If you cut me in two you could always have the best part.

I took one of those depression screening tests online and

my monitor flashed like a rock and roll dynamite winner

and I remember the day that I heard the word dichotomy in a classroom

and my head pulsated and I looked out the rural window

and met eyes with a squirrel

all dark and tiny and nervous

and I gasped because I gave that squirrel my thoughts

like a transfer through glass and sunshine and air

There is something wrong with me


There has always been this part of me that is so good

that you want to bottle me up and drink me

but the other part is nothing like that

like holding a penny under the tongue

but it's the place where

the words live


nowadays I go to the lap pool and swim for a long time

to seesaw fix myself

under the water I sometimes cry and make noises that come from bittersweet roots

I scream underwater

you can

do that

and if the old man in the small blue trunks looks sideways at me again

because he hears it

as he side strokes to good health

I will just do what I always do

climb out of the pool

tug my bathing suit bottoms out of my ass

and wink at him

throw all my sunshine around the room and

tell everyone later at the coffeehouse

that the chlorine was strong today

that my eyes are so sensitive

they are Nordic eyes

I am a sad Swede

I am a happy American


And I keep pushing the stroller into the future



photo source


The baby rolled over this week too

Today was a good day for a Monday. We made Harry Potter glasses and wands and played in our new tee pee. I tried to be mindful of my 2011 goal to stop stressing over things so much. I drank loads of tea and used Rescue Remedy. I feel much better about moving my office from the playroom. It used to work for me. It does not anymore. I need "work" away from daily life. I don't want to look at it when these gorgeous boys are around. I know I will slip. I know I will start to amp myself up and get all nutty and frazzled again. Just not today. And hopefully a hell of a lot less in 2011 than 2010.

homemade Harry Potter

homemade Harry Potter

new years teepee

I would love to curl up with you on the right side of the bed that lives in Taliesin West over there in Arizona.

In early December I was sitting in a coffee shop in my childhood friend's little Chelsea neighborhood with Neil and we were amping ourselves up to be epic soon, we were telling each other all the right things. Things like how I need to focus more on the essayist that lives inside of me and how Neil needs to get off twitter and finish his damn screenplay.

I told him how my novel sucked but then I would look out the dirty window and tell him it may be pretty good but it will never get edited. He told me about his screenplay while sipping tea and I could kinda see it in my head. And this is a good thing. He was a bit manic and I was a bit gloomy.  We were wishy washy in our writer spine ways.
I think all the talking just talked us back into a circle.
We turned around and had ended the conversation just where it began.
Change. We need it. Writing. We crave it.
We are just unsure.
We are just angst ridden writers.
We are different.
Like you.
We are different.
We are so the fucking same as everyone else.

It sucks to be a writer. If I were a singer and good at it I could just sing out loud to people in the market or on the street. They would tell me I was good and I would walk away with a smile and a secret little pop to my step. A swagger. A bounce. I could know that I was good at singing. I feel beat down sometimes because if I were a singer I could make you hear me. I feel like I am talking to myself on here but I know it is good practice for me. It matters. It is time frozen. It is a memory.

I just want long hair and a small house with endless wooden floors and all of the people that I love inside of it dancing -but there would also be a small room for me where I would write poetry all day.

I would have a bed like Frank Lloyd Wright.
There was a divider in it. If Frankie was sleeping on the right he could be disturbed. It meant he was only resting or daydreaming or being lazy. You could come to him with art and dreams and wishes and problems. But if he were on the left side of the bed you could never touch him.  You could never bother him. He was sleeping. He was in his small allotment of true sleep. Genius sleep. The darkest place you can climb down into and nestle. The place where we are only ever alone.
I would have a bed like that.

I tried to tell someone today how I feel crazy a lot of the time. She just told me not to worry about it. That I was a little crazy but how the crazy ones are the best. Like the sweetest oranges and the slowest kisses.  I remembered this post I wrote about a year back and suddenly I felt fine. On 1/11/11 I felt fine. I shake my tiny fist at you 2011. I lift my shirt up at you and flash you. I laugh with my mouth so wide open that you can see my white childhood cavities. I make you want to be with me 2011.

I did drive across the United States one time. It was a very long drive.

I was with Julian Simpson from England and my friend Bryan. We had just been released from our shackles of Presbyterian church camp counselor servitude. It was August and someone that I loved had just died and it seemed like the thing to do. We drove from Chapin, South Carolina to Los Angeles and back home to Cowtown, Ohio. I was just thinking about how I hate to drive nowadays. How I am prone to panic and angst on long journeys in my adulthood. I am not sure when the little screw fell out and took me to a yucky place with driving, but it happened.
Back then I would roll down the windows and my long hair would slap my eyes and I would love it. I drove across Texas all night with Madonna and fast through the Nevada desert with Metallica where the sky hung low and purple. All around me were scenes from movies that had not yet been made and songs unsung. I think looking back- that trip was meant to be escapist for me in theory, but all the way as the tires spun round and round, I thought of how sad I was to go back home to a place that now was missing someone I truly took for granted.

I remember with my back against the sticky seat of the Toyota Corolla cultivating the uncanny mind sweeping thoughts that now take up most of my days- thoughts that it has to be easier for other people to get through this life. That not everyone can think this much and at this intensity all the time. That I was cursed with the internal equivalent of a mosh pit. That I just wanted to stop feeling so much. That the sun was somehow brighter on my face than anyone else in the car and if I opened up my mouth and told you the startling esoteric whispers that hid sneaky in my throat- you would laugh at me because that's what people do around me. They laugh. I think I learned in a startling catechism with myself that summer that I was indeed an artist -and not crazy. Well not crazy enough to do much anything about it.

I heard Metallica today and it did indeed jack my head up for thirty seconds or so as the day spread out before me and the kids were like beyond the fourth wall and I was back there and looking at the me that lives now. I waved at me and she waved back and it was like there was a little peace. And later in my minivan rolling down the main drag of my town I sunk low into my captain's chair and rolled the window down and shook my bob. I shook my hair and told the boys a little story about America.

Zombie mommy

My leg hair is so long it could be braided.
At my 6 week postpartum appointment today I gasped at myself standing naked in the fluorescent lighting while waiting for the doc.
Oh My God.


I also had a lovely chuckle as the doctor
began her birth control monologue...
I don't even want to have sex with myself.

I handed the barista nickels and dimes today and there was dirt under my nails.

Also- What is in fashion this season?

Beuller. Beuller.

I need tips and tricks.
I need low cost/low time ideas of how to get my mojo back.

I need a hand to hold.

(at least my baby is flipping cute.)

photo via here

on the days when you feel spent

My friend Sarah bought me the new Natalie Merchant album last week.
(Leave Your Sleep)
It's charming.
It's brilliant.

Sarah and I grew up in college together as roomies listening to the quintessential Our Time In Eden and Blind Man's Zoo.
We mouthed every word in candle lit sparsely furnished living rooms while trying on the future.

I love the small book that comes with the CD.
Natalie says some brilliant things about poetry that have stuck with me since I read the words:

I understand that poets are our soft spoken clairvoyants. They tell us about the things that have made us and keep us human. Poets are keepers of the sacred language that describes our holy places-unknown and unknowable.

and who doesn't love to hear Trouble Me still?

perfect day

I am dying for one Fall night to beat down on me- hard like these new days.
I will be driving home from a late night diaper run to Target or something similar.
It will come on the radio and instantly my hand will quick fly to the tuner and dial it in louder than the Ohio Autumn coolness running through my hair.
I will not mouth the words.
I will sing them out for all the neighbors to hear.
Through the dense thick streets where trees may touch in the middle but people still need.

Trouble me, disturb me with all your cares and you worries.
Trouble me on the days when you feel spent.
Why let your shoulders bend underneath this burden when my back is sturdy and strong?
Trouble me.

carrier pigeons

I wrote this last year right about this time:

like tiny words that make you cry

I am at the moment obsessed with homing pigeons and the dreamy thoughts
that they carried thin slips of paper
with words
with messages
with secrets
and always knew their way home
from anywhere really
innate abilities

we always find our way home
to our nest
to our mate
to our place
even across snare traps and rocky terrain
we always know the way back to the arms that hold us
like it must have felt when our mothers did so many years ago
we always know how to get there if we just go

I dream like a carrier pigeon
and I shoot straight to you
straight to you
wings beat down and tired
but my message is here for you to read
like tiny words that make you cry

I love looking back on my blog
Don't you?
Sometimes you find comfort.

for years and years I roamed


Busy weekend. (haircuts and house leaks and lawn concerts and cuddles)
School is winding right down and soon my babysitter will come TWICE a week for me to work/write & I can hardly contain myself.
I am jumpy and nervous and thrilled for this.
I have a BIG project and deadline to complete in 10 weeks.
Oh and have a baby right after that. Yo.
So- is anyone trying to get something BIG accomplished this summer of 2010?
Anyone? If so- wanna make each other accountable?
I need tiny pushes. Little nudges.
I will give as good as I get.
Leave a comment.
Tell me what yr doing.
Let's get shit done!

hello finnian
Finnian so looks like a glam rocker now. Love it.

Thunder only happens when it's raining

Sometimes amazing things comes from the hardest times.
Look at the Fleetwood Mac Rumours album-It is golden really.
1977 and it will be played forever.
across sad living rooms
in tiny cars
and college bars
until the end of time

It was made in a studio full of pain and people in and out of love and lust and hard times and insanity. It was pushed from people because they just had to get it out. They had a lot of things going on personally but the art was paramount.

I need to go into my studio and make.
I need to put away thoughts like:
people will forget me if I go away for a wee bit
You won't right?
I won't miss anything.
I might find myself.

I will still be over at @littlealouette and in the shop a few days a week
because work has to happen.

But I can't be my super social self right now.

I can't be the most popular girl at summer camp.

I just need a couple weeks or so...

xo amy

image via ffffound

Negative. Negative. No one here exercises self-restraint in the expression of emotion.

Finn's birthday is on Friday and I am struggling this week with the thought of him having lived on this earth for 2191 days coupled with the issue of Joe's baby sister Vics moving back the the UK today.

She came as a whippersnapper of a young girl back in 2001 for a nanny job and I have seen her grow into an amazing woman.
She is my friend.
My sister.
She just left and my
eyes keep looking at the door.

I am sure Joe is going to have a hard day at work today.
He is at the airport now with her and his upper lip is never stiff - bless him.

So to boys growing like weeds and sisters starting new lives.

If I were not pregnant I think I would have a drink.

auntie vicks

My nose feels like Velcro.

I am suffering from a cold. It is devastating me. This winter is the worst.
I am trying every holistic concoction to feel better.
Every cocktail of herb and twig to rid me of this malarkey because I must board a plane on Thursday for Houston!
I am going to Mom 2.0 where I will spin round and round in a sea of pals and even speak a bit on "Why Women Are So 2.0". I am really excited to go- I just hope I feel better soon!
Any good ideas?
My nose feels like Velcro.

I also am taking a wee blog break so I can conference and attend to some Little Alouette business and others things. I have some awesome friends coming over to guest post for me for the next week. I know you will love them! (We may have a giveaway I heard! Awesome.)
I will be back refreshed and ready to burst back into my space with lerv.

If you are at MOM 2.0- follow @littlealouette for chances to win TOYS! xoxoxox
I may even have something to share. xoxoxo

photo via loveyourchaos

on Guard

I called home from Nashville Sunday and Blaise had been up all night puking.
Last night it was Joe.
Early early in the morning it was Finnian.
I am just sitting here on guard.

It would be a great week to make that homemade ginger ale I have bookmarked.
And Valentines too.

And the snow falls like candy from the sky in Ohio today

This is the greatest thing in the world.

Buena Vista Social Club - Chan Chan.mp4 from misswell on Vimeo.

If I were a fancy design blog I would paste up gorgeous photos of sexy Cuban women in dresses that slit to the ass cheek and men so handsome with dance moves like danger.

I would throw down pictures of Cuba blurred ever so lovely with photoshop that would make you tumblr crazy.

But I will just say that this CD was on heavy rotation when I lived in Athens in the 90's. I would pull it out when I cooked in my tiny apartment. I would wear aprons and make food for myself and I would think this is the greatest thing in the world. And tonight I think about how lovely it would be to be there. In that video, wearing a low cut dress in red, drinking drinks with ice. Sitting at a small wooden table pressed against my Joe, feeling the music. It's like I don't even need to know what they are saying because it is so good. Like years ago when I had a Greek lover and he might have been saying I was a donkey and my feet were smelly in island whispers long ago. I didn't care. It just sounded like life amplified. Or like today in the post office when I pretended to understand Spanish. These two guys were chatting up a storm and I kept looking at them and raising my eyebrows from time to time. I really freaked them out I think. It just sounded so pleasing to me. I wanted to be there.

Sometimes words just make sounds that make us crazy.

you wear sandals in the snow

We could have made a mint back in the 90's when we would smear Vaseline on our faces and spread glitter all over our lips like giant dare to kiss us billboards.
We could have started a make-up company before everyone else did
and glitter became so ridiculous.
I remember walking into a pub with red fire glitter lips and how could they not all stare?
And then the day sounds like Sarah McLachlan to me.
Like all day long.

pic via here

the days of december

I have been living in my head for a couple weeks. When I get covered in stress I tend to go inside and live deeper and flatter than a pancake.
My friend told me the other day that my head is a bad neighborhood and I believe him.

I still have a unspoiled view of the holidays though. Our family is in town from UK and they are like this amazing sugar striped fantasy that I get to enjoy.
My kids are twinkling like I plugged them in a lightbox
and they spin faster than cars on ice with glee.

Everything is really delightful if I could disconnect from my brain.
If I could only pull some plug.

It's like when you go to sleep and you try and make yrself dream a certain dream. You close yr eyes and pull images and try and push them into that sacred space of time floating around free and peaceful. But you often can't dream that dream that you want. It's like the people all look different like stand ins for the ones you wished for and instead of going to the park you end up at Home Depot and there may or may not be monsters.

Or something like that.

But the sun is shining on my face through the windowed room where I make things go from brain to fingertips to you and it is nicer than anything else and I am just going to sit here and enjoy it for the 7 minutes I have to myself today.

And the world is beautiful around me and I just need to break the surface.

Hope Can Burn Brighter Than Fire

I accepted an offer by Tide and Megan to write about HOPE this holiday and join the TideLoads of Hope at the Holidays carnival at Blog Nosh. I thought about HOPE and what that means to me this holiday season.
I wrote from the heart about my family and I invite you to come and read the post here.

"Life is constant change and flux, but the holidays seem to stop us in our tracks and make us think harder and reflect a little longer on the life we live. We think more deliberately about family and friends and the world and peace and hope. We make lists- gentle reminders of the folks that matter to us. We reach out and become “better angels of our nature” if only for a few weeks of the year."

You can share your own stories of hope, along with Blog Nosh Magazine, Velveteen Mind, and a gathering of inspiring bloggers, and enter your own post link in the blog carnival below. Explore featured bloggers as well as three featured posts selected from carnival participants listed in the linky (that could be you!).

Lend your voices now, then participate live during a two day event in New Orleans, Sunday and Monday, December 13 and 14, as we tweet stories of resilience from laundry recipients and volunteers on the ground. Follow along on twitter via #loadsofhope and be sure to follow @TideLoadsofHope.

It's a great thing. Please join friends. xo Amy

angel in sawdust

Even on the holidays my Joe Joe works.
Yesterday he started the revamp of the playroom/office.
Storage seating and a high work table and some shelving I pray soon.
I am running this company off my kitchen table and something's gotta give.
He is an angel in sawdust that man.

P.S. Little Alouette has some good steals over in the shop this weekend. xo

The recreation center has tiny crap crammed in plastic containers and they cost a quarter but they make Finn beam

It's just a quarter.
So I give it to him and he places it in the silver slot and cranks with the strength of an ox and a little perfect squeal comes out of his body and he jumps a bit as the small plastic container bumps up against the door. He retrieves the tiny capsule and pops the top to find a wee martian made from unknown origin, but it is his and he has found the way to make time stop for a moment.
He skips around and sings my praises and the sun shines all around him.
Little vending machines. Little bubble gum machines.
I hope they never disappear.
(Like my kids will never know a phone booth)
How odd.
It really is the little things.
I just wish my crammed full brain could recognize these moments as they happen and not hours later. I wish I could pause life sometimes.
Must live in the moment.
Must live in the moment.
Must live in the moment.