

I have scattered recall of the details of what was actually going on in my life at the time, but I can recall exactly where I was sitting when I relived a memory from years previous.

I can’t be trusted to remember the specifics of how we actually passed time but I can recall with remarkable detail sitting on the back steps, staring at a line of ants marching along as I remembered the time when I had gotten sunburnt as a child while looking for sharks teeth at the beach.

I had opted out of living in the present to instead reliving my past. I don’t know if I have explained this very well or not but I will tell you this- it is an odd experience to feel as though you’ve lost years of memories. It’s unnerving to have my husband or daughter recall something from this time period and experience the sensation of hearing it for the first time. I don’t know where this leaves me except to say that I have to trust the memory of events from that time are there, I just have not found a way to unearth them.

I don’t actually know why I am telling you this other than to wonder if others have had a similar experience?

Fridays re cap

Amelia — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 01:59:41 +0000

Wow, what a busy week! But, what's new...aren't they all busy? So my big plans of having some fun with the kids during their spring break were thwarted by a stomach virus :(

My family is a virus magnet...we can't seem to escape it. This one hit my youngest pretty hard, as a matter of fact, he is still sick :( Despite battling the crud we had some fun times. Here is a run down of what's been shaking this week:

* Melody and I are working on some amazingly cool ideas/projects/events etc over at The Studio Voice, if I could bottle the energy and momentum we are creating, then sell it- holy cash cow, I'd be set!

* Oh, and there is still time to submit to the spring issue, the theme is Live Out Loud which is an awesome theme because it is wide open- tell us how you are living out loud!

* Are you a fan of roller coasters? If so that's great, keep riding them so we can continue to laugh about it ;)

* Do you just love the dollar store? This will make you love it more

* Open letters to people or entities who are unlikely to respond.... enjoy :)

* And what are the odds of this?

* and finally, for your viewing pleasure.... What Makes Your Beautiful

I hope you all have a fabulous weekend!

Amelia

remembering my father

Amelia — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 03:29:00 +0000

Dear Daddy,

Your voice had been replaced by the sounds of sterile equipment - equipment that was now required to do the work that you could no longer do for yourself. The room was filled by the melodic sound of the pumping valves forcing oxygen into your lungs. Despite this, your strength was evident. It was 19 years ago that we lost you, yet it still feels like it was yesterday.

I remember you were frustrated, hurting- you made that clear when you scribbled that note to me “get my Swiss Army knife” then you motioned cutting the tubes and wires.

I suspect you had already gotten a glimpse of the kingdom and you were ok with letting go of this life. It was us who wouldn’t… or rather couldn't give up hope. Already you had fought a valiant fight, one that left even your physicians in awe.

You continued your fight, I’m sure for our sake- we needed you. And though you could no longer use your voice to speak, your eyes communicated that you understood.

You kept this pace for weeks- patiently you waited for us to arrive at a place of acceptance. Even your doctor had discerned the man you were and he fought tirelessly to keep you here, I think deep down he needed you to live, he needed to know you. However it was time for God’s will to be done.

I held your hand as the machines were turned off. The final stronghold that kept you tethered physically to this life. You held your own briefly. But your soul had been greeted and the angels had lovingly lifted your exhausted body. Their presence was felt as they gracefully carried you to be with our Father, your suffering now a distant memory. Your gentle spirit freed from the pain.

Your final breath took my breath away.

You are missed, deeply, and I am confident that you know this. But your legacy is alive and well. I now understand the hours you spent writing. The feeling cannot be described, only acted upon. The profound urge to capture in words what the soul feels cannot be ignored.

I am dependant upon images to fully capture and convey what is within me, I suspect you were too.

The lessons you taught, the examples you set, your gentle spirit and kindness have left an indelible mark on my heart. It’s as though you personally scribed “I was here” on my soul. Thank you.

Until we meet again, I will look for you in the words that I write, the images that I capture and in the faces of my children.

I love you,

Amelia

this letter to my father is published yearly as a tribute to him and the father he was

hello and a check in

Amelia — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 06:26:00 +0000

Hello and happy Monday! I hope your Easter weekend was wonderful. I wanted to check in with you before I get busy with the kids being on spring break and give you the run down on how life's shakin'

1. we've been watching a lot of movies lately, Lincoln was great (but long, I fell asleep twice while watching, woke up and still knew what was going on) Killing Them Softly will not leave you with any warm fuzzies nor does it offer a valuable take away lesson. It's only real redeeming quality was Brad Pitt.

2. I've been compiling a whole lot of memories as I begin the initial stages of writing a book (this project has been such a long time coming that I'm almost reluctant to type it out loud- I start to feel all superstitious and weird stuff like that

3. the over arching feeling lately has been "holy crap, what if I suck as a writer and the entire world lines up on Amazon to tell me?" I've been coping with those concerns with the help of two gentlemen friends, Ben & Jerry and by reminding myself that doubt is not a fault, but an opportunity

4. I've been a little out of sorts lately, stretching my multi tasking skills to their limits- I liken it to stretching a rubber band, you can stretch it and stretch it and it will accommodate the demands placed on it....until it doesn't, then it snaps. I don't want to get to that point, so I'm trying to stay very aware of this concern

5. have you ever read a quote and thought "wow, that was written for me, the Universe served that up to me at just the right time!" but you can read the very same quote the next day and feel all "oh shut up, whatever, I'm so sick and tired of the feel good crap, seize the day my ass" .... do you ever do that? I've come to the conclusion that some days I'm fit for public consumption, other days not so much

6. I'm hoping to get reacquainted with my DSLR this week - going to need to dust it off first

7. I'll be going to Vegas the second week of April to present at a conference and I'm already preparing for that. It's funny how when dad goes out of town he's all like "see ya in a few days honey" and that's the extent of his planning. Mom goes out of town for a few days and it's a mad scramble to plan/prepare meals, label them in Tupperware, set out the kids clothes for each day you're gone, alert the teachers that you won't be there and who will be picking them up, putting extra food in the pet dish anticipating they'll forget to feed them, writing out the day/evening schedule and posting it to the refrigerator all while consoling the children and reassuring them it's only 48 hours, they'll survive (and hope you're not lying to them ;))

8. embracing the mantra "don't just do something, stand there" as I look forward to making some memories with my little ones on their spring break, their last in the desert before we once again head out of the Grand Canyon state

My life is busy, that's for sure...but it's a good life and I hope to never lose sight of that truth

100 face ~ Bryan

Amelia — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 03:08:36 +0000

I'd like for you to meet Bryan! He's the newest addition to my 100 Faces Project., he's also a dear friend of ours. For years now Bryan has taken care of us at our "Friday night date night" restaurant. Once he catches a glimpse of us he's on it, preparing our drink order without even having to ask :) We look forward to our conversations with him, they range from cerebral to ridiculous....they don't come any better than this guy!

living twice

Amelia — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 12:41:50 +0000

"Writers live twice," says Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones. "They go along with their regular life, are as fast as anyone in the grocery store, crossing the street, getting dressed for work in the morning. But there's another part of them that they have been training. The one that lives everything a second time. That sits down and sees their life again and goes over it. Looks at the texture and detail." (p. 48)

What you're looking at are the journals I have filled over the years. I began to capture the details and texture of life January of 1998. I received Simple Abundance as a Christmas gift from a friend that I fell out of touch with several years ago. I wonder if she realized that her gift would continue to give for more than a decade. If I ever catch up with her, I will thank her.

This week I begin living my life the second, ,maybe even the third time as I begin working on a project. I'll be combing through each journal and.....you guessed it, I'll be writing about it. I couldn't help but chuckle yesterday as I picked up a 5 subject notebook at the notion of journaling about my journals (I've moved to using notebooks over a formal journal as they feel so much more practical). I'm armed with post it tabs, post it notes and my fountain pen (I am completely and hopelessly in love with using a fountain pen....and that says a lot coming from a former pencil enthusiast!)

I'm more than excited about pouring over my words, extracting stories, mood, and setting. Yet I do have to admit that when Goldberg states that writers go back to see life again, she really does mean living it twice, complete with emotional responses and all, perhaps even new emotions. So while enthusiastic about it all, I'm also trying to prepare myself for the emotional ride I'm about to begin...wish me luck.

Jesus and the baby balloon

Amelia — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 18:28:54 +0000

This boy of mine continues to be the exclamation point at the end of our sentence. Life with him is Christmas morning ever day, you don't know what it's going to be, but you know it's going to be good.

We've been enjoying warm weather here in AZ lately and the kids have taken advantage of it. This week they spent a fair amount of time filling balloons with water and storing them in an ice chest. I assume they are building an arsenal for a battle that is inevitable. In the process of building this arsenal, Shep adopted 4-5 balloons in varying sizes and decided they were a balloon family. You can predict, the big balloon was dad, medium was mom, small was brother, smaller was baby and there was a tiny puppy balloon. Over the top cute, no?

He carefully placed his balloon family into a plastic bag and brought it in to the house to join us for evening t.v. The balloon family, cozy in their plastic bag, took a position between me and my boy on the sofa. If he stood up to go to the bathroom or to get a snack or drink, they went with him. He talked with his balloon family throughout the evening, even bragging about them to me on a few occasions. His faced beamed with pride the way a new mothers does. The tone of his voice even adopted a mature quality as he discussed with me the care and maintenance of a balloon family. It was an absolute overdose of adorable.

At some point in the evening he pulled the baby balloon from their plastic condo and held him in his hands. Eventually he shifted his seat to lay against me as we continued watching A Wrinkle in Time. I am sure you can guess where this is going....inexplicably the water balloon burst, splashing both of us. My boy immediately began to weep. I'm not talking about the whiny crying like they do when they don't get their way. I'm talking about the full blown tears and snot streaming down the face kind of weeping. My first thought was he was concerned that he would get into trouble. I promptly hugged him and assured him "it's ok, it's only water, no big deal" which did little more than evoke louder sobs from his distressed face. Dad jumped in with "hey buddy, it's ok, no big deal." Again,our efforts were met with even deeper sobs. What had not occurred to us was that this wasn't as simple as a balloon popping, this was the death of a beloved character.

Eventually he began to calm down long enough to attempt to speak. After a few inaudible comments and us asking him to repeat himself he managed to get out "is he with Jesus?" My husband and I exchanged a confused/startled/questioning look before asking "who?" My boy responded with "he was only a baby!" We began to catch on. He drew a deep breath and repeated "is my baby balloon with Jesus now? he was only a baby!"

At this point the big brother and big sister had to look away and choke back their snorts of laughter. Dad and I knelt down by his bed and reassured him that Jesus was watching over the scene and all would be ok.

It was at this point that my older boy made a brilliant move. He had slipped outside and retrieved another tiny water balloon from their arsenal. He handed it to Shep and said "this is your baby balloon, the one you popped was one of mine."

Shep's face lit up with delight. He gently took the baby balloon and looked adoringly at it. He looked up with a slight look of concern on his face and says "sorry your baby balloon died."

Then all was right with the world....life, it's definitely in the details, no?

fridays re cap

Amelia — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 15:03:52 +0000

Augusta Cotton Exchange

Hooray for Friday, I am glad to see this week wind down. Although who am I kidding, I'm a mom, I'm never really "off"

So I've been coming to the slow conclusion that I'm battling pneumonia, seriously, I thought I had a bad cough! It's so rare for me to get ill like this....I do see why it is referred to as "walking pneumonia" you really do walk around with it and not even know it.

So here is a run down of some things I have enjoyed this week:

By far the funniest obituary I've read...wait, I've never actually read a funny obituary, kudos to the daughter who wrote this, it is fabulous

One of my students recently told me about this search engine, had no idea

This is one grumpy cat

Swoon

Warning: do not have food or drink in your mouth when you watch this *oh, and I've changed my mind about wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas ;)

Are you still laughing?

I hope you have a fabulous weekend!

xo,

Amelia

his super hero powers

Amelia — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 12:46:07 +0000

this kid needs his own theme song

If you’ve hung around here for any length of time you are probably aware that I focus a lot on the details of life, the joyful, exhausting, bittersweet, funny, thrilling and boring days of our lives. These moments are the threads that when woven together create the tapestry of our lives.

Today I’d like to pluck one of those threads and share with you a little about my 4-year-old boy.

I am a firm believer that we all have our unique superpowers; they aren’t reserved just for men wearing capes and speedos over tights :)

I’m talking about those strengths that just come natural to us, whether it’s math, sewing, photography, running etc. When we do it, we make it look easy. One of the true joys of parenting is watching your children’s super hero powers emerge and even better, watching them discover their own strengths and feeling confident as a result…..that was before my 4 year old cultivated what is quite possibly the most honed super hero power that has ever been in existence….his will.

My son has the strongest will of anyone I have ever met….ever….his favorite past time is thinking up things for me to do….you know, he has to maintain those powers right?

Recently, after being worn to a complete frazzle, I sat in my bed attempting to regroup, gather, recharge, and claim some amount of sanity that lingered and reflected on my numerous defeats throughout the day. This may be a good time to share with you that his other superhero power…he’s charming….damn it! I’m defenseless.

Anyway, I sat there getting my wits about me, wondering if this is what soldiers do after a long day of battle, regroup, assess the arsenal, review the battle plan, and come up with new tactics for the next day. It’s important to know when you’ve been defeated so that you can craft a new approach….anyway, I began to wonder if it is just me, am I especially vulnerable to these powers of his because, well, he’s mine? I decided that it’s not just me, as a matter of fact, I’m am wildly convinced that 99% of the population would be defenseless around this strong willed little man. I began to brainstorm a list to illustrate to you just how talented he is at exerting his will over his environment and anyone in it, here is what I came up with:

1. He could talk the Pope out of his red Prada’s

2. Superman just thought his weakness was kryptonite

3. He could talk a homeless person out of their change

4. He could convince Castro to turn Cuba into a democracy

5. He could convince George Hamilton to stop tanning

6. An hour with him and Oprah would finally agree to marry Stedman

7. Want privacy issues on Facebook resolved? Let my boy hang out with Zuckerberg for a few hours

8. He could convince Dr. Oz that the Big Mac is a healthy alternative

9. Chuck Norris avoids him at all costs

10. He could convince MC Hammer to rewrite his famous song to You Can Touch This

You see the point I’m making here, no? I stumbled onto a poem by Fernando Pessoa that contained this passage:

The world is for those born to conquer it,
Not for those who dream they can conquer it

And I have no doubt that he will conquer it, indeed

fridays re cap

Amelia — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 13:03:36 +0000

Happy Friday! Another week has blown by as I sit wondering how exactly does time speed up the older you get? Remember when we were kids and the days would pass at a snails pace, the slow tick of the clock was maddening as we eagerly awaited the next holiday, the next weekend, or the end of the school year. How nice it was to be so naive about time, it never occurring to us precious the moments really are. Time and experience, two profound teachers in life!

Anyway, so here is a re cap of somethings I have noted for the week:

This was fun and if you have kids, they will love it!

One Cat, Three Lives....wow

It's always good to have those people in your life who are willing to state the obvious :)

A literary magazine, for your ears ... love

Today is International Women's Day.... not largely recognized in the US, but a national holiday in Zambia where she did some awesome work and if you want to learn more and get involved this is a great place to start

I hope you have a fabulous weekend my friends! See you on Monday,

XO,

Amelia

our highest unfolding

Amelia — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 14:57:56 +0000

“As long as we are persistence in our pursuit of our deepest destiny, we will continue to grow. We cannot choose the day or time when we will fully bloom. It happens in its own time.”

~ Denis Waitley

I took my boy for a walk through our neighborhood and couldn’t help but notice how the rose bushes have such vibrant buds on them. It is interesting how the roses here in the desert have adapted. In most places, roses become dormant this time of year, burrowing in for the winter as they prepare to experience their growth and flowering in the spring and summer months. However, in the desert, the summer heat is simply too intense. While the roses do work to grow and bloom during the summer, the sad consequence of the daily searing heat is that the rose buds are singe by the sun before they have an opportunity to fully blossom. Tragic…such beauty unrealized. But the roses don’t give up, they continue their efforts to share their beauty with the world when their petals fully unfold and they bloom in winter, brilliant.

As I was thinking about how remarkable it is, the way they have learned to bloom despite their intense environment, I could not help but liken this to people. We all hold such remarkable beauty within us, just waiting to unfurl. The environment we find ourselves most assuredly influences if and how we open ourselves up to the world. Harsh environments make this difficult while loving, supportive surroundings encourages us to realize our full potential. However, we do not always have control over this, as life is hard at times and we do have obstacles to triumph over, some more than others. But I think there is a lesson that can be learned from the roses. While you can’t always control your setting and whether it is a loving or harsh environment, you can adapt and bloom where you are planted. My wish for you is that wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, that you are able to realize your highest unfolding; the world needs your beauty.

fridays re cap

Amelia — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 12:53:45 +0000

Hello March! and Hello from Alabama! I hope you have enjoyed a wonderful week. We arrived in Atlanta yesterday then drove just over the state line into Alabama last night. Have you ever noticed how flying is so exhausting? You sit for hours only to be worn out by it! We met with some great people last night, enjoyed a fabulous dinner and discussed the color ecru.....LOL, seems that's not a commonly known color ;) It is good to be around Southern hospitality again!

So here are some things I stumble upon this week, you may note this weeks re cap is video heavy

For those of you waiting out winter, this is for you
This story will warm your heart, it is good to see people being...good
For those Walking Dead fans who love Adele....you're welcome
I can't wait for this to become available....and given their success on Kickstarter, it will be available soon!
Soupancake....lo.v.e.
meanwhile on the subway.....

Have a great weekend!

pausing

Amelia — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 14:06:32 +0000

Vulnerable, this is the word playing through my mind these days. I feel especially vulnerable when life feels a bit chaotic, or when change is on the horizon, even welcome change. Funny how welcome change can feel so disruptive? I’m not a stranger to change – change is my one constant <sorry, I could not resist the cliché>

You see there is one thing I have learned about myself over these four decades, no matter my circumstances, consciously or subconsciously I worked toward defining my center, my comfort zone, a balancing point. It is in this space that I am afforded the opportunity to exhale, to relax. When change occurs, this balancing point is disrupted, and shifted, leaving me scrambling to redefine center. Groping the edges of a new normal is always intimidating because it stretches me. No matter how many times I repeat this pattern, it’s always the same….fear of the unknown and relief to know that there was no reason to fear. I always redefine center….yet I never seem to develop enough faith in myself to trust this fact.

We’re heading to Alabama today for several days and leaving the babes behind. It will be interesting to see what comes of our trip. Despite my ideal childcare arrangements I have already begun to worry. What if they forget to brush their teeth? What if he doesn’t go potty before lights out? What if they don’t get that last hug in, you know the one designed to prolong the inevitable lights out…we all know they are postponing going to bed yet we all play along :)

My logical brain knows that any one or all of these things being neglected for a couple of days will do no harm- that’s not what I worry about. You see, it’s worrying about these small tasks, these tiny details, that comforts me during times of change. In fact, worrying about these small, comforting details of our lives is what I do well…worrying in general is something I am quite skilled at, I didn’t earn the nickname “worry wart” in the 7^th grade for nothing! I sometimes wonder if occupying my thoughts with these details of our days gives my mind something to wrap around, something to tie it up, take the focus off the changes swirling about... hmmm

It’s ok though, it is who I am, it is what I do, it is the one thing that is not likely to change. In fact I liken my relationship with worrying to that ancient conversation between the ocean and the land, it’s not going to end, it just ebbs and flows.

Studio Voice Winter Renewal

Amelia — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 04:50:08 +0000

I am delighted to share with you the winter issue of The Studio Voice. You can peruse the issue below and/or follow the link to download a copy. I am so deeply honored that so many amazing writers and photographers contributed their work to make this issue so remarkable. Enjoy!

Download your copy here

I may not survive my children's childhood

Amelia — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 13:40:00 +0000

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it.

I have arrived at the conclusion that as a parent, I get to survive childhood twice: mine and theirs. Kids are fearless, curious and gross; each of these qualities contains an inherent risk. They are also firmly grounded in the present moment, so as a rule they are not concerned with such matters as ‘cause & effect’ – at least not from the angle of consequences. If you do this, then that will happen. They’re all head in the clouds focused on getting their fun on. They deal with cause and effect if and when it becomes an issue and even then they try to weave it into the story line.

I have to admit there is something admirable about that quality and Lord knows I have blogged one or 32 times on the importance of being in the present moment, but for the love of all things holy there has to be a middle ground people. I live in a home where I am clearly out numbered. I just count my blessings that it hasn’t occurred to them yet and things haven’t gotten all Lord of the Flies around here.

Their out numbering me really gets me by the sheer volume of toy shrapnel left in their wake on any given day. Every nook and cranny of my house reveals evidence of their presence. I wonder if it’s like some sick way of marking their turf, every where they go, they deposit a toy, just to let the next person know “ha, I was here first!” Nowhere is this more evident than in the tub. The volume and variety of toys in the tub each day is impressive. I look at it and wonder what they heck went on in here?! Moment of truth: I’m never motivated enough when it comes time for me to take a shower to remove any of it, I just shower around it all. This works just fine 91% of the time….the other 9% of the time I sustain some type of hard plastic, deep tissue, bruising sort of wound that leaves me cursing into my shower head as though some deranged ( and tiny) toy maker is perched in there orchestrating the entire debacle.

A few weeks ago I was showering, minding my own business, following the rules….wash, rinse, repeat (which by the way I’m convinced the “repeat” part of that process is a ploy by the manufacturer to get you to use more so you buy more…more mullah for them, I know, criminal right?) anyway, I’m getting a pretty impressive lather going on top of my head and decided before I got too involved that I should scout the tub floor so that I can strategically plant my feet while I rinse my hair. This quick assessment revealed that I was keeping company with the following:

Batman
Bat mobile
A fleet of Hot Wheels cars
An 18-wheel truck
A water gun
Barbie
A bowl
A turkey baster ….wth?
And a bizarre car ramp/daredevil track mounted to the shower wall by two suction cups, one on each side of the rather long ramp.

I became a little distracted and disturbed by the way this ramp resembles a phallic symbol. My mind drifts to this internal dialogue about how toys should never, ever be made to resemble a phallic symbol and the toy maker who came up with this design really should be fired because it is obvious to me that they are using their position as toy maker to support their sick….then I felt a little shampoo making its way into my eye so I returned to my task of rinsing. I admit to making this next mistake…..with my eyes closed, rinsing I began to feel all creeped out when the mounted phallus, complete with fake flames brushed against me so I quickly took one ill placed step backwards, and that’s when I found him. The sneaky little, rifle toting Army man. He had been staking out the scene just to the left of the Bat mobile and had gone undetected earlier. It was clear to me that he was a rogue defector who was now stuck in the bottom of my foot, his rifle impaling my tender arch from the sheer force of our contact. Instantly I opened my eyes, soap eagerly spilling into their corners as I rattled of a string off inaudible noises (some cuss words I’m sure) as my hand groped the bottom of my foot. The shower floor was a slippery death trap so I leaned against the shower wall for stability only to be violated by the phallic ramp, which was now peaking out from under my arm. I felt terrorized. The Army man was launched and the perverted, flaming, phallic ramp was dismantled. That’s when it occurred to me that I might not survive my children’s childhood. I had survived my own, but this one may do me in.

Parenting is a dangerous thing people. Between their dirty little fingers, possessed toys and their inability to fully grasp cause and effect…these little people should be feared.

creating inclusion

Amelia — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 14:16:25 +0000

I’ve been thinking about inclusion, community, and tribes lately. I find that, unlike high school, as I get older I am more interested in the quality of my relationships than I am the quantity of friends that I collect. Don’t get me wrong, as an extravert I am a regular people junkie. But as I grow older, I have discovered that what I seek in relationships, in my “tribe” is people who challenge me, in some way, either in my way of seeing the world, how I approach my writing or photography, in my political views, people who love me enough to challenge me to be more, to be true, people who give me depth. This is quite different from the days of gravitating towards those most like you. This requires an exit from the comfort zone in order to connect with people I historically wouldn't have thought to connect.
Consequently, creating inclusion requires me to be generous- not as a way of giving to the world, but as a way of being in the world. This type of generosity has little to do with giving stuff like money or other donations. I am talking about the type of generosity that gives people the freedom to be who they are, without conditions, value judgments or any other filter to sift them through.

For many, age and experience brings with it wisdom. Wisdom allows for us to make choices in our lives that are a reflection of who we are, truly, deep in the crevices. When we become secure with who and what we are, no longer making apologies for it, but instead we hold our heads high and with a confident nod that acknowledges to the world that this is me, then we release our grip on fears and our insecurities, freeing our hearts, souls and hands to be extended to others. When we become generous with ourselves first, accepting who we are without conditions, then we sit poised, positioned to reach out to others, ready to create inclusion. This gives me hope.

And how about you- what does inclusion mean to you

friday re cap

Amelia — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 15:03:50 +0000

"Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk."

Whew, it's been another busy week! The holidays just keep coming at break neck speed. Valentines is one of those "holidays" that I can personally take or leave.....I mean, it is a great way to justify over indulgence but my husband and I have never been the type to over indulge on gifts for this occasion.

Anyway, here are some things I enjoyed this week:

This is just pure awesomeness, and mad props to fro!

How cute is this duo, total love crush here

I could spend hours looking through these

Jen shared some great videos here

and finally, we are working hard to get this to you next week ..... stay tuned

I hope you have a fabulous weekend!

xo,

Amelia

the top reasons I really dig my husband

Amelia — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 12:53:19 +0000

In honor of Valentines day I thought I'd make a list of the top reasons I really dig my husband...this list is in no particular order

1. He'll watch Downton Abbey with me
2. He is my chocolate supplier and, if I ever wanted to try mainlining chocolate, he'd help me figure out a way :)
3. When he reads to our kids, he does all of the character voices, with great enthusiasm
4. He lets me steal the covers and never complains
5. He totally busts stereotypes with his shaved head, tattoos, piercings etc. People expect to hear that he's a thug in his day life and are stunned to learn he's a doctor
6. His patients are primarily elderly and the older women think he's the bomb diggity, they like to rub his head and he lets them
7. He cleans the kitchen like no other
8. He got teary eyed when we saw Les Miserables
9. He speaks almost as many languages as we have kids
10. He's a former special forces bad ass which means I'm cool if the door is left unlocked at night
11. He's not squeamish with bodily fluids and holds my hair when I'm sick :)
12. He's as cool as the other side of the pillow
13. We share an ice cream addiction
14. He thinks I'm the cats meow
15. I can't imagine life with out him

Happy Valentines Day!

courage is a gift

Amelia — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 15:36:57 +0000

you can't tell what tomorrow will bring, you can't change the past, so just live today

I got no sleep last night, which makes for a Monday that feels like a blow to the head with a blunt object. I was plagued by bad dreams, seriously, I would wake, for whatever reason, get situated again and go right back to having a bad dream. I wish I had returned to the same bad dream over and over but it was the same players in a new bad dream, oy!

I know where it's coming from, I just thought I had a better handle on it than this. I recently made myself especially vulnerable to someone who was a gamble but I needed to do what I did. There were some unspoken issues that would have nagged at me, it felt like the next right thing to do.

I kept reminding myself the entire time of this quote

"avoiding danger is no safer than out right exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." Helen Keller said that, brilliant right? I knew when I made the decision to reach out that it was a risk, I was subjecting myself to emotional danger- but to do nothing felt more risky.

Now I am left to deal with the response, or in this case, the absolute lack of response. The other persons response is always a risk, because it's the part you have no control over, you just have to accept it. But then it occurs to me that it isn't about their response, not really. I mean, a positive response is always a wonderful outcome but it's the willingness and courage to face the fear and thereby master it that really matters. Of course you care about how they respond to you (there in lies the risk, your caring!) but never embrace the notion that their response defines your worth. The other persons response to you is not an indicator of your value, your rightness or wrongness, it is simply how they have chosen to respond.

Life is one risk after another, and pain in life is unavoidable. Truly living is to accept what is and to move through the pain and the fear. It's moving forward knowing that regardless of how they choose to respond that I have peace in my heart because I did the next right thing....and this is what prevents regrets. To avoid risking anything or to avoid taking chances allows fears to follow you, it’s always there. We don’t get through this life unscathed and sitting idle, unwilling to face the fear is a breeding ground for regrets. My father used to tell me time and again that "if you can live a life where you minimize your regrets, it will have been a good life." True, no? So I’m realizing today that it takes courage to step beyond what is comfortable, predictable and known….courage is a gift.

he was supposed to be blowing kisses, oh and a re-cap

Amelia — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 07:05:00 +0000

We were supposed to be blowing you kisses but in typical Shep fashion, he switched up the game. Instead he gave you his "what do you mean Burger King uses horse meat in the Whopper" face. Sorry, I had to go there. There is good news if you're American! The "oops we added horse meat to the menu" mishap seems to be confined to Europe. The bad news is if you're from Europe or you're an American traveling in Europe and you just wanted a taste of home so you stopped by a familiar restaurant and ordered a Whopper with cheese there's a good chance you ate Mr Ed, or some other poor horse. Ok- I'll stop.

It's been a crazy week, and I mean that in both the good and bad way. Was there a full moon? Things were a little crazy at times. Here's a rundown of the week:

1. My son passed out at school during mass. We're not sure yet if it was caused by a legit medical condition, if he was bored and slipped into a coma or if the spirit just moved him. The blood work will be back next week sometime and we'll be able to rule out at least one of these possibilities.

2. I found this freebie and got excited

3. oh, and I love you more than....

4. This made me laugh out loud, I think the stethoscope was cold

5. I struggled to get over the heart break of Sybil dying

6. I got distracted by Beyonce's thighs

7. We did watch the super bowl, though I had little interest in either team. I did get a kick out of the power outage and wondered if everyone there suddenly thought they were going to do yoga

8. Oh and I started my writing class...I have homework!

I hope your week went well and I hope your weekend is fabulous

XO,

Amelia

20+ truths about parenting they didn't tell you

Amelia — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 13:10:31 +0000

I have 6 children and unlike more sane and rational women who have their children every few years, ours are spread out. There are 18 years between my oldest and youngest, yea, go ahead and chew on that one for a minute, college tuition and teething in the same household. When my oldest was born, during my 20's, I could have written everything I knew about parenting on a matchbook. Needless to say, I've learned a few things over the decades; here is an incomplete list of truths I have discovered about parenting.

You can gauge the health of your children by the color of their boogers
It's always nice to get kisses from your kids, it's the extra unidentifiable bits that come with the kisses that will throw you off
Never tell your children that you plan on quiet reading time after they go to bed, they will not go to bed
The longest distance between 2 points is when your toddler decides they want to walk by themselves
Your children will name inanimate objects and you will not only need to remember these names but you will need to call them by their name
Being a stay at home mom generally means the kids stay at home too
Shaving your legs every day is over rated
Routine showers are also over rated
Relax, a little candy and Sponge Bob will not destroy your child’s intellectual ability and it may buy you some personal time (see points 7 & 8)
Telling another mother that you need to go “potty” does not make you a freak, this is language exclusive to the club- along these lines, other mothers do not think you are mental if you point at a cow and moo while passing by
Unbeknownst to many, you not only deliver your baby but your short term memory escapes at the same time
Your attention span is the length of, oh hang on, the dryer just buzzed
Unconditional love comes naturally, especially when they are sleeping or at grandma’s
When mom’s care for their children it's called parenting, strangely though, dad’s babysit? Huh?
The baby gets fussy, grab a bottle, mommy gets fussy, grab the cork screw
Sometimes you just have to act like you didn't smell your childs dirty diaper as you pass them to dad
There are two areas of the grocery store that you avoid with your children, the cereal aisle and the checkout lane, unless you have already ripped open the box of Oreo’s to bribe them
There is no shame in bribing
Rejoice the day when you inform your children that you have broken the rules and must take a time out and they buy it, go sit quietly in the corner one minute for every year of your life- this rule gets better the older you get (hello 40+ minutes in timeout!)
Sharing your toothbrush is really not that disgusting
You can cook one handed with a baby on your hip- you just never guarantee the outcome
Fortune tellers read tea leaves, mothers read the contents of a diaper
It is perfectly normal to fantasize about all the things you'd do just to get 8 hours of sleep
If your friends on Facebook try to pretend that the crazy crap in this list doesn’t really happen in their perfect family, they are liars and you should un friend them

Without a doubt, children are the most exhausting job you will ever have, some days they will suck the life right out of you, leaving you drooling in the corner, convinced that they are secretly planning a coup. Until you experience it, it is almost too difficult to even comprehend the amount of sleep you will lose and the depths of exhaustion you will sink to. But there is nothing that will bring you as much joy as motherhood. The amount of love that your heart and soul are capable of feeling compensates for the insanity of it all.

Fridays re-cap and new wallpaper

Amelia — Sat, 02 Feb 2013 04:13:00 +0000

February Wallpaper

I cannot believe that it is February! It seems like last week we were decking the halls :)

It has been a fun week around here. I've been pretty immersed in a project that weighs heavily on humor- consequently, every square inch of my life seems to have taken on a humorous slant.

The newly organized editorial team has been hard at work on The Studio Voice, we are shaping up to be quite the dream team. There are a few more days to submit for the Winter issue. I hope you'll share your words or images about renewal with us.

I've posted desktop wall paper for February, you can check it out here and download the size that fits you best :)

Here are a few other highlights from my week that I've thoroughly enjoyed:

* Holy cute- trust me when I tell you that you will get hooked on this site....just trust me!
* This is one really cool photo project, I think you'll enjoy
* Here's some font porn for you
* Ready to make some homemade valentines? Gotta love these
* I am loving her current works...swoon
* Finally, since it is Super Bowl weekend, you gotta check out this interactive ad, vote, play along, and enjoy!

I hope you have a fabulous weekend, enjoy the Super Bowl and I'll see you Monday!

XO,

Amelia

I dropped the V bomb

Amelia — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 19:22:20 +0000

really mom?

This blog entry comes with a warning, for all of my delicate readers- this blog post contains anatomically correct language. If you just felt your knees buckle or your head just got all swimmy, leave this blog post now, go here instead where they are making “baby bling” out of recycled toilet paper rolls- it’s a safer bet.

I recently walked into the kitchen where I found Sydney, Sam, Ellie & Shep hanging out and the Doc was just down the hall in the man room, otherwise known as the “Petri dish". The man room is within ear shot of the kitchen so it is quite easy to carry on a conversation between it and the kitchen. As it turns out, I walked into the kitchen just as Syd and the Doc had wrapped up a conversation- Sydney turns to me and with a smug look on her face says “Papai just asked me when is Shepard’s birthday.” Now you can imagine the look of amusement and the “can you believe your baby daddy just ask when his boys birthday is?” look on her face- she was enjoying this. For a moment I felt a twinge of “no he didn’t just ask when Shep was born?” he did, after all, deliver him. But being the ever present dotter of “I’s” and crosser of “T’s” I cut to the chase and asked “and you told him….?” She replied “January 17th.” Hmmm….off a day- I quickly call out "Honey, Shep was born on January 16th, not the 17th!” To which the Doc, otherwise known as "the guy who clearly lost his freaking mind," draws a bold breath and with the confidence of someone who woke up on the brave side of the bed retorts “well I said it was the 17th, the insurance document says the 17th and so did Sydney.” OH- and there ya have it folks, never mind that I toted him for 9 months, lost sight of my toes for months, spent countless nights tangled in a death trap of sheets as I flung my big self around in bed at night trying to get "us" comfortable, that I ate almost everything that was not nailed to the floor and that I walked around for months with a belly button that appeared to have an erection! The Doc, the insurance document and the daughter say he was born on the 17th, must be true then, right? HA! Without thought or hesitation and from the very core of my being, (you know that guttural place, that place where your confidence resides and just waits for the right trigger to come along to launch) I belted out with authority

“well he flew out of my vagina, I think I would know when he was born!”

and there it was- that statement- the one that left jaws on the floor- minds reeling to comprehend………………..silence……………the statement hung there……………..like a mushroom cloud that results after a bomb is dropped….only it wasn’t just any ole bomb that was dropped, I had dropped the “V” bomb, there in front of the entire family.

At this point, Sydney is basically on the floor laughing hysterically-Sam is asking “are we going on an airplane” (obviously the only word that registered with him was “flew”) – Ellie was inquiring “who’s angina?” while Shep runs around plugging both ears with his fingers and was saying “lalalalala” trying hard to pretend he did not just hear the details about his arrival (ok, I made this part up) and from the man room, nothing. In reality, what is there to say after a statement like this? How do you argue with this? How tragic for him- there was nothing that he could say in that moment- or for the rest of his life for that matter- that will ever trump that declaration. He continued to sit quietly in the man room searching, wondering, speechless. Eventually he emerges with a bit of a grin on his face that was almost masked by concern "what is with the language you are using in front of the kids?" asks THE DOCTOR! The language? As if years of medical school, months of OB/GYN rotations and catching 3 of his own children had not done the job of de-sensitizing him! The language? I suppose we will forever reference “it” as a “tee-tee.” Does anyone know where I can score tickets to the Vagina Monologues? We have some more work to do in the area of desensitization. THE DOCTOR was horrified and embarrassed that I had used the “V” word in the presence of him and the teenage daughter…the teenage daughter, on the other hand, was on the floor laughing begging me to blog about it- what is wrong with this picture?

Fast forward a week when the Doc and I are conversing about the blog and I announce “I think I am going to post the blog about Shep’s birthday" (didn’t want to make reference to “the word”) and he replies “I don’t know about that, the language may be too much.” Ha! But for who?

stripping away expectations

Amelia — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 13:11:10 +0000

"Even after all this time, the sun never says to the Earth, 'you owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that, it lights the whole sky."
~Hafiz

I found myself in several conversations last week that left me pondering a question, "what would happen if we all stripped away the "should have", "could have", and "ought to have" filters from our thoughts as we interact with others in our lives? If we were left to look at people exactly where they are, as who they are in any given moment, all personal expectations of them stripped. What would happen?

I'll tell you what I think, I think I'd be left to face myself. It would becomes a test of my own character. Why? Because the truth about me would surface as I face whether I accept this other person for who they are. Here is a truth- it doesn't matter if I understand them or their choices. Their passing a test of my understanding is not required to legitimate them, they're legitimate by their own right.
Then I'd be left to face the truth that it is not their responsibility to behave in the ways that I think they should, to make the choices I deem as appropriate, or to be who I think they ought to be.

Then I'm left with the opportunity to accept this person, to be present in their lives without judgement. I'm given the chance to love this person, without conditions. That is the only real love there is.

Fridays re-cap

Amelia — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 15:20:31 +0000

It's been a strange week, in some ways. Even the weather here seems unsure of how to maneuver the days. On Wednesday it was 80 degrees and yesterday I took this picture of the tree across the street from my house. It was that gray the following day with quite chilly temps and rain.
I suppose after clawing our way back to health it's been a red letter day that no one woke with a fever this morning. Yet, I've found that while time came to a screeching halt in our home as we all battled illness, the rest of the world continued to march forward to times structured cadence. The result, I've been digging my way out of a fair amount of work. It's ok though, a few deep breaths and some reminders to keep my head in the present moment keeps me focused which tends to prevent episodes of completely freaking out and worrying that the world has unhinged its jaws and is now devouring me :)

This has been a week of exciting news on several fronts. As you know last fall I introduced The Studio Voice to the world, an indie style e-publication, one of my bucket list items for my writing career. Things went really well with the first issue. I made the decision at the beginning of the year that if this publication is to reach the potential I feel it can, I am going to need some help. So, I put the call out to my friends asking for anyone interested to be in touch, telling myself that I'd be grateful for any assistance as this is a labor of love. I love the Universe, she delivered quite possibly the dream team. I'm happy to tell you that not only does The Studio Voice have a new web site (and an even newer one is in the works!) there is an new Editor, Alexis Yael and a new Creative Director, Melody Deetz. Um, can I just say "holy wow!" That's some serious talent people. There is no doubt in my mind that not only is The Studio Voice meant to be, it's meant to be amazing, so stay tuned. With all of the excitement about our new team, the deadline to submit to the Winter issue has been extended. The theme is Renewal so if you are interested in contributing I encourage you to visit here and review the submission guidelines.

I signed up for a writing course this week, it begins in February. After completing my PhD a few years ago, I swore I would never go back to take a class of any kind, I was exhausted and never wanted to face assignments and deadlines again. Well, apparently not- I get bored, so this is something I am really looking forward to.

I also got word this week (though it could have been last week) that a paper I've been working on was accepted for presentation at the Emerging Technologies for Online Learning. This is being held in Vegas, guess I'll just have to suffer through it :)

Finally, I had the most amazing conversation with a friend/publisher this week about a new project- it's early still to elaborate too much on this one, but man oh man am I getting excited!

So now that I have listed what has transpired over the most recent two weeks I am realizing how remarkably blessed I really am. I hope your week has been wonderful and I hope your weekend is filled with fun, rest, excitement, boredom, whatever you need for it to be.

XO,
Amelia

I survived the black death, I mean the flu

Amelia — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 15:14:34 +0000

photo credit: Monty Python's Holy Grail

*I normally use my own images with my blog posts, but I am fresh out of death images, so I had to improvise

I recently survived the Black Death…I mean the flu. Holy cow! I do not know how I reached the age of 44 with out ever catching the flu before but I’m pretty sure that this bout made up for all of the years I dodged that bile laced bullet. That crud crept up on me like a death ninja and wouldn’t ease up until I had sunk into the lowest of lows, the deepest pits of suffering and despair. I’ve tried to piece the experience together, to create a time line of events. I mean, when your body behaves in ways that you have only seen in the Exorcist, it warrants some thought and reflection. I haven’t been completely successful. I think some combination of dehydration, medication, hysteria and exhaustion has blocked some points along the way. I did manage to recall some of the high, I mean low points on my journey back to good health.

It all began, I imagine, like the typical flu, fever, sweats, and vomiting. Somewhere along the way for me, the path took a sharp turn, downward, literally and figuratively. I have two words for you “deep vomiting”. Has that ever happened to you? You don’t even need to ponder that question long because if it had, you would have immediately responded “OMG, that is hell on Earth.”

Yes, it is that wretched. What follows are some of the events that I recall from those harrowing hours of my ordeal, on the night that I’m sure I kept company with the grim reaper. I can’t claim the order that I have listed them are the actual order that they occurred, I will only say this, when the vomiting is so violent that you wished you were wearing a Depends, it warrants a blog post :)

At some point in my first night with the flu, I moved from my bed to the bed in my office, at this point I was naïve and had no idea what was ahead of me and I was trying to spare my husband from being woken by my being ill. I was still being a loving wife.

The first 6 times I was sick felt reasonably normal, though I was growing concerned when I noticed my uvula was actually beginning to swell. Ummm, that’s a dilemma because what do you do with a swollen uvula that can’t decide to dangle in front of your gag reflex or behind it so it just hangs there, tickling it over and over. I considered snipping it, no really, I did. I think this actually marks the moment when I began to lose my grip.

At some point during the night I began to realize that I was in trouble as I had ventured into unchartered territory. Even my early years of partying like a rock star in college had not delivered me to these steps of hell before, and I was on a quick descent. I considered waking my husband, purely out of fear, but was still holding loosely onto my vanity, I still didn’t want him to bare witness to my body violently contracting.

Some amount of time passed, I have no idea how much time because I was not even sure if I was conscious. I had drug myself from the bed to the bathroom with such frequency that I had worn a path in the carpet, which actually did help when I was no longer able to stand and began crawling, I just followed the path. This is when I still had use of my arms, the legs were gone.

At one moment during my despair the term “euthanasia” began to cross my mind as if my brain stem had actually turned into the Times Square scrolling marquee. I groped around on the floor and grabbed my iPhone and attempted a search on euthanasia and where it's legal. That’s what desperate people who have been trapped in cycle of deep vomiting do, they search one way flights to Switzerland because before I hurl my spleen through my nostril, I will take a one way flight to Switzerland and elect for euthanasia. I mean who wouldn’t? And apparently twin brothers recently opted for it because they were going blind so I’m thinking "well hell yea, this bubonic plague out does blindness any day", right? This is where an exhausted, dehydrated mind will drift at 3am while waiting on the next round of wretching to begin.

At some point I began to feel guilty for secretly fantasizing about flying off to Switzerland so I began to barter with God. “OK, I won't euthanize myself if you don’t allow my kidney to be heaved, and I swear, I will up my ante in the offering plate.” There is no dignity in battling a pandemic.

There is also no dignity is vomiting into a Barefoot Dreams bath robe which just happened to be lying on the floor by the bed. Apparently at some point my own arms gave up on me, along with my spine, rendering me unable to sit or stand. This is when I began to simply roll over and dangle my head off the bed. A horrifying image no doubt but an experience that did seem ripe with learning opportunity, here are two take aways from that experience:
1. A Barefoot Dreams bath robe does have a maximum load capacity before becoming ineffective and loses absorbency.
2. For the record, bile does come out of carpet.

By 6am my husband awoke from his sweet slumber and discovered me on my office floor, a bluish tinted lump of cool flesh. If a trolley being pushed by creepy men wearing robes chanting in a monotone voice “bring out your dead” had been traveling down our street, there’s a reasonably good chance that he would have flung me into the pile. I could have never even cussed him out later for doing this either as I was no longer sure if I was alive or dead. It all got really fuzzy during my lunch date with Jimmy Choo when he offered me open access to his 2013 line. I do remember feeling all chic when I offered to pick up the lunch tab as I imagined slipping on a pair of spring wedges. I like to think that this luncheon was not a dream or a hallucination but something I really did pull off in the middle of all of this, the details are still a bit hazy though.

my evolving presence online

Amelia — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 15:04:30 +0000

“It takes courage to grow up & become that you really are. The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.”

This article originally appeared over at Kind Over Matter

Can I get an a.m.e.n. for E.E. Cummings?! What brilliantly inspired words! I love this quote so much that I bought a bracelet with the quote etched into it to serve as my reminder. I want to tell you the story about me and my online presence, which has spanned 5+ years. An experience that has brought me right back where I started to begin with, but much wiser- so it's a journey I could never regret.

It began as a simple blog hosted on blogger titled "The Desert Dirt" (I live in Phoenix). The purpose of my blog was to keep my family up to date on my children and our lives, simply format, no bells and whistles. I'll even admit that I wasn't aware of such concepts as SEO and tagging posts etc. Quite frankly I had made a rather naive assumption in thinking that you'd need my direct url to even find me on the internet and if you didn't have it, you wouldn't even know I was there. Looking back on this I see what a lovely shade of green I was as a newbie. Yet there was something so remarkably wonderful about my "invisibility" ….I wrote like no one was watching! Forget that quote about dancing like no one is watching, I was blogging like no one was watching! There was such beauty in not knowing, there were no expectations and consequently, I put my whole self out there, every silly, ridiculous, heart breaking, frustrating moment that I experienced in life I published on the world wide web like the only people watching was my intended audience. I went along at this pace for more than a year when my brother mentioned in conversation one day that everyone in his office reads my blog. GULP! What?! I don't remember the rest of our conversation because I was too consumed with how hot and red I knew my ears had become as I remembered all of the personal content I had published- nothing x rated but still, there were ample stories of being bloated, having gas (I had 2 pregnancies during this time!) and various other "personal" info I'd inadvertently published for the world to see while I existed apparently under a rock. I have no doubt that somewhere a village was looking for their idiot but I was lost in the blogosphere describing bodily fluids to who I thought was a small group of family/friends. This is when I discovered that I could actually "see" how many visits my blog was receiving and became completely mortified because the number was way more people than my family and friends combined so I did what any freaked out person would do, I made an irrational decision in an emotional stated- I slammed the door shut on that blog so quickly and abruptly that to this day I consider it to be one of the worst mistakes I have made as a mother and writer- I didn't save the blog post before bringing it to a grinding halt! All those tales of pregnancy, babies, life, marriage etc gone, gone, gone.

I stayed away from the blogging world briefly, I was addicted to publishing so I wanted to return but I returned and conducted myself as though I were in a Petri dish being observed. Not conducive to authentic connections, thoughts etc. I blogged then I watched the numbers, checking SEO and looking to see how man "hits" I was getting- it deadpanned. I pulled away and committed blogging suicide. I left the blog out there with no fresh content for nearly a year. During this time I continued in my career teaching in higher education. My experiences were slowly leading me to a business idea. I was interested in re-entering with a web presence but felt I had outgrown the look and feel of my site- so I redesigned and re launched with a new blog and a purpose. This would not be the last time I pulled away, fine-tuned and re launched. You see with each attempt I was getting better and better at owning me and what I'm about. I was getting better at reclaiming the person I abandoned in the Desert Dirt. As my professional life as a consultant working with women grew my personal life slowly delivered me to my roots of writing and photography. All of my years of dark room developing, video editing, script writing and revising and working as an aid to my

father as he worked on his first book and countless photo/video projects found themselves fresh in my thoughts and occupying my every free moment. Additionally it created yet another quagmire as I attempted to blend these hobbies with my consulting work and truly experienced an identity crisis. I pulled away again as I began to wrestle with such notions as "am I giving people what they want? Expect?" "What if people think I'm some sort of blog multiple personality with all of this content jumbled into one place?" "I love this persons blog- I should be doing it this way." The self-doubt became consuming- time off was needed. The time off led me back to where I started.

I wanted to keep an online presence but I needed to return to my roots of being who I am, putting it out there for me and have faith. I needed to give up the scripted elevator speech of being a consultant who does this, this and that and just own exactly where I am. I needed to have the courage to be who I am, where I am, thank you E.E. Cummings. I launched two sites, one professional, and the other personal. I have stopped comparing myself and my sites to others and have stayed with my commitment to be authentic- let's face it, we are so much more believable when we are being authentic- way more than any scripted elevator speech sounds. So now when people ask what I do I simply respond with I'm an MBTI professional working with women and I'm an avid writer/photographer. I've stopped worrying about how it sounds and settled into what it is. The beauty of this is, without hesitating I can tell you I am warmly embraced, supported, and encouraged by others.

a little story from his infancy

Amelia — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 17:28:16 +0000

In honor of my boy turning 4 today, I thought I'd dig out a story from his early days to share with you....this is one of those stories that I will tell at his wedding :)

This week the little boy had his first bout of gastroenteritis, in layman's terms, he sprung a leak from both ends. Linda Blair’s got nothing on this kid.

That evening, feeling really bad for the little guy, I sat in the living room chatting with him, cuddling him and really doing anything to make him feel a bit better. As we were hanging out I decided to hold little boy up, you know, at face level- after all we were chatting. He was really enjoying my conversation as he was smiling and cooing at everything I had to say. Honestly, he’s 3 months old, I think I could have been reading the phone book and he would have been laughing and smiling, anyway, that's when it happened. The sweet smile faded from his chubby face. Hhmmm, ok well maybe he will enjoy hearing me sing to him, or then again, maybe not as evidenced by his furrowing brow. Ok people, this should have been my first clue that things were about to go awry but I’m vain, and I love that he had been enjoying my entertainment and I wasn’t ready to be out of the spotlight. So, I did what any other vain, hard headed mother would do, I continued to hold him up while while making a jackass out of myself with my singing, cooing....wreeetttccchhh! Holy sh*tballs warm milk came flying out of his little mouth and nose with a force that flung me to the back of my chair. I’m sure it was because the milk was still warm that it was so forceful, I don’t think cold milk hits quite as hard and I’m pretty sure cold milk isn’t nearly as gross. Honestly, why it didn't come flying out of his tear ducts is a mystery. I cannot find the words to describe the priceless look that was on his face once he had completely emptied himself on me. His face was all covered with the lumpy, beige-ish colored meal he’d consumed an hour earlier. His nose was dripping people and he sat there grinning from ear to ear. Meanwhile, I'm still hung up on the fact that the milk was still warm as I sat there battling the waves of gagging. It took both Corey and my daughter to rescue me from the aftermath. Corey quickly whisked him off to the bathroom as I stood, carefully, attempting to contain the spill, trying to keep the shrapnel from splattering on my new rug. . Ahhh...fate was on my side, I happened to be wearing the most absorbent cotton pants on the planet~ no dripping or oozing off my lap. Seriously, I think I could have broken out into some type of break dancing routine and not spilled a drop. If there is ever another oil spill in the ocean I will be on the scene to donate these pants. If only they had these pants in New Orleans, Katrina would have never made headlines.... Anyway...I'm off to the bathroom to take a well deserved shower. HA- I honestly thought I was going to have to send my daughter into the garage to retrieve some tool, I don't know a crow bar, the jaws of life maybe, to remove my soaked pants from my now soaked legs. Good Lord, what did I feed this child, paste? My pants were stuck to me as if a gallon of quick setting concrete had been poured into my lap. We did survive it, I got my pants off (while leaving some flesh attached to my legs) and after we took a shower we managed to come out of this smelling pretty good.

Fast forward to 4am- little boy wakes up with a hungry vengeance. I jumped up, scooped him up and in a flash had a bottle plugged into the weapon of mass destruction, formerly known as his mouth. Ahhh, visible relief. Then it happened- his little mouth released its firm grip on the bottle- ugh oh- then it happened- his brows furrowed- HA- not this time little man. Like a professional baseball catcher I threw my right hand up, layered in a towel, crouched over him in a defensive posture, strategically positioning myself to intercept the violent stream. I was prepared!

Then it happened- his face turned beet red, his body curled up into a tiny ball, followed by a barely audible...grunt. That familiar little grin crept back onto his face signaling his complete contentment. What?! Where's the geyser of warm milk? Why is this towel still dry? And what, for the love of all things holy, is running down my leg?!

to amputate or detach, that is the question

Amelia — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 14:52:49 +0000

because sometimes people can be real asses

I believe that this is the first time, in a long time that I have gladly welcomed Monday morning. If I reflect on this past weekend it’s from a “running in the opposite direction while trying to kick up enough dust to impair my view of it” sort of way. Yea, it was THAT kind of weekend. What made this weekend worse was that I didn’t see it coming. Well, I knew the weekend was coming, it was the “holy shit your ex wife is an effing lunatic” crap I didn’t see coming, especially since I was the one in the line of fire. Oy! Seriously, you could have nailed me across the head with a 2 x 4 and I would have been less stunned, though I’m sure my headache would have been much worse with the whole 2 x 4 thing…anyway.

OK, so the weekend actually had potential to be great and would have been perfect had the “I’ve been making a complete idiot out of Amelia” thingy hadn’t gone down. That threw a real hitch in my giddy up. I mean I am pretty good at making an idiot out of myself without the aid of someone who clearly hates me to the very core of my being. And is there anything worse than being the last one to figure it out? It’s like crossing the finish line after everyone else has finished the race, showered and has packed up to leave the field just as you cross the line and they’re all like “it’s ok, you didn’t look stupid at all.” You know they are just trying to reassure you because who really says “man, you looked like a total ass, we’ve been shaking our heads in complete disbelief and laughing at you the whole time.” That's totally the stuff you say behind their back, though I actually know people who would make that last comment, out loud, to their face.

It’s exquisitely painful people to be the last person to get a clue, catch the drift, open the memo- ok, natural childbirth may really define the category of exquisite pain, but natural childbirth is also physical pain that goes away. Heartbreak, hurt feelings, and yes, I’ll throw in a dash of betrayal doesn’t go away so easily, especially when you didn’t see it coming. I swear what they say about me must be true; I really do think we all live in Candy land where everyone is nice, laughing and snacking on Twizzlers together while singing Kumbaya. Ah, but in reality, even in Candy land others are waiting on their opportunity to climb right over you and beat you to the booty, the stash, the candy covered finished line. Christ what are we teaching our children when we give them these board games?

Anyway- I want you to know that I responded to her child like, juvenile, clearly I have not matured since junior high school behavior with an equally mature response, I chose to amputate. Yes, you read that right, my first reaction was “oh, you don’t want to play nice, fine, I’ll freaking amputate you and show you!”

Now, I admit that amputating the people who hurt you is a character flaw (and just for clarification, I don’t mean to imply that I cut off any part of their body, I just mean I cut them out of my life because cutting off a part of their body would be a felony and a character flaw). I tend to hurl myself into relationships with other people 110%- which is probably another character flaw and certainly lays the ground work for getting my feelings hurt- the more I give to a relationship, the greater my need to cut them out if they mess it up. I’d like to think that this is some clever, survival defense mechanism which has proven historically to improve the quality of the human gene pool, but it’s not- it’s just a standard, run of the mill defense mechanism- it kicks in when my feelings get hurt. If you aren’t in my life anymore, then you can’t possibly hurt me with your childish, clearly you got caught in a pattern of arrested development bullshit anymore.

I don’t care who you are that just makes sense.

The problem is, amputating makes it pretty hard to maintain necessary relationships, and I’m now looking around for my big girl panties. And since I am trying to live my life in a way that creates opportunity for growth; I wouldn’t want to burrow in emotionally (amputating = burrowing). I realize that the last statement sounds a lot like cheesy, armchair psychology, and that’s because it is courtesy of M Scott Peck.

So…..I’m attempting to shift from amputating to simple detachment- you know, when you sense danger (physically, emotionally, mentally) you just step away, get the eff out of the line of fire. Pull back, regroup, you don’t have to react but think and choose to act etc etc

Choosing to step away from something/someone that threatens your sanity without going all “I’m never going to speak to you again, and by the way, yes those jeans do make your butt look fat” crazy. Because somewhere between laying down to be a doormat and amputating someone completely out of your life exists detachment. Detachment affords me the opportunity to simply pull away from what or who feels dangerous, to create the space to choose how to act versus reacting in an overly emotionally way. Simple right? Ha! So, if you need me today I’ll be over hear reciting,
“I will not amputate, I will not amputate, detachment is my friend.”

the front porch of my mind- where I long to be

Amelia — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 15:26:25 +0000

It feels forced, initially. When I try to just be.
I’m almost unable to restrain the urge to hurdle myself back into the daily rounds
I think it may be fear that keeps me in constant motion
There is safety in doing, risk lies in just being
If I relax my pace, quiet my mind, what might manifest itself?
And why does this scare me so?
I know in my core that just being grants me access to what is, what has been and what could be.
A quiet mind opens doors
It allows unfiltered, untainted thoughts to appear
The kind of thoughts that have not been run through the filter of "what will they think of me?"
A quiet mind is where startling insights reside,
Fearless truth, untouched
The only place I’m truly free
I know that fear of quieting my thoughts is nothing more than resistance
Resistance and I go back a long way, our relationship is a fickle one
I accept that
I know that the only way to overcome resistance is to practice the art of just being
It becomes a pattern of running wildly towards beauty with fear at my back
Experience has shown me that the rewards are fruitful
When I hush my thoughts, slow down and just sit on the front porch of my mind
My eyes, how they open

wordless wednesday ~ 2nd & Monroe

Amelia — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 19:58:00 +0000

"There's a melody in everything. And once you find the melody, then you connect immediately with the heart."
~ Carlos Santana

re entry is harsh

Amelia — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 12:56:45 +0000

Today our family returns to our "normal" schedule and I have to admit, re entry is going to be harsh. It's interesting the way energy shifts with such an immediate transition around Christmas. The days leading up to December 25th are filled with the hustle and bustle of decking the halls only to be met by a sudden slow down once the gifts are open and the holidays meals have been eaten.
Our days over the past two weeks have run about as low key as they can get- to slow down anymore would mean not getting out of bed at all :-)
We've gone from rising at 6:30am to slowly emerging from our toasty warm beds at 9:00am and even then blankets are drug from the bed to make a cozy resting spot on the sofa. We've watched countless movies, built an untold number of forts, and eaten breakfast some days at 11am. It has been a winter bliss. Even my thoughts, projects, writing and work have slowed to a snails pace. It's like we literally have frozen in time, sat still, existed in our own space separate from the world going on around us. Confession: I could live like this everyday. I've been reminded of what's important, what brings me great joy and it's in the small, unassuming details of the simple ways we've connected during our hibernation. The conversations had while piled into a bed with 6 other people, jockeying for space, the side splitting laughter of watching each other be goofy or listening to music and everyone joining in on the chorus but goes silent afterwards because we don't know the words. It has been bliss. In this moment though, typing this in the early morning I know that I have to wrap this up to go gently wake my babes to help ease them back into a schedule they aren't quite ready to return to. I'll stick a note in their backpacks to help soften the days blow and remind them that they'll be home at 3 and we'll reconnect. We'll make kettle corn and do homework under the confines of our living room fort. We'll ease into the evening curled up together sharing in conversation. We'll carry as much of our winter retreat with us as we traverse the upcoming days. Re entry is harsh.

happy birthday to my girl

Amelia — Fri, 04 Jan 2013 20:54:24 +0000

happy birthday to the one that started it all :)
I can't believe she is 21! Where did the years go? I will tell you this, the past 21 years have been filled with joy because of this girl. She's the whole package, brains, beauty and you won't find a sillier person who can laugh at herself with no problem. Seriously, she has mastered physical comedy ;) She keeps us young and laughing and she is adored by her siblings. Happy birthday sweet girl, mom and dad love you all the way!

wordless wednesday ~ coordinated

Amelia — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 15:53:00 +0000

Get a bicycle. You will not regret it. ~Mark Twain

Happy New Year

Amelia — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 19:33:14 +0000

“The greatest thing in this world is not so much where we stand as in what direction we are moving.”
~ Goethe

May your new year find you moving in the direction of your dreams, happy new year friends!

Merry Christmas

Amelia — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 19:41:22 +0000

For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace good will toward men.”

happy birthday Katie-belle

Amelia — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 15:00:24 +0000

Happy birthday to our Katie-belle. Your presence in our lives has been a blessing. Dad and I reflect on the the woman you have become, watching you with your sweet little ones, we're so proud you. You light up a room wherever you go, your smile has serious wattage :)
Your laughter is infectious, it's impossible not to feel delight when you come home. You are your daddy's girl. It's an honor to be your parents, we love you dearly.

wordless wednesday - in loving memory

Amelia — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 13:25:00 +0000

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 19:14

In loving memory of the children and adults who lost their lives at Sandy Hook Elementary.

call for submissions

Amelia — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 15:19:02 +0000

In November, 2012 I published the first issue of The Studio Voice, Several amazing women contributed their images and reflections on gratitude. I am proud to tell you that since that launch date, November 19, 2012, The Studio Voice has been downloaded more than 2000 times! I am thrilled and humbled by the warm reception it has received and so grateful to the beautiful women who contributed and helped to make this happen.

I am already working on the upcoming issue and am enjoying reading the submissions. I wanted to let you know that call for submissions for the next issue and all of the issues for 2013 is open. You can learn more about submitting here and here.

I am also crazy excited to tell you that you have a couple of ways to enjoy The Studio Voice.
You can receive the electronic version of the publication or you can purchase a subscription to receive The Studio Voice in your mailbox at home. To subscribe please visit here.

Blackhouse Studio now available on Kindle

an excerpt

Amelia — Fri, 14 Dec 2012 15:46:20 +0000

I have been working on a story to enter in a short story competition. Below is an excerpt from my current draft, feeling a bit nervous about this one but excited at the same time. Presently, it remains unnamed.

Looking into the bottom of her wine glass she knew she was staring at reality. “How can this be?” she asked out loud. “How do you sit on the cusp of having it all to feeling like someone vacuumed up the horizon when you weren’t looking?” Suddenly struck by the fact that she was talking out loud to herself, she stood to go inside. She was ready to wrap herself in the comfort of her bed, where she knew his scent would still linger. As she took those first few steps towards the door she realized that a glass of wine on an empty stomach had likely been a poor decision. She knew there was no stopping what was going to happen next no matter how she tried to convince her gut that it was alright. She hoped to make it to the bathroom, this proved to be too lofty a goal. She dropped to her knees and retched. She felt the pain from every violent contraction. She found herself welcoming the retching as it shattered the numb cocoon her defenses had wrapped her in. Her body was now feeling what her mind had neglected all day. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the crimson puddle. She gave in to it and gently she lowered herself to the floor. Her flush cheeks felt relief from that cold, stone ground. She stretched out her fingers as though to channel the coolness to the rest of her. She exhaled and the tears followed. She wept from the deep, shattered spaces of her body. As her tears began to pool around her pressed cheek, she relinquished her denial, “This is really happening.” As she laid there, facing the landscape of her life now stripped of pretense, she prayed mercy would wash this day away. She prayed for an endowment of strength. She prayed that sleep would rescue her.

wordless wednesday - at the end of the day

Amelia — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 13:27:00 +0000

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

my birds eye view

Amelia — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 16:17:56 +0000

Do you ever get a birds eye view of your life. A glimpse from above and see in plain view the beautiful details? The 3 year old in footed pajamas curled up on the sofa, hair standing on end from his night of sleep. Curious George provides the early morning entertainment as dad showers. The smell of warm waffles fills the cool morning air; that smell locks in the memory, smells always do for me. My girl makes her way from her bed, dragging the most delicious blanket to join her brothers on the sofa. Over hearing the oldest boy spontaneously tell the younger one "I love you" in a room that is lit by the Christmas tree in the corner.
This was my morning, it caused a smile to spread across my face and my heart to swell in the knowledge that no matter what the day holds, it's ups and downs, challenges and victories, this is what cradles our lives, this is what we will all return to at the end of the day. This is what really matters, I am blessed.

Friday Roundup

Amelia — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 14:18:31 +0000

I thought I'd share with you some of the things I've been enjoying this week from around the web, enjoy!

For my writing friends, Writers Digest is still taking entries for the 13th Annual Short Story Competition, care to join me in entering a story?

Love Moleskins? You'll love taking this peek into the moleskins of creative icons, Moleskin Detour

I'm loving the street photography of Mar k Cohen, Bright Flash, Small City, featured at NYT Lens. I love the black and white images and the way he captured real life.

Finally, David Whytes, What to Remember When Waking has me in a chronic state of nearly swooning, it's an unbelievable combination of brilliance and a voice that you can't help but to lean in to!

Oh, then there is this :)

my babes documenting their lives

Amelia — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 14:51:39 +0000

While cleaning my sons room, I came across this loose leaf journal entry. I nearly swooned to know that they have an interest in documenting their lives. I'm not sure if this was the work of all three or just my oldest boy. My oldest tends to fill volume after volume of journals and then turns to scraps of paper when he runs out. It's not unusual to find his written words all over the house. I love his interest in writing...now to work on the spelling :)

wordless wednesday - wildflowers

Amelia — Wed, 05 Dec 2012 07:01:00 +0000

"Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit."
– e. e. cummings

learning to control my inner control freak

Amelia — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 04:50:13 +0000

I think I may have admitted this to you before; I am a recovering control freak. It's true. I'd control the Earth spinning on its axis if I thought I could. If it’s true that we all have our weaknesses designed to keep us humble, this is my Achilles tendon. As much as I try not to control, I am constantly thinking "if you would only do this or that your life would be so much better." Ha! How's that for a bit of crazy. To add a dash of irrational, I'm often stumped, shocked, and dismayed when others choose not to follow my advice. Pardon me, but could someone pass a serving of humility please? I could write volumes on how this has simply not worked well. I could fill pages describing the unnecessary stress this has created in my life. I could also tell you about a few relationships this nearly ruined. I have a feeling though, dear reader that you either relate to this post because you too are a control freak or you have lived with one :)

I am making progress in this area. I can sit here and admit this too you, so my awareness has been raised. Once it's on the radar, it's hard to ignore because every time I engage or even begin to engage in controlling this knot in my gut develops letting me know to shut up and simply listen to the person. I've wondered if some of this comes from raising children. A job where society encourages us to control our kids and heaven forbid if they act up people are eager to summarize "well his/her mom never really did have much control over him/her." You see my point, no? I also wonder if some of this results from the environment we live in. Sometimes life can get so crazy that trying to control feels like the only way to hang on. It's a way to create the sense that everything will be ok. I don't know, these are just speculations. I'll leave it to the experts to provide an answer as to why we do it. What I do know is I reached a point where I knew I needed to work to get a handle on it. I would carry so much stress listening to others worries or watching their struggles and I would feel the need to step in, attempt to intervene, to absorb some of their suffering in some way. At some point, I began to realize that I was not Macgyver in my friends/families members lives. The responsibility was not on me to fix people or their problems. Sometimes, you just need to bear witness as my friend Melody explains so beautifully.

I remembered with remarkable clarity the first time I ever caught myself trying to fix, control and influence the circumstances that did not and should not have involved me. I distinctly recall the moment I caught myself beginning to speak and then making the conscious decision to shut my mouth. I remember feeling as I would choke on my tongue. But with my tongue held firmly in my bite, I just listened. I remember reminding myself that I didn’t cause it, and I couldn’t control it. I remember the moment when I knew that I was powerless. If I was a person of faith this was the moment to exercise it and trust that Gods got it. That night I slept better than I had in a while. I felt lighter. I felt as someone had removed shackles and chains from me. I felt freed. I exhaled, delighting in knowing the onus was not on me to make things better.

I've often questioned just how many times my jumping in, my trying to control and fix, may have gotten in the way of God, the universe, fate, whatever you like to call it. I do not have a healthy relationship with the unknown. I am constantly attempting to eliminate it by working to bring solutions to fruition too early in the process and often in a process that doesn't even belong to me.

Controlling and fixing are character flaws of mine. I suspect that it is something I will need to stay on top of for the rest of my life. While it tends to be my default behavior at this point, I still have hope I can get ahead of it. The only way I know to do that is to live this beautifully complex life a day at a time.

grab your December desktop wall paper

Amelia — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 02:53:43 +0000

I can't believe it is almost December, what?! I mean there are clearly signs of December everywhere :) It is still hard to believe that we are rounding out 2012.

Time passes so quickly during the holidays, I hope you are keeping a pace that allows you to enjoy! I've posted the December desktop wallpaper and there is even one for the iPhone. You can download them here!

Want to see some mor e holiday goodness? Then head over to Accidentally Wonderful and Dear Creatives

Do you have some holiday cheer you want to share today? Feel free to link up! xoxo

Wordless Wednesday ~ barefoot

Amelia — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 14:46:00 +0000

"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."

~ Khalil Gibran

releasing my captive right brain

Amelia — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 13:51:24 +0000

I've had a surge of creative energy recently. It's as though someone has released my right brain from some bonds holding it back! :) Kind of like this chair I spotted on a recent walk. I found the scene above to be such an odd scene, but there it was.
I think I know why/where the surge is coming from. I was recently talking with my students about the brain, thinking preferences, right brain and left-brain information. I began to reflect on what things get it in the way of my creativity, whether I'm writing, painting etc. Asking myself "what blocks the flow and bottle necks the process?" Often it's the internal chatter that originates from my left-brain. Just as I sit to engage in a creative activity, my organized, linear and structured gray matter will throw up that nagging question, do you have time to be doing this? What about the laundry? Have you finished grading those papers? So, I attempt to get everything done hoping to sit down once it is complete and enjoy some creative time. But we all know, it is never all done! Especially this time of year!
I've been doing a lot of knitting lately; this time of year brings out the knitter in me, which is a creative activity. But I've realized something, it's also a very left-brain activity. Knitting is a series of patterns and sequences. The hands engage in repetitive behavior, so much so that I don't even have to think about what I'm doing while I'm doing it. Guess what? I think it's this distraction of my left-brain that opens the gate for my captive right brain. I sit there thinking about any number of creative ideas and projects I want to begin, and how I want to wrap up other projects. I've learned to keep a notebook nearby to capture my ideas as I knit. When I put the knitting down and turn to a creative project, the momentum has already been built and I am off and running.
The key is to distract the left-brain, give it something routine and structured to focus on. I am completely convinced that this is the reason why I have the best ideas while driving or in the shower. These activities are so routine for me that I do them with little thought. My left-brain gets busy doing what it does and my right brain responds with "wouldn't it be cool to write about..."

These have been my observations, I’d love to hear from you. Do you experience your creativity becoming stifled? How do you get over that hurdle? What are you doing when some of you most creative ideas strike you?

seasons of the soul

Amelia — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 01:16:42 +0000

Souls ebb and souls flow in accordance with the season. It’s difficult to ignore the connection between the seasonal cycles in nature and the cycles of our souls. Nature, however, doesn’t resist the season of ebbing the way that we do. Nature settles into this time of fading colors when the sparrow finds itself ruffling about on bare branches. This stark season of dormancy punctuated by the shortened days that give way to increasing darkness are embraced as each of the other seasons. Nature you see trusts this cycle and uses this time to rest and prepare for new growth.
This is the reason that we should welcome these periods when the soul retreats. This is the time to embrace gratitude as a daily practice, and to reflect on the year giving thanks for the harvest of the heart.
The season of light will return and with it the renewal of our souls as it once again begins to flow with the energy required for the new growth that awaits.

from The Studio Voice, Fall, 2012

Wordless Wednesday ~ fall

Amelia — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 15:36:34 +0000

when she focused her rapturous attention through the lens,
she discovered she was surrounded by beauty

Happy Thanksgiving

The Studio Voice, Fall 2012

Amelia — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 07:13:07 +0000

I'm excited to share the first issue of The Studio Voice! You can view it above or download a copy here.

I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed publishing it!

xo,

Amelia

The Studio Voice

Amelia — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 19:09:32 +0000

I'm getting pretty excited over here because the first edition of The Studio Voice launches on Monday!! It is going to be filled with goodness from some amazing women, I can't wait to share it with you.

It's simple the receive The Studio Voice in your inbox, just fill out the form below!

"So it Goes"

Amelia — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 21:10:01 +0000

My daughter heard an ad on Pandora for 250 free business cards. She ordered them on a mother's helper quest. She is ten, and thrilled that: 1) they are free, 2) they are blue, 3) they have three little owls on them along with her name and contact info. What thrills me is that as cuspy-pre-teeny as she is, she still wants to call to tell me such details, to text me a picture from her dad's phone of the flyer she made, complete with little pull-off tabs for parents in the co-housing community where she now lives half the time.

She's not sitting around thinking about things like self-confidence or entrepreneurial spirit or how to engage in the community or even what she's good at per se; she just is, and what she gets excited does embodies being. This is the kind of thing I find myself feeling grateful for lately.

Seven months ago, I was laid off from a position I'd held for 18 months, a job that showed up as a godsend weeks after we stood under a tree in the woods out behind our house and surrendered our fight to stay married. A year later, thanks to being gainfully employed, I was able to buy him out and keep the house that had nestled us with our babies, their best friends just three houses away, the backyards bleeding together, the trampoline serving as a communal stomping ground for the dozen or so kids on and around our dead-end street.

Even so, by last winter I was coming up short every month and put an ad on Craiglist to rent a room; a lovely young woman stayed with us for a few months last spring before moving in with fellow college students. And then I lost my job, cashed out the teeny-tiny bit of retirement money I'd put away during the one and only three-year stint whose benefits included such things, and began in earnest to look for ways to stay.

We wound up with housemates--a young couple and their toddler; I self-published my book and gave thanks for the time to immerse myself in my own creativity and entrepreneurial spirit, all the while applying for the requisite three jobs a week to collect unemployment. I interviewed for a job as a gallery manager and was turned down. We swam in the neighbor's pool as I stared down my dwindling bank account and not-so-stellar work prospects in Burlington, Vermont. And despite a successful phone interview for a position as a career counselor at Hampshire College, I graciously bowed out of the search, determined to hold on to this known life if not for myself than for my girls.

And then one day in mid-August, faced with a bees nest in the swingset and the ever-growing grass in the backyard, overwhelmed by the responsibility of maintaining this home alone, I had something close to a panic attack. A quality of post-traumatic stress overcame me, and I recognized that just as I had two summers before, I was once again desperately trying to hold something together that wanted to come apart.

Mani talked me down, and later that afternoon, during a brief S.O.S. conversation with Maezen, I mentioned that I had pulled out of a search for a job in Massachusetts. "Don't do that," came her words, slicing through my death-by-a-thousand-cuts and pointing out the obvious. This was a time to say yes, not to put up walls. I decided no matter what to put my house on the market, to give up the ghost, to open myself once again to change. "Help is on the way," she later wrote. "Help is the way."

And so I reached back out to the search committee in Amherst, acknowledging the unorthodoxy of my question, and asked if they were still interviewing candidates. We are, in fact, came the reply, along with some valid curiosity about the seriousness of my inquiry. A week later, I drove south for an in-person interview. And a week after that, the call came. "I wanted to give you a heads-up that we're putting together an offer..." the woman who hired me said. And all I could think, as I walked in circles in front of the house so as to maintain a cell signal, was, "For... me?!" It dawned on me then, I had gotten the job.

Two years of transition later, of feeling our way into a fluid but solid co-parenting relationship, of working through anger, grief, loss, and discovery, of working with a mediator to slowly draft a divorce agreement, we were in a place of being able to make a decision to move, apart but together, a family reconfigured, from the place we'd shared for well over a decade, the place where we had bought our first home, started businesses, gone on date nights, held baby namings, watched a thousand sunsets, and knew, it seemed, everyone by name. I don't know what would have happened if he had said no to moving; neither of us would have been willing to be apart from our girls. But he said yes, and then I said yes.

I began purging mountains of stuff--most poignantly the majority of the letters, photos, and journals I'd been hauling around since leaving home twenty years ago. We had a huge yard sale. The guys from 1-800-GOT-JUNK had to call in a second truck and two more guys, and we paid a small fortune to have it all hauled away in a way that wouldn't feel completely wasteful and dump-bound. My older daughter swore her life was over and that was not under any circumstances moving. Anywhere. Ever.

I posted pictures of the house on Craigslist and Facebook and showed it a handful of times, whispering superstitiously to friends in the schoolyard that it was under contract, so quickly. Too good to be true? Perhaps; the contract fell through and I hired a handyman and a realtor. Greg solicited a few friends to help us move, foregoing the prohibitively expensive option of commercial movers. We got quotes for U-Hauls, boxes and tape. Set a date. Found places to live in Amherst, which for me meant double-upping on rent and the mortgage, fingers crossed the house would sell. Please, please, please, I prayed, envisioning some couple with little kids who would feel like they'd won the neighborhood jackpot, as we had so many years before.

The offer came. We signed papers. Documents scanned, notarized, faxed, and emailed. Inspections and appraisals and remembering that holding my breath isn't a shortcut to happily-ever-after, remembering that
there is no such thing as happily-ever-after, only some mysterious combination of hanging in there, perseverance and patience and learning-how-to-live-with-the-not-knowing.

Gratitude. Like a pocket of loose change emptied onto a dresser, like using up the wilting veggies in the fridge, just enough milk left in the bottle for this morning's coffee, kids up and at 'em or dragging, last-minute run-arounds for half-completed homework and sneakers for P.E. because it's Thursday, waving them goodbye as the bus pulls away and up the dirt road where we live now.

And then I fly to Arizona because I said yes, because I took a chance, because I decided to love the learning curve of love, and the call comes: "Mama! I heard an ad on Pandora for 250 free business cards and I ordered them for my mother's helper business! They're blue, with three little owls! And I made a flyer for the common house, with little tabs you can pull off!"

In that moment--a beautiful woman, a mama whose company feels like the greatest prize, at my side, my daughter's voice on the phone two-thousand miles away finding her way into a new home, secure in her parents' love, the ping of a text from Libby the Realtor giving me the latest moving-forward-all-is-well update--in that moment, I know all the gratitude that ever was. And rather than holding onto it for dear life, I sigh, images from an early-morning dream drifting by, and I tap my right foot to the music at the coffee-shop where we went for coffee that first morning together.

And as Kurt Vonnegut wrote, "So it goes..." Until one day, it won't. And I remember not only to repeat my own words, but to live them: Don't miss this.

Jena Strong has been blogging since 2007, and is the author of "Don't Miss This," a collection of poems about marriage, motherhood, and coming out. A life-long poet, she works as a career counselor and lives with her two daughters in Amherst, MA.

Wordless Wednesday ~ bathed in light

Amelia — Tue, 13 Nov 2012 05:58:48 +0000

she was bathed in the warm rays of the sun
her spirit captured it's beauty and warmth
which she shared so freely

when emotions transcend language

Amelia — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:02:06 +0000

I took my children on a bike ride yesterday afternoon. The weather here in Phoenix is beginning to resemble fall, and we wanted to take full advantage of it.

We rode our bikes through a series of side streets that ultimately emptied us into what looked, smelled and felt like another country. I was truly amazed by how two neighborhoods, so close in proximity must resemble the border between the US and Mexico. As we turned our bikes down one of the main roads traversing this predominately Hispanic neighborhood I could hear the Latin music and the aroma of Mexican food cooking. Families were out in their yards, speaking their native tongue, a language I am not versed in.

Sitting in the center of this neighborhood was a small park. My kids caught a glimpse of it and immediately begged to stop and play, so we did. As we parked our bikes, I noticed a man sitting on the park bench. While he was physically sitting there, his face looked vacant, like a cheap hotel sign. I attempted to make eye contact, but he was elsewhere. As the kids played I continued to observe him, his posture now revealing to me what his face had previewed, his sadness. His heavy shoulders weighed him down so much that his spine had given in, he sat hunched over. His hands seemed to be at a loss for what to do. They fidgeted, rubbed the tops of his thighs, brushed the dust off the ankles, and combed through his disheveled hair. His non verbals were fraught with emotion.

A young girl, maybe 18, appeared out of nowhere. She wore an unlikely ensemble, monkey print pajama bottoms in turquoise green with a purple striped hoodie. She accessorized this lazy Sunday outfit with a pair of purple furry slippers. She marched with a definite sense of purpose directly to him and sat with him. They never spoke a word, and they never looked at one another. Occasionally she would watch my children romping about on a playground that time seemed to have forgotten. Their giggles and shrieks of laughter added such an incongruous soundtrack to what was playing out before me.

A car pulled up along the east side of the park and a woman began yelling out of its window. I haven't any idea what was said, but her tone indicated she was a person of some authority. The girl looked up and listened attentively before dragging herself off the bench and walking to the car. More words were expressed before the girl stomped off and disappeared into the sounds of mariachi music. The man never flinched. Within moments, the same car pulled up alongside the west side of the park, closer to the man and sat there. She glared at the man with fury filled eyes. I began to feel uneasy in her presence. Without a word exchanged, she drove away.

Within moments the girl reappeared. Her timing a clear indicator that she had only disappeared out of sight long enough to make a safe reentry. She walked with a little less spirit this time, kicking up more dust as she passed us before sitting down beside the man again. They never spoke a word, they never exchanged a glance. As we got on our bikes and peddled off I reflected on this truth, human emotion is a universal language.

how can I tell you...

Amelia — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 07:00:00 +0000

I like to honor each of my children on my blog for their birthday- to attempt to capture their beautiful souls to share with you. I have historically done this through cute lists, thoughtful poetry, funny stories etc. Today's is this girls birthday and all week I have postponed writing her birthday post because I knew I would scarcely begin writing before the tears would begin to stream down my face. I hardly know how I can ever articulate who she is when words are simply too limiting.

How do I attempt to capture in words a spirit as sweet as hers?

How do I describe to you that in all of my years of living I’ve never known a soul as pure as hers?

How can I explain to you the way her Joy climbs about barefoot, playfully animating our daily rounds?

How can I tell you about the way she has been soothing our hearts since she was a tiny little thing?

How do I describe the wisdom of her heart? The way her eyes express her knowing without a word spoken?

How do I show you the way she greets each day as if it were Christmas morning... over and over?

How do I capture in words the blessing she is, her presence a true gift that she offers with such effortless grace?

How can I describe the way she shares her love without discrimination, or hesitation, a love that is too big for this world?

How can I express to you my longing to protect her always? I worry that she is too fragile for this world.

We came so close to losing her at one point and I’m profoundly convinced that she lived for a reason. This world needs her…I need her.
If only you could be in her gentle presence, to experience her, I know that within moments you would realize that you were keeping company with an angel.

Happy birthday beautiful girl

Wordless Wednesday ~ beautiful blessings

Amelia — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 19:00:00 +0000

Be grateful for the tiny details of your life and

make room for unexpected and beautiful blessings.

folding memories

Amelia — Mon, 05 Nov 2012 03:40:12 +0000

She’d lived a few lifetimes, so it seemed

Time held the strings the way a marionette does his puppet

Slowly she’d begun to unravel the complexities of her life

Pain, she had realized, is often inherent in the most fertile subject matter

She’d stopped praying for mercy to wash away the memories

She’d rejected the notion “everything happens for a reason” and other ruthless platitudes

Now she found herself poised on the edge of her own story

She realized that while she had looked for so long, she had failed to see the light within her

She now understood that joy lies in transforming the painful memories while moving thru them

She was grateful for such a gracious endowment of strength

And so she began to create a word origami, folding memories and experiences into her intricate memoir.

Finally, she was stepping confidently into herself

Novembers Desktop Wallpaper

Amelia — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 18:36:56 +0000

I can hardly believe that it's November. I just want to beg time to slow down, especially during these months where so much magic happens, so many memories made.

The theme for November around here is gratitude beginning with Novembers desktop wallpaper. I invite you to download your free wallpaper here . There are various sizes depending on your screen and even one for your iPhone.

Enjoy!

Wordless Wednesday - Vultures Perch

Amelia — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 18:00:00 +0000

“It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees – very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.”
~ Edgar Allen Poe

Happy Halloween!

Be sure to grab your free November desktop wallpaper, you can download it here :)

happy monday

Amelia — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 01:49:33 +0000

Happy Monday! Mondays are always brutal around here and now with it staying dark longer and longer it gets harder and harder to get out of bed at zero dark early!

I thought I'd share my latest up over at Todays Mama, Balancing the Demands of the Holiday Season.

I tend to write about topics I also need to be reminded of :)

The deadline to submit your words and images for The Studio Voice is fast approaching. I'm enjoying reading the submissions I have received thus far and feel honored to have the opportunity to publish them. If you would like to submit for the issue on Gratitude, I invite you to do so, here are the deets .

It's simple the receive The Studio Voice in your inbox, just fill out the form below!

Latest at Todays Mama

Amelia — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 16:35:38 +0000

My latest post is up over at Today's Mama! Click on this image to check it out :)

Wordless Wednesday - childhood

Amelia — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 16:57:00 +0000

There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life that he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. ~Mark Twain

reflections on time

Amelia — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 05:09:56 +0000

Time, it is something that I battle daily. It doesn’t sound terribly productive when I read that. I know that regardless of what I have to do, time marches on, setting the pace, time does not follow. I wrangle my daily activities in an effort to keep pace with time.

Time often feels like a double edged sword. In one moment, time delivers pure joy, experiences too difficult to express with words, precious moments that are marked forever in journals and scrapbooks by time.

Yet time often is the source of angst, applying pressure to complete all that must be done. If time would just slow down its ticking hands, give me just an additional 60 minutes then I am certain I could get it all accomplished.

I often wonder if I can ever reconcile my love hate relationship with time. I search my memory and reflect on the moments when my children were born, the fullness experienced in those intense hours and minutes that left me with pure joy and a full heart. Such a flurry of activity, the sounds of laughter, a new baby crying, medical staff doing their assigned jobs, time flying by but with such profound promise that no one noticed or minded, time was my companion.

But time is a fickle mistress.

While holding my fathers hand, as his life slowly left his exhausted body, his pulse tapering, the rise and fall of his chest slowing, becoming increasingly shallow, I cursed time. I screamed for it to stand still, to hold this moment just a little while longer, my mind unable to comprehend fully what was happening before me. Time can be a predator that stalks you during life’s hardest moments.

Time waits for no one.

Time, I want more of it, I want less of it, I want it to slow down, I want it to hurry up- but the reality is, time is a gift- each and every second- and the choice resides in me what I do with it.

moments of badassery

Amelia — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 14:46:30 +0000

Do you ever wear something in particular that makes you feel like a real badass? Ever listen to a certain song that really brings out your complete and total coolness? Leaves you feeling like Trinity from the Matrix? I love that feeling. Here are the top 5 things that make me feel all badassery and stuff.

1. boots...they bring a little swagger to my step
2. listening to Eminem....there is something about dropping the F bomb while singing along...leaves me feeling bullet proof
3. running- maybe it's from years and years of running but it's my thing, I do it without thinking and quickly get high on feeling the strength of my muscles, definitely feel like a badass running
4. wearing my gypsy head wrap... you either get this or you don't
5. wearing my aviators...Tom Cruise may be a little flaky in his aging career but you have got to admit, he put aviators squarely in the cool zone

What about you, what makes you feel like a badass?

Wordless Wednesday ~ riverfront marina

Amelia — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 14:56:39 +0000

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
~ Mark Twain

you're invited

Amelia — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 23:36:46 +0000

100 faces - [ 3 ]

Amelia — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 03:02:38 +0000

confessions of a hermit in the making

Amelia — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 04:02:42 +0000

Do you ever long to close off the world? To draw the emotional shade? Hang a “no vacancy” sign on your heart? If no one enters, nothing is risked. The older I get the less interested I am in risk taking.
Have you ever groped the edges of your comfort zone only to slice your finger on its jagged edge? You recoil, not out of fear but a deep, primal need for self preservation.
In so many ways I long to experience as much of this world as my mortality will afford. Other days I turn off the phone and log off the computer to create my safe zone.
I live a dual existence, an extraordinarily vibrant virtual life through my blog, social media and teaching. After 8 years of teaching virtually, I have mastered the art of virtual connection. I am most comfortable with connecting to you all very publicly. Yet on a personal level, people terrify me. I’d rather bare my soul to all of you than to sit down with one of you. It’s a character flaw I’m certain...but there it is.
Call it aging, call it hormones, or call it a natural response to life experiences, the truth is I'm wildly convinced that I am slipping into a state of hermitage...in a public way.

Wordless Wednesday - ocean view

Amelia — Tue, 09 Oct 2012 16:00:52 +0000

“My soul is full of longing for the secrets of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.”

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

check list for a good life

Amelia — Mon, 08 Oct 2012 20:43:27 +0000

~ do the best you can in everything that you do
~ be at peace with yourself
~ when it comes to work, do what you love and love what you do
~ live simple...less is more
~ feel the Earth under your feet every day
~ exercise your mind and your body every day
~ live one day at a time
~ be kind
~ share something with someone every day
~ do something kind for someone without them knowing it was you
~ slow down and appreciate the small things
~ find humor in life whenever possible
~ be kind to animals

how important is it?

Amelia — Fri, 05 Oct 2012 03:44:31 +0000

"The sole art that suits me is that which, rising from unrest, tends toward serenity."
~ Andre Gide

This question has become my saving grace. it's that simple. period.

There are always opportunities in our days to over react to something said, done, things left unspoken and left undone. Reacting to this kind of soul snatching minutia distracts from truly enjoying life.

conflict is a part of life. it's that simple. period.

It's true, humans are, well, we're human. We're multifaceted. We are capable of experiencing a broad range of emotions in the time it takes to lace up a pair of shoes. We feel things, sometimes not as deeply as we should and other times we let it cut too deeply.

you can choose how you respond. it's that simple. period.

Now there's an uncomfortable truth eh? You are in complete control over how you respond to other's. That is a remarkably empowering concept. I can choose to engage or pull away. I can choose to take it personal or keep it in its proper perspective. I can choose to lose sleep fretting or I can choose to value my serenity above all else and let it go. There are no winners or losers in conflict. There aren't right feeling and wrong feelings. There aren't right perspectives and wrong perspective. We are individuals with our own ideas, values, and hopes and they don't always coincide with those of the people closest to us. So there is a choice, let disagreements be divisive and choose to respond accordingly or recognize that disagreements can afford the opportunity for growth in the relationship, if so chosen.

life is too short. it's that simple. period.

Call it growing older or growing up, the key word is growing. At some point a shift occurs, whether it's subtle or a slap in the face, that the quantity of our days pales in comparison to the quality of our days. I want to milk this life for everything I possibly can, one day at a time. One of the tools I can use to help make the most of each day is to pause in the face of conflict and ask

how important is it? it's that simple. period.

Wordless Wednesday ~ papa's shoulders

Amelia — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 18:02:00 +0000

a papa is someone you never outgrow your need for

Call for submission for the inaugural issue of The Studio Voice. If you are interested in sharing your photography, stories, poetry, or art you can get the details here!

Kind Kindred & The Studio Voice

Amelia — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 22:46:31 +0000

Today I am excited to be featured in Kind Over Matter's Kind Kindred series. It is always such an honor to be able to connect with Amanda and her readers- there is always something inspiring going on!

I'm also thrilled, delighted, over the moon excited to be announcing the launch of The Studio Voice. I have toyed with the idea of an electronic publication off and on for a while and I finally put my brave girl panties on and decided to go for it!

Here's the scoop- I want this e-publication to be filled with our stories. I love the idea of connecting with others in the intimate way that sharing stories, poetry and images allows. We are all so much more alike than we are different. Sometimes I feel like social media creates this perception that we are all living "perfect" lives, it's easy to get swallowed up in that idea. The truth is we all wrestle both similar and unique experiences. One thing I know in my heart is that by sharing we create opportunities to connect with and reach one another in unexpected ways. Haven't you read a story and thought *"oh man, I so get that!"* This experience is both reaffirming and reassuring. There is nothing quite like realizing you aren't the only one.

So I'm hoping, praying and hoping some more that you'll consider sharing your stories/poetry/images. The inaugural edition of The Studio Voice will be released into the world on November 19, 2012 with the theme of Gratitude guiding us.

For all the deets on submissions you can head over here.

If you want to receive all this goodness in your inbox, just fill out the form below!

I'm excited and look forward to this journey. I hope you'll join me by sharing your own stories/poetry/images or opting to receive all of this goodness in your email.

100 faces #2

Amelia — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 02:58:46 +0000

"To carry his load without resting, not to be bothered by heat or cold and always be content: these three things we can learn from a donkey"
~ Indian proverb

into my inkpot

Amelia — Fri, 28 Sep 2012 03:22:37 +0000

“I dip my pen in the blackest of ink, because I am not afraid of falling into my inkpot”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am not afraid of falling into my inkpot, I am not afraid of falling into my inkpot. I want to tattoo this onto my forearm as a reminder for when I’m writing. When my throat begins to close, my chest tighten, and my face feels as though it will shatter into a million pieces, I could use a mantra. You see, I’ve chosen to pursue the most vulnerable of writing tasks, I’ve decided to write my memoir. Not my whole life, good Lord you’d lose interest, just the exceptional stories. We all have those stories in us, the ones that could inspire, the ones the world needs most from us. Moving on this decision is a vulnerable leap, it’s like spinning plates on the edge of chaos. Memoirs are tricky because every family has stories, and for each person in the family, there is a version of the story. It’s fascinating to reflect on stories from the past and consider which parts of the story were left out, edited, or rewritten so that everyone feels comfortable with it. This is a question worthy of a few journal entries. The beauty of the memoir, however, is that it is the author’s recollection of events. Truth is so subjective, for every person involved there is a version of the truth. Truth is a tedious concept when it comes to memories, and trying to make sense of everyone's truth is like trying to glue fur to logic. So I've stopped trying, I'll tell my truth, my story.

I do look forward to putting it out there. It’s exciting in a nervous "I think I may vomit" sort of way. It’s like inviting you all to come over and watch old home movies. It's an exercise in subjecting the self to public scrutiny, the good with the bad. Honestly, I worry you'll proclaim me a grand declaration of weird. There are worse things to be, I suppose.

So I'll sit over here dipping my pen, deeper and deeper into this inkpot of mine.

wordless wednesday ~ 100 faces

Amelia — Tue, 25 Sep 2012 04:19:52 +0000

this images kicks off my 100 faces project

where it all began

Amelia — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 03:12:40 +0000

You twirled me on the dance floor
I bought you a beer
You lied about your age
But I didn’t mind

We discussed Jungian theory
Over our main entrees
Without hesitating you ate shrimp from my plate
But I didn’t mind

We strolled along the rivers edge
Confessing our anxiety about being newly singled
We were both back in the dating scene
But I didn’t mind

I admitted to being nervous before our date
To sooth my fears I listened to James Taylor
You laughed and told me I was trapped in the 70’s
But I didn’t mind

We stopped to look out over the river
The moons brilliant reflection created a moment
You leaned in to kiss me
But I didn’t mind

Happy Anniversary

my alphatudes

Amelia — Fri, 21 Sep 2012 05:10:58 +0000

my alphabet of gratitudes :)

A: air, apps, amazon 2 day shipping
B: boys wearing homemade capes chasing one another with foam swords
C: Christ, Corey, cherry lime-aid
D: dancing to movie soundtracks, DSLR, duct tape
E: Ellie, e.e. cummings, email
F: faith, friends, forgiveness
G: God, guerrilla art, galleries
H: health, humus, hair dye
I: Ice cream, imagination, iPhones
J: joy, jumbo rolls of toilet paper, Johnny Cash music
K: Katie, kindness, knitting
L: love, life and lemon aid
M: memories that carry me, mod podge, moleskin journals
N: New York Times photo blog, night time, not having to say goodbye
O: opportunity, oatmeal cookies, orange trees in the backyard
P: peace, pizza, pecan trees, also in the backyard :)
Q: Queen of Peace, questions, quilts handmade by grandfathers
R: reading, rest, red hair
S: Sydney & Sabrina- our original duo
T: time, tutu's, trust
U: understanding, ukelele's played by cute nephews, unmade beds on lazy mornings
V: v.e.l.c.r.o.
W: Whyatt, Willie Nelson cd's, words
X: a chromosome we all share
Y: y.o.u.
Z: zen, ziti, Zoetrope literary magazine

Wordless Wednesday ~ his tutu

Amelia — Tue, 18 Sep 2012 16:31:22 +0000

Ballerina, from Bob Carey's The Tutu Project on exhibit at Mesa Arts Center

found faith

Amelia — Sun, 16 Sep 2012 04:03:39 +0000

I found you in an unpacked box
Just lying there among bits of yarn and expired coupons
I caught a blurred glimpse of you through a crumpled sandwich bag
You were tangled in the coiled binding of a long forgotten cookbook
Just where I left you
I shifted the heap until you were in plain view
My God you are truly loyal
Your patience confounds me
"Do you ever grow tired?" I asked out loud as I scooped you up
“I am so fickle” I muttered as I stared at you there
My need for you is always in direct proportion to my desperation
I’m shameless the way I’ll call to you in those moments
Half way expecting to discover you’d grown weary of me
But you never do
You never falter with your promise
You’re always where I left you
In the creases of life, the folds of time,
Waiting to be heard...hopeful

the dreamer

Amelia — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 18:39:04 +0000

the way of the dreamer is difficult, but anything less is hardly living at all

wordless wednesday ~ remembering

Amelia — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 15:27:53 +0000

“The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country”

― George S. Patton Jr.

reflections of peace

Amelia — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 04:16:49 +0000

I long for still waters to be a reflection of my soul at peace
To feel my shoulders relax as I exhale, completely
Where peace permeates the core of my being
despite insanity stomping about to its chaotic syncopation
To feel my grip loosen, my fingers slowly unfurling
creating space for control to spill from me
releasing me as it is carried away like cat hairs trapped in a breeze

unexpected beauty

Amelia — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 13:09:01 +0000

"Unexpected intrusions of beauty. This is what life is." Saul Bellow

My family recently took a small vacation to the mountains of Arizona- that's God's country up there- it's hard not to see beauty in every direction- you would have to be completely distracted to not be aware of the beautiful landscape surrounding you in every direction. As a lover of photography it was like standing at the all you can eat buffet and told to enjoy! I took multiple cameras and took an untold number of pictures. Quite frankly, I'm still going through the digital pics that I took. As I sorted through a batch recently, this picture jumped out. Can you make out the heart shape that frames the flowers? Believe me when I tell you that this was unintentional, in other words, I was not using a camera app that created this effect, in fact, I was using my slr, lensbaby soft focus lens- which is designed to create the blurred effect but not heart shaped. This is the result of my lens, the angle and the lighting that all came together in just the right way to create this look, feel, image.

I love unexpected surprises that can be observed in the details- but I'm also accutely aware that to observe them I have to be willing to take my mind out of auto pilot and really tune in to this life that surrounds me- when I do this, I realize just how much unexpected beauty exists all around and I don't want to miss it.

wordless wednesday ~be still

Amelia — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 17:26:31 +0000

"be still and know that I am with you" ~ English prayer

unexpected grief

Amelia — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 15:55:40 +0000

Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve. - Earl Grollman

It's funny how grief strikes at such unexpected times and I'm not talking about the fresh off the heels of a tragic loss in your life and you're still in that period of spontaneous tears because someone said "yo, pass the catzzzup" just the way he always did. This is understandable to most people. I'm talking about unexpected grief. You see, I've concluded that grief comes in a few varieties. There are periods of grieving we expect to go through, like after the death of a loved one, when we even mark our grieving by wearing black, as though grief camping out all over your face wasn't a grand enough display of loss. By all social norms, this is appropriate and expected grief.

Then there is the grief that comes along out of nowhere. Your day has been fabulous and the next thing you know you're enveloped by grief's cloud and you're choking on the thickness. You've been blind sided by grief as it is cleverly packaged in a certain scent (his cologne, her perfume, the smell of stale cigarettes, curry chicken cooking) that suddenly transports you to a memory forever associated with that person. Count your blessings if this unexpected grief provides you with such a road map to track where the sorrow originates, at least you can hang your hat on that why or what- you look less crazy when you can actually explain the spontaneous moisture appearing on your face to anyone who bears witness to your drive by grief.

Then there is the WTF grief! You are going along, doing your thing, minding your own damn business when BAM (no Emeril did not just show up to the party) you're suddenly in a "just add water" state of desperation, sadness, on the verge of curling into the fetal position whilst weeping over not letting the butter reach room temperature before trying to mix it. Don't get me wrong, I do understand the butter dilemma. It's tempting to zap the stick o' butter in the microwave when it needs to be softened, knowing full well it'll melt before you take it out and the directions explicitly stated not to melt the butter! You're impatient, you throw the semi room temperature butter into the mix convinced that your wicked Kitchen aid can reduce it to the proper texture/consistency only to see it clump. The BS part of this scenario is that you're using a metal mixing bowl so unless you want to light up your kitchen like the 4th of July you'd better not opt to zap it now! I do truly understand the challenges of working with butter while baking but I call bull shit if you try to use it to justify the tears now mixed with the snot running down your face adding a little flair to the batter. Something other than lumpy batter is going on.

Grief really should wear a bell around its neck so you can at least hear it coming and run to the bathroom to sound proof your sobs in a towel. I personally think that grief, as an emotion, is a coward and feels constantly slighted. I mean, no one ever welcomes grief with an invitation "oh grief, could you come by today and envelop me with a sense of doom and exquisite pain, and while your at it, could you rip my heart from my chest and stomp on it with the same vigor you would a lit cigarette at the gas pump?" So, to increase its airtime, grief masks itself in a variety of ways, lumpy batter, a Kleenex commercial, or the SPCA's commercial where Sarah McLachlan sings us into the arms of an angel and we're writhing in uncontrollable loud sobs and startling the children while grandma is shouting "did you say something dear?" Grief doesn't want you to deal with what's going on directly as this might send him packing. He'd rather continue to reappear disguised. This may not make sense to you but trust me, grief and your subconscious know exactly what's going on, avoidance.

But even with tear stained cheeks you must be willing to really peel back the layers and explore why? What? Am I tired? Hungry? Sleepy? Have I been neglecting myself? The task becomes ours to recognize the hurt and in whatever way works for us, to let it be, make itself present, respect and acknowledge it. Scott Peck summarizes this by purporting that it is only through legitimate suffering that we grow, I am inclined to believe him. Grief, despite its chaotic presentation at times, is a true opportunity for growth. Avoidance of what's really going on is an open invitation for grief to continue to show up, expected or unexpected.

wordless wednesday ~ summers end

Amelia — Tue, 28 Aug 2012 14:56:25 +0000

“She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.”

~Holly Black

returning to nature

Amelia — Fri, 24 Aug 2012 19:45:12 +0000

"Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another." -Juvenal, Satires

We are heading to the mountains for the weekend, I am so excited about this small reprieve as my husband can rarely take time off. The forecast calls for cool days and cold nights with rain expected- the rain offers another reprieve from our desert dwelling. The White Mountains are a beautiful place to experience, though admittedly I have not been since the wildfires left their charred wake. I'm taking all of my cameras and my kids cameras- the quiet time with no tv, iPods, computers, phones etc lends itself well to continuing their exposure to photography. I'm also looking forward to decompressing after an emotionally challenging week of managing dynamics that they don't adequately discuss in parenting handbooks. So we'll use the time and the amazing views to do some soul unfurling.
I hope your weekend is wonderful! ~A

Wordless Wednesday ~ self

Amelia — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 17:09:54 +0000

sometimes we try so hard that we fail to see that the light we are seeking is within us

because you are who you are

Amelia — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 18:48:46 +0000

I am worthy, now
I was worthy, yesterday
I will be worthy, tomorrow

Worth, we all struggle with it at some point or another, and I’d encourage you to stop such a silly waste of your emotional energy, but I realize the futility of such a demand. I know how harsh the battle can feel and how important it is. The journey to discovering our self worth is often painful and stretches us to our limits. Other times it is marked with such beautifully profound "a-ha" moments that we are left awe struck. Usually the journey is filled with both extremes and a lot stillness in between, it's a necessary journey though. One that demonstrates how our experiences along the way shapes the destination. One I hope we all fearlessly take.

I think we are genetically and socially wired for this battle about our worth. Let’s face it, we instinctively care about others and consequently, what they think and say matters to us. When you couple this with a society that has created an impossible and ever changing mold of the ideal...it’s the perfect self esteem storm.

The silver lining? You can take yourself off of this roller coaster ride- sound easier said than done? Of course. Isn’t that how most things worth having are, easy to say but harder to achieve? But isn’t it also true that anything worth having is worth fighting for? Alas, your freedom from the shackles of worry, doubt and fear that you are not worthy is as important a fight as any you will have in your lifetime and it goes without saying that it is worth it- you are worth it.

So how do we define our worth? Before we get to that, let me offer an abbreviated list of what DOESN’T define our worth:
How we look
How much we weigh
If we have children
If we don’t have children
Where we grew up
Where we call home
If we work
If we don’t work
If we wear makeup
If we don’t wear make up
If we wear current trends
If we opt for our tried and true wardrobe
If we drive a nice car
If we opt to take public transportation
If we live in a nice home
If the shelter is home tonight
If you are a married parent
If you are a single parent
If our kids make all A’s
If our kids struggle to make it in school
If our kids play piano, sing, dance or any other talent
If our kids prefer not to engage in extracurricular activities
If we blog
If we don’t blog
If our blog is popular
If our blog has never been read
If we are religious or spiritual
If we are not religious or spiritual

Worth is not defined by anything external
Worth isn’t something we hope to acquire over time
Worth isn’t something that we earn by being smart, beautiful, saying all the right things, being witty and behaving, as we “should.”

Worth is simpler than that...
Worth is yours
Worth is mine
Because…. we are
We are who we are
We are where we are
We do what we do, how we do it and when we do it
And right here, right now, you are enough, just the way you are.
You and your beautiful soul, are worthy

Kindness in business

Amelia — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 15:49:51 +0000

You can find me over at Kind over Matter today with a guest post in the Kindness in Busness series

he built this city

Amelia — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 05:54:23 +0000

The kids and I rode our bikes to the park, which conveniently sits around the corner from our house. We live in the downtown area of our city, the "historic district." I love living here, I love that most everything we need can be accessed by foot. Living in the downtown areas means that you see all walks of life- this exposure to the realities of the world is the primary reason we no longer live in the suburbs and why my kids attend such a racially/ethnically diverse school that they are no where close to being in the majority. I like the balance of raising them with our roots while exposing them to the real world.

Seeing homeless people at the park is not unusual for us. They are often scattered, resting on the thick green grass, under the trees, napping, reading, people watching, escaping the desert sun etc. This gentleman in the picture above really got my attention- not sure why he stood out- I think there was something about the way he was sitting- his back straight, head up one minute, then slumped the next. I wanted to get close enough to take his picture. "Street photography" always makes me a bit nervous though since you never know how a stranger will respond to having their picture taken. So I did what any good mother would do in this case, I used my kid as the decoy :)

My son was roller blading on the basketball court beside him so I pretended to be documenting his superior roller blading skills. As I turned to walk back to my bench the man blurted "I built this city you know." I wasn't sure if he was talking to me so I turned to him with an inquisitive look on my face. His returned stare let me know that we were on- a conversation was starting and I love a good story. "Did you? When? I'd love to hear about it." "Yea, I moved here summer of 1984, did construction work <pointing in a circular motion> built all of this" "Where were you before 1984?" I asked him, not wanting the conversation to end . "Came here from California, you know all that shit that goes on in L.A. really had an impact on things, came here, get away from it. Besides, my daddy always told me about my eggs and not putting them in one basket" His voice trailed off when he brought up his dad and he looked away for a long time, so long that I became uncomfortable- I was suddenly intruding on his space with his father. I turned to re focus on my boy when he abruptly returned to our conversation "built the civic center, hell of a job that place." As he described deails about construction, working in the heat I found myself lost in his face, the non descript gray shade of his eyes. "How old is he" I wondered to myself. "I bet he's only a few years older than me, he was probably early 20's in 1984." As you can imagine the years had not been kind to him. He only had one tooth that showed when he spoke and the lines on his face were deep, a by product of this arid climate and his rail thin frame. My boy grew ever curious and joined me, for a while we sat and enjoyed the man recalling his glory days. My thoughts were bounding around my head like an out of control rubber ball. You don't come face to face with such starkly contrasting circumstances between two people and not contemplate the why's and how's of the universe. My mind generally wants, no it needs to make sense of such things. I began to wonder if he blurts his construction accomplishments to everyone he meets, as if to say "I haven't always been like this, there was a time when I worked hard, was productive, held my head up proud," I can only imagine he's judged many times a day through the scowl of a stranger or the disrespectful comments of a passerby. The thought of that made my heart ache. I looked at my boy hanging on his every word, even though not everything was audible. He asked my boy a question to which my son replied "yes sir" and I was proud of him for knowing he owed this man the same respect as any other man he speaks with. We continued our conversation for a while when I had to rescue my three year old from the monkey bars. When I turned to walk back over, he was gone. Just like that. I stood watching him pushing his shopping cart down the street- hoping he would turn so I could wave, but he never looked back.