Rowan's Song

And I asked the Grandmothers to infuse her with the heartbeat of the Earth

I cried into the flesh of ground and begged for this life to come and cry and cuddle our fears

And she fought, for a millenia

Warrior Mother, Kali Woman

To ache it out and down and through

And in vigil we stood

Remembering our breath through the waves

They came and went and washed us of our fixed minds

And we slept and wept and sighed in the sifting of days to nights

Moments moved on, feeling infinite

She fought through emptiness, still brimming in fortitude

And he finally emerged through a crack, from the dark

Perfect and small

Our little red one

The Dating

So here I am... I'm single and getting more elderly everyday. The clock is a-ticking and while I know I still count as a spring chicken, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever be fortunate enough to join the ranks of the happily partnered. See, I love the single life. I love being unattached. I love doing what I want when I want to. I love not having to answer to anyone and not having to compete for blankets whilst I'm sleeping. I love being the one who wakes me up with snores (it does happen on occasion). I love it all. Okay, fine, a certain side of me loves it all. Another side of me wants nothing more than to be happily weighed down by a ball and chain and a little brood of chillens. To deal with and embrace this very naggy, singleton-sabotaging side of myself, I'm doing two things. One, at the end of the month, I'm moving in with a family whose chillens I can borrow when I'm feeling the need to and give back when I don't want em any more. This is a fantastic opportunity to play a semi-parental roll before actually making the life-long commitment to being a parent to my own little creature. I get to be the cool, fun, auntie! This is good. The other thing I'm doing to quell my illogical drive to entrap myself into a life of family values and barbecues, is to DATE. You notice, I'm sure, that date is a four letter word. Apparently, four letter words are supposed to be bad or something... but then 'word' is made from four letters and I don't hear a lot of people wincing at that one. Ah, but that's a tangent for another day. The point I'm making here is... it's dating! I'm not entirely sure I know how to date. It takes some kind of skill, and I wouldn't say I'm particularly well practiced at it. See, mostly what I've done in the past is 'hook-up' with people. I'd be casual acquaintances with someone, and then we'd end up hanging out, and then it might lead to making out, and then, in most cases go nowhere from there. That's not really dating. In dating, you go out, you do interesting things like eat over-priced tapas at some lame yuppie restaurant while wearing sweaty pleather pants and a bicycle helmet. You have a couple of drinks and then you go your separate ways, after you've either vowed to never see the person again or have made plans for another date. Dating is something that materialistic mainstream people do, right? People who have money to throw around. It's not really done very much anymore, it's kind of archaic. But, I want to date. I want that casual formality. I want it to be an interview, because the side of me that wants a partner, means business. Really, what I'm saying here is, I don't just want to hop into bed with someone I barely know and then hope that we've got enough in common to keep some semblance of a relationship going. I don't want to spend years in a relationship with someone I deeply love, who is not going in the same direction as I am. I want to be intuitive and emotional, yes, but also blatantly practical and honest in my assessment of potential mates. I also want to clearly state to the Universe that I am available and open for business. Hey... the biological clock is ticking and I'm tired of having to do everything on my own. So, I figure dating is a good way to go. Got any tips on keeping it light, keeping it real, and keeping it honest? Send em my way.

My Life As A Diaper Changer

Dirty, stinky, poopy diapers...

It's a reality of my life which occasionally hits me with an amusing if not somewhat grotesque slap in the face. I've changed more diapers than I can count in the 4+ years I've been a nanny. Yes, I get paid to do the dirty deed. And how exactly did I get here? I never dreamt of growing up to deal with the bodily refuse of little people. As much as I fantasized about caring for babies as a little kid... the sheer nastiness of diapering just didn't occur to me. All this said, the rewards of hanging out with children (and getting paid for it) far outweigh the stink. When it comes down to it, dirty, stinky, poopy diapers aren't so bad when I also get to play with play-do, dance, sing stupid kids songs, and build towers with blocks (which get destroyed almost as quickly as they're created). Plus, after caring for my invalid grandmother... little baby poops don't seem so bad. So here I am, Diaper Changer, a hero for the next generation!