self portrait tuesday #26 (april fool)

apparently, I had enough time this afternoon to stop everything and photograph myself hanging upside down while wearing some old wax lips I found in the candy jar. priorities, man.

(the last of the self portrait april foolery can be found here and here and if you haven't already checked out the new self portrait challenge site, well then: lookie here)

self portrait tuesday #25 (april fool)

I have been up in the attic, going through boxes, getting ready for The Biggest Yard Sale Ever. a sale I've been talking about having for two years now, that I totally flaked out on having last spring, a sale that desperately needs to happen for many many reasons. the land of junk that resides above our heads is quietly taking over.

and so I came across these skates that I bought four years ago at the thrift store for $3.03 a pair ($3.03 because that's how it goes down at the thrift store-- items randomly priced at $1.59 or $2.29 or $.69, always with the nines and does anyone really know why?) and the skates? tragically, they do not fit. I'm guessing I knew this when I handed them to the cashier. I'm thinking I had big plans for ava and the skates. ava (and a lucky cousin or friend with the right sized feet), who would be the envy of all the neighborhood kids. perhaps I thought they would be able to start a junior roller derby event (the unparalleled coolness of these 'tri-star' skates being the obvious impetus for such a debacle). maybe I envisioned her (and spunky skating partner) taking on the mean girls of the neighborhood. obviously, I was dreaming up reasons to take the skates home with me. they're classic, people. the definition of the word classic. and I'm thinking my eyes probably started to glaze over when I thought back to my elementary and junior high school years-- when roller skating was The Shizz.

but there's no time to sit down and think back, I said this before, I have no time. however, the first thing I do in this situation is stop my flow of work to reminisce. something about having no time and so much to do compels me to procrastinate wildly. and by procrastinate wildly, I mean stop everything and try to squeeze my feet into found skates. and then spend thirty minutes taking photographs of them. and then spend many many more minutes thinking about how roller skating ruled my world. sitting in the middle of enormous junk piles, it all came back: the birthday parties at the local keele roller rink where they always served cookies with pink icing and played 'YMCA'. how sweaty and nervous I got when the stodgy woman in thick glasses used the DJ's microphone to announce 'couples skate' (to this day, I cannot listen to peaches and herb's 'reunited' without feeling some mixture of dread and hopefulness). and you know I was so cool skating backwards to blondie's 'heart of glass' and queen's 'another one bites the dust'. YOU KNOW I WAS.

I had my own special pair of fake leather skates with royal blue stripes, wheels and laces. but they were from walmart and I couldn't shake that. my friend/enemy camille had white leather skates with translucent red wheels that sparkled and giant-sized pink pompoms that had been purchased at the roller rink. AND she had a short red satin skating skirt. AND everyone circled around her in the middle of the rink to watch her do special skating tricks that often involved superfast twirling. AND her parents let her see 'saturday night fever' at the drive-in. AND she had breathtakingly beautiful long blonde hair. AND her name was camille. I hated her. I loved her. nothing I did could ever come close to matching her superstar status (even though I was featured in the local newspaper where my grandparents lived for skating downtown to my grandma's office supply store everyday for a week). feh.

and in the midst of all this thinking back, I suddenly remember I am sitting in a pile of junk that needs my attention. of course, this brings on even more daydreaming and remembering and I spend many more minutes thinking about how foolish it is that I have all this junk in the first place. really, it's not that simple (it never is) but it's all I can think of while swimming in a sea of dollhouses and baby clothes and lampshades and forgotten party supplies and nursing bras. well, that and my brother von-- who, ever since he decided to travel across europe and move to new york in 2001, has had to pare down his belongings to the absolute bare minimum: his laptop, a small amount of clothing and the finest microfiber towel money could buy. oh, there's probably more. I know he owns just a little bit more (in the way of a pillow, a down comforter, some books and a really great old iron light-up arrow he swiped from a sign somewhere) but most of that is in storage or lost or gone, I think. while I'm surveying the mountains of unecessary items we've accumulated in such a short amount of time, I hear his words:

"you're a slave to the stuff, man. YOU'RE A SLAVE."

am I? is it foolish that I can't let go of skates that don't fit me (and won't fit ava for a couple more years) because of the possibilities they hold? because they were an awesome thrift store find? probably.

and speaking of things that are unquestionably foolish, a word of advice: do not try on skates that don't fit and then try to stand up in them on the slick wooden floors of a small attic space. even if you did 'turn it out' at the roller rink back in the day. even if you are known for your serious balancing skills.

ah, so much for making the best use of time. and so much for not having the time to write (funny how you always make time to do the things you really love).

more april fools documenting the silliness here and here.

self portrait tuesday #24 (time)

in many ways, my days seem so ordinary. a string of mundane activities and chores, day after day after day. but after taking photos of myself (same time, each hour-- for one day), I am confronted with my own thanklessness. these days that I take for granted, not so ordinary. looking back at it, I see a world of goodness, so much that I overlook. not that everyday is like this-- what a DRASTICALLY different self portrait this would have been had I decided to shoot hourly this past saturday. days are up and down, this much is universal. and you don't really know when you're going to be up or when you're going to be down. it's a crap shoot. all the same, no excuse for my thanklessness. and now I must stop. before this turns into 'a very special episode of a day in the life of hula seventy'. I'm too old to be an after-school special. still, I'm thankful. here's the rundown:

10:38am: in the car on the way to a new park on ponce de leon avenue. not sure I want to start with the whole hourly photo shoot.

11:42am: park was space-age and fabulous but too cold. ezra's napping in his carseat and I'm hoping to do the same while we wait for ward at his work. instead, I make lists of things that need to be done. ready for lunch.

12:40pm: lunch at home. a mess of veggie wraps and tuna fish and PB&J. and red grapes. always with the red grapes.

1:30pm: ward's gone back to work and we're without a car. everybody outside! the sun is out.

2:38pm: gone to get the mail. starting to get tired of looking at my face and decide to play around with the macro lens effect.

3:50pm: ava has picked some little purple flowers for me. I love them.

4:58pm: the hour before ward gets home is always the hardest. everybody gets a little loopy, a little cranky. decide to play dress-up with the kids to counteract the usual gouchy/ornery/craziness. didn't really work but I do so love the glasses.

5:45pm: I'm no cook, that's for sure. but those kids of mine have got to eat. pasta and veggies is what I'm cooking up-- for about the billionth night in a row.

6:48pm: I try to get out as many nights as I can to walk. it clears my head and I often choreograph movement in my mind as I walk and listen to music. I write sentences in my head too. I really sort of hate this photo. but it was a gorgeous night and a fantastic walk. mission complete: head is cleared.

7:50pm:: ezra is FINALLY down and sleeping. ava gets the sillies. the girl is a night owl, just like her parents.

8:42pm: can't tell you how much I needed a shower. at the risk of divulging too much information about myself: I often put off taking showers. I don't know why because they always feel so good. by the way, this is the only shot I didn't take myself. had to twist ward's arm to take photos of me showering.

9:57pm: tired? yes. going to bed anytime soon? absolutely not. too much to do, too many projects I'm excited about. and of course the lovely computer always calls my name.

time is a funny, funny thing.

(more self portrait tuesday takers here and here)

self portrait tuesday #23 (all of me)

(ward is responsible for this great shot, by the way)

well, this is a beauty pageant compared to the way my feet usually look. originally, I wanted to show my feet in all their gritty post-dance class glory, but thanks to ward's animation shenanigans last week and various meetings and deadlines, I will not be back in class until next week. by then, this particular self portrait tuesday challenge will be over and we'll all be onto the next one. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to move on. because aren't you just a little grossed out by my feet here? aren't you gagging just a little bit? I am. I mean, I love feet. I think they're really cool and beautiful but it took everything in me not to retouch and tweak until the cracks and calluses could no longer be seen.

but these are my ugly bits. the cracks seem to re-open every time I take class and the calluses never go away because I walk around barefoot on wood floors everyday. after class, they are covered with dirt and black from the marley floor covering of the space. I've always loved going barefoot and there's a price to pay for that. as a kid, I'd happily scorch my feet walking across hot rocks and concrete in the summer time. in the winter, socks always made my feet feel hot and restricted. and then came modern dance. going barefoot was (is) a direct rebellion against the confines of ballet (one of many ways modern dance has distinguished itself within the art form). and you know that I could go on and on here (because I love me some dance history) but all I really need to say is thank you. thank you, isadora, because I love the way it feels and feet should be free to move and connect with the floor. there's a give and take of weight that you can't feel wearing shoes and there's an undeniably gorgeous quality that comes from the mover. but of course, feet rip and burn. on the last day of ADF, I could barely make it through class, my feet were in such horrible shape. raw and bleeding. all taped up so I could at least finish the last of the session. and I think I might be strangely proud of that, proud of my feet and all that they've endured-- in a very sort of corny, self righteous way. (think debbie allen, a la 'fame' and yes, it's funny but right here, right now is where you start paying. IN SWEAT. I hope you just went there with me. didn't you? please say you did).

in defense of my personal grooming habits, I think I should say that I do make an effort to take care of my feet (when I can). I love pedicures, though will someone please help the woman who has to make my feet pretty? I usually end up apologizing all over myself and sit there in shame while they slough away. then I leave a big tip and enjoy my semi-smooth heels and candy-apple red toes for about all of 24 hours. my brother likes to say that I don't really even need to wear shoes anymore. that the skin on the bottom of my feet has, in fact, become my very own pair of shoes (custom made, cultivated from a lifetime of abuse and neglect). that I wouldn't even feel it if I walked over a big rusty nail or a small fire. funny. YOU'RE A FUNNY FUNNY MAN, NATE. people are always giving me pedicure kits and minty foot lotions and I love it all and I do use it but it doesn't seem to make much of a difference. my feet are what they are.

actually, I'm surprised at how much my feet will tolerate. I'm impressed with their strength and durability and, like the maternity underwear I wrote about last week, I respect the fact that they've seen battle. I should treat them better than I do, I know this. that's why sometime in the next couple of days, you are going to see them all gussied up in a pair of purdy little socks and some purdy shoes. and I'm going to get out the peppermint foot lotion too. because writing this has got me thinking that these old feet deserve better.

(more ugly/lovely bits here and here)

self portrait tuesday #22 (all of me)

I'm still wearing my old maternity underwear. which, is not so much a big deal but ezra turns two this june. most women who have just given birth are dying to slap on 'real' underwear just as soon as it's humanly possible. honestly, I don't even think I stopped wearing them between carrying ava and ezra. it's all about security and comfort. these cheapo 'motherhood maternity' briefs (size large, natch) are just so roomy and forgiving that I cannot bare to place them on the b-team. instead, they proudly take their place each week in the starting line-up, a-team (all the way) and will not be sitting the bench anytime soon.

I even swiped those weird stretchy ace bandage-like postpartum things that they give you to wear right after you deliver. I grabbed as many as I could before nurse ratchett could catch me and I think I'd wear them (if any were left in my hidden stash). it's just that after they cut you open a couple of times to pull babies out of you, you feel strangely protective of that area. and I've spent a lifetime developing core strength (if you study dance, it goes way beyond the joy of a flat belly that you can bounce quarters off of). I took great pride in the fact that I'd built for myself an incredibly strong center from which I could move with great power and fluidity. then they cut you, people. and in an instant, it's gone. of course, the trade-off is phenomenal: yes, they slice you open, but then they put little people in your shaky arms that go onto become avas and ezras. I swear, I'd endure a thousand belly slicings for those two fantastic creatures. still, the power that you have come to know and love is (temporarily) gone and all of the sudden, you cry each time you have to use your abdominals to even sit up from the couch. I spent a lot of time sobbing in the bathroom, grieving the loss of those muscles, my belly, my core strength. it hasn't even been flat since high school but that was never as important to me as how strong I was. slipping into the giant-sized chalky black cotton maternity underwear always made me feel just a little bit better, a little more optimistic-- not unlike a nice cup of tea would. and what would they say if my beloved maternity underwear could talk? surely, they would whisper. (come on now/ don't be so hard on yourself/ it will all come back to you/ until then, let me comfort you with my soft polycotton blend and gentle elastic/ go ahead, pull me all the way up to your chin if you want/ I've got plenty of give/ and will always be here when you need some extra space). yes, I'm quite sure I heard them say these things to me on more than one occasion. postpartum hormones are crazy like that. and I know I might be able to get the same feelings from a brand new pair of the best granny underpants that money could buy but please-- the maternity ones have seen battle. I respect that.

I will also admit that I'm a little uncomfortable with how well the maternity underwear still fits me. meaning, there's still a mountain of work to do, baby fat to be lost and more core-strengthening to be done. I'm not a total freak, though-- I do have a couple of fancy frilly pairs in rotation, a couple of normal styles to rock from time to time. and I wouldn't refuse a shopping spree at la perla either. but for now, my scarred-up belly needs the comfort and familiarity of old friends.

(more truth can be found here and here)

self portrait tuesday #21 (all of me)

ah, such gorgeous scenery. the grand canal in venice. an outdoor cafe in san gimignano. a venetian alleyway. apparently, I slept my way through it all. unfortunately, there are many MANY more shots like this and not just from our trip to italy. I save them all in a special box, I don't know why. I just can't bring myself to throw them away. um, I hate the sight of them but they also make me laugh and laugh and laugh.

this month's self portrait tuesday challenge 'all of me' is not going to be an easy one but let's face it-- flaws are fascinating. and sometimes beautiful. and gross and funny too. because wouldn't it be just the most boring world ever if we walked around as perfect flawless robot-like creatures? yes, YES it would. so bring on the realness. let's have a big party every tuesday and love on all the crazy/kooky/sad/painful/lovely/funny/weird/gross/beautiful/ugly photographs and celebrate the flaws.

(next week: my feet in all their cracked, torn and grimy post-dance class glory. it's going to be OFF THE CHAIN. you know you can't wait.)

more truth and honesty here and here.

self portrait tuesday #20

"open it," he said.

we were out having dinner, celebrating my 22nd birthday. I tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. in my hands, I held beautifully handwritten details for a trip to new york city, my first trip to new york city.

"it's all worked out," he said. "we drive up the last week of january. I talked to your friend kira and she said we can crash on the floor of her dorm room. I talked to everybody at moving in the spirit and got you the week off. it's a done deal."

I couldn't really speak and even worse, could not stop with all the wide and goofy grinning. I remember saying, really? really? but we have no money... no money... REALLY?... over and over and over. and I remember thinking, oh yes. this man-- he is what they call good. in the world of good and lovely men, I have scored monumentally. see, I'd been talking about wanting to see new york for so long, about wanting to take just ONE dance class there, see just ONE show, and walk and look and walk and look some more and see and see and see. I knew he was listening but never imagined that he would put something together like this for me. I had a hard time finishing my dinner that night and thus began the counting of the seconds til the last week of january 1993.

and then that cold magnificent week finally rolled around and I swear to you, we spent every possible waking moment squeezing the juiciest juice from every single day. no time was wasted, we were always doing/seeing something. I suppose I was afraid I'd never make my way back. each night, we passed out on the wood floor of kira's tiny dorm room. completely spent, deliriously happy. we took on all the usual suspects-- the metropolitan, walked through central park and down fifth avenue, rode the elevator to the top of the empire state building, bought rosewater and fresh bread at zabar's, oohed and aahhed over the guggenheim structure, shopped for shoes on 8th street in the village, bought used books from street vendors, listened to our voices echo in the gorgeous, cavernous grand central station, wandered all over the LES and soho, bought stringy sugary ginger candy and grapefruits as big as your head in chinatown and cheesy trinkets in little italy. we hit up brooklyn too, sampled the cheesecake at junior's, drooled over the brownstones, stumbled onto spike (lee's) joint. so many hours spent walking. I took a dunham technique class at the ailey school, observed a childrens' dance class at a PS on the lower east side (part of jaques d'amboise NDI program), and saw 'jelly's last jam' on broadway.

and so on the last day of the trip, I was somewhere beyond exhausted, trying to digest every fantastic thing I had done, seen, tasted and heard lest it fall through the cracks of my overwhelmed mind. unbelievably, still giddy and hungry for more. we decided to leave the last day to fate-- loose plans to do some shopping and eat lunch at a touristy joint in little italy and then perhaps chinatown... might they be having a parade for the chinese new year? we didn't know.

some moments adhere themselves eternally to that part of your brain devoted to vivid recall: we were finishing up a late lunch at luna's when we heard the drumming and (what sounded like) explosions. I remember we paid our check quickly and ran from the restaurant down canal street to check it out. we saw the chinese dragons, shaking and moving clumsily and they were headed towards us. before I knew it, we were caught up in a wild sea of people, voices shouting and hands pushing, firecrackers popping. the hissing and cracking, it felt like they were exploding right beneath our feet. in this unfathomable swarm of people (and bright colors and dragons and noise and flags and celebrating), I felt the kind of electricity that comes from feeling fully alive (and also consumed with fear). in that moment, my eyes were opened and an insatiable lust for travel was born. it was always in me, that lover of exploration and new things, that need to switch up my geography. I'd been to japan as a teenager but this was somehow different. maybe because I was there on my own, because I was a couple years older and starting to realize that nobody hands you anything. except when they really really love you and want to make you the happiest woman in the world.

we left the next morning to make the long drive back down south. every part of my body cried out for rest and everything sounded muffled but I felt good and lived-in and worn out. a couple of days and I'd be ready for more. thankfully, there have been many many more trips back and forth, south to north. my new york now is very different than the eyes-wide-open version of 1993. I'm so thankful-- thankful for travel and always thrilled to get up and go when the doors open wide and something calls out. ava's been talking about new york so much these days. uncle von lives there and she wants to see for herself what all the hubbub is about. she sounds just like me.

so, happy chinese new year to you. happy year of the dog, y'all. more photos of the chinese new year celebration for your viewing pleasure here.

(and more self portrait tuesday personal history greatness here and here)

self portrait tuesday #19

I have a charm bracelet for each decade of my life. each little silver item marking a personal milestone, adventure, or achievement. some of them are attached to bracelets while others hang out in tiny plastic baggies, waiting to fulfill their destiny. I love how I am able to wear my life's personal history on my wrist (though I never do, ever since I lost one of my favorite charms while schlepping around at the mall). I get them all out from time to time, lay them all out on the floor. I line them up and re-tell the little stories of my life. I am my own audience.

now the ava-girl has charm bracelets, one for each year of her life. I know i won't be able to keep that up forever but I won't mind the trying.

self portrait tuesday #18

I don't know when it happened. I started collecting vintage brown suitcases and couldn't stop. the old ones are lined with coarse satin and smell musty, like old cologne. they are square in shape, sometimes with stripes and I imagine them once being stuffed full with things like stockings and garter belts, blouses and tins of crusty rouge. I imagine they were most at home on trains and buses and in the roomy trunks of old cars, though the ones I have managed to snatch up in past years aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

they have been stacked on either side of the bed and lovingly filled with my history. one suitcase holds all the souvenirs we brought home from our trip to italy (including a little handful of dirt I swiped while we were standing in a field of sunflowers in tuscany). when I open this particular case, it smells like italy to me-- sweet and earthy. another suitcase holds all the love letters, notes, cards and mix tapes I have ever received from ward. I turn several shades of red just thinking about those steamy steamy words waiting to be discovered and wonder if we can bear the consequences of holding onto them. I cringe (and am sick to my stomach) when I think of ava and ezra reading those letters someday. though I could never ever actually bring myself to throw any of them out. another suitcase holds scrapbooks I made growing up, and another holds every journal and diary I ever kept. and the cutest little piece of luggage (that you'll ever lay eyes on) holds all my favorite random special things: a red paper dragon from a chinese new years celebration in new york, a birthday crown made of shells, a swatch of fabric from a costume of an african dance I was in, pearlized chopsticks and coins I brought back from japan, an antique black shawl ward bought me while we were on our honeymoon in new orleans, my college diploma, my photo ID card from the american dance festival, the earrings I wore on our wedding day, my grandpa's black leather watch, the metal tap off the shoe from the first musical I ever performed in... and the list goes on and on and on. anytime I am in the mood to look back (or in this case, examine personal history) I consult the suitcases.

and the suitcases said, "here. look at this one. tell us you don't see a huge chunk of your history right here." oh, yes they did. and the suitcases never lie, people. why would they? what would they have to gain? really, I don't think they're capable. this photo that I found stuck between the pages of an unfinished scrapbook was taken at a time that could be seen as the beginning of Adult Me. I had just moved away from home for the first time (here to atlanta), had just started school, had just begun to work with moving in the spirit. I had my own apartment and was paying my own bills. that day, ward and I were goofing, just driving around downtown atlanta when we discovered a stunning wall of graffiti infamously known as the civic yard. thinking back, I can't believe I got out of the car and posed barefoot for the camera there, all that broken glass and god knows what else. I'm sure I wasn't thinking or maybe I didn't care. years and years later (nine, to be exact) I would become a piece of that wall (look here). and I wonder what I would've thought, had I been able to see the history of my years laid plainly before me. my life in atlanta, my life with someone that would go on to become the father of my two children and a graffiti writer that would paint me as a new mother (only a few steps away from where I was spinning that hot sunny monday afternoon in september of 1992).

the civic yard is no more. for so long, it was a legal wall where graffiti writers were able to paint without fear of being arrested. and then crappy uncool people came in and destoyed the goodness and that's that. it's a boring story as old and predictable as every hollywood movie ever. I'm okay with it, though. landscapes change, people change. if I need a nostalgia fix, I go to the suitcases. the suitcases are always there.

(more gorgeous, fascinating SPTs here and here)

self portrait tuesday #17

after traveling in the car all day today (coming home from vacation), I really thought I would crash on the couch OR get caught up in a mad cleaning frenzy. you know, unpacking and vacuuming and muttering complaints under my breath. but alas, I sat down to check my email (just for a SECOND), and before I knew it, I was sucked in. a quick look at the clock (two hours until midnight!) and I was off to rummage through some albums and photo boxes to see what I could find for this month's self portrait tuesday challenge.

and so this is what I dug up: one of my favorite childhood snapshots. I loved that day. I loved that outfit, that hat, those white leather sandals. that's me, all right. I sort of think of this as quintessential andrea. always moving, on fire to play, to go, to see, to do.

each summer, my family piled into an enormous brown stationwagon (aka the chuckwagon) to make the two hour trek to st. louis to spend the day at six flags over mid-america. like christmas in july, folks. oh, the anticipation leading up to the big day, waking up early EARLY in the morning to pack up and go. my eyes grew big as the st. louis arch came into sight. I pressed my face against the window to take as much in as possible. the city was a mysterious place that I loved so much it hurt. small town living will do that to a little girl. when we finally arrived at the amusement park, the sight of all those bright-colored flags waving in the sky... the smell of the black-top pavement (a scent as intoxicating as old library books, fresh-cut christmas trees, my grandma irma's bread baking and the ocean)... all of it just too good for words. we ate an early lunch in the parking lot (picnic-style), gobbled down tunafish sandwiches and drank warm lemonade, though my brothers and I had absolutely no appetite. we just wanted to GET IN THERE. and once we did, what a whirlwind, what a blur of giddy activitiy: kiddie roller coasters, the antique cars, cotton candy and straw hats with red pompoms! the time tunnel, the log flume, the six flags dancers, the arcade! we always stayed until the park closed, until we were sweaty and sticky, tired and grouchy and whipping each other with those plastic glowing flourescent necklaces. sometimes, we would catch a late night concert on our way out of the park and I will never forget marilyn mcoo and billy davis jr. performing a cover of the eagles' 'heartache tonight' to an audience of about fourteen people. they were ridiculously excited, trying to get us to clap our hands above our heads. it was kind of a sad scene but I still thought they were so cool. (marilyn mcoo of solid gold fame, can I get a witness please). I remember wondering, where WAS everyone? this was FABULOUS, this place, this performance, this moment in time. yes, I was high on cherry slushee and ice cream and taffy candy but I was more right about that than I ever could've known. those yearly trips are such a sacred part of our family history. someone brings up the subject of six flags and it's so easy to get lost talking about it. in my mind, they were magic, magic times and I think my brothers would be quick to agree. I am forever grateful to my parents for this, for these trips. and I want this for ava and ezra. I want them to have old photographs like this to look back on and I want them to be able to sit around and laugh about family trips like we do.

(how about that rad yellow adidas teeshirt my dad is wearing in the photo? dang. where is that shirt now? I'd just about do anything to have that in my possesion. including-but not limited to-naked bowling outside in the dead of winter)

self portrait tuesday #16

more self portrait tuesday loveliness here and here.

self portrait tuesday #15

reflection all over the place, what with this month's self portrait tuesday theme and me turning 35 in like, less than a week. bring it, I'm READY. (shut yer piehole nate I am embracing my age and I am proud of it and OH YEAH YOU ARE IN YOUR THIRTIES TOO).

self portrait tuesday #14

yes I am a girlie girl. I'm not afraid to say it. there's no shame in my game here because there seems to be some balance. yes to pink and red, to glittery, sparkly things but also yes to getting dirty, to swimming in my own sweat. yes to sexy kitten heels and fab wedges but also yes to crusty old (beloved) shelltoe adidas sneaks. yes to smelling nice (like lemons and roses and sugar, please) but also yes to knowing that you are occasionally going to smell bad and then, you know, being okay with that. yes to curves for days and lovely skin and endless softness but also yes to power and muscle and strength beneath those curves.

yes, I say.

(more self portrait tuesday identity explorations here)

self portrait tuesday #13

I look at this photograph and and can't help but remember how idealistic, how optimistic and free-spirited I was at age twenty-four. I was a newlywed, therefore I walked around in a perpetual state of bliss. I was also knee-deep in the joyous trenches of dance-- teaching, working with kids in the inner city, performing and finishing up a degree in dance education. I was so on fire to change the world.

so, I'm a little different now. ten years will do that to a girl. I'm a little less optimistic, a little less free-spirited, a lot less idealistic. a little broken maybe. but so much stronger and smarter. and seasoned in ways I never thought possible. I know who I am. the barefoot girl whipping her skirt around in the photo still buzzes around inside my head. she is occasionally called upon to breathe new life into the beat down part of me that hangs on by a thread. and she represents a sacred facet of my identity I hope to hold onto for the rest of my days. though I keep this photo around as a reminder. just in case I forget.

(take a little looky at what others doing for the self portrait tuesday identity challenge.)

self portrait tuesday #12

"when in doubt, overdress." -vivienne westwood

I am crazy about this month's 'self portrait tuesday' challenge. any excuse to experiment, to play, to think, to take on unfamiliar roles or gently expose facets of the personality that rarely see the light of day... I do believe this goes beyond wigs and sunglasses. and carnival/circus act headpieces, as pictured above, ha. though I'm not going to pretend that I am above playing dress up (oh yes, there's a reason ava has two giant old suitcases overflowing with feathery, glittery, colorful junk with even more in the attic and I can't stop). I'm not going to pretend that my initial attraction to the challenge was anything short of girlish glee (I have always always wanted an excuse to buy a bright pink wig). but in my attempts to overdress (loving this quote by brilliant designer ms. westwood), I'm also hoping to maybe find a little something. anything. or maybe nothing. I don't know. and the not knowing part is what I like best about this assignment. mainly, I'm just hoping for fun.

and a shockingly bright pink wig.

self portrait tuesday #11 (self documentary)

all month long, I've been wanting to try my hand at the self documentary challenge. I think it may be time for a digital camera, folks. I have mad love for my sweet canon rebel EOS, love the way the film looks. and nothing really compares with the giddiness I feel the moment I walk into the camera shop to pick up my film. BUT I have sixty or so rolls of undeveloped film from the past four years, SIXTY ROLLS. I keep trying to catch up but we just keep taking roll after roll after roll and I'm beginning to lose hope. in the past, I have borrowed a digital camera from my brother and sister-in-law (thanks, y'all) but now I must look into full-time ownership. it's just too expensive to play around with regular old film. wish I did my own developing. but I don't.

and somehow, I have gotten really off track from the subject of this self documentary.

which is lunch. everyday, ward and I have lunch together (yes, I do realize how lucky we are). I'll admit, I take these lovely lunches for granted. they are essentially what get me through my day, through my week. we almost always opt for cheapo slices of pizza and one of our favorite places to go is fellini's. it's cheap and fast and there's a fountain there that reminds me of italy. we sit next to that fountain and feel the sprays of water and I feel just a little bit like I am back in rome. lunches are for goofing, they are for venting and complaining (and sometimes arguing). we talk about the kids. we talk about the week. we dream about what we are going to do on the weekend, we dream about where we're going to be in five years. sometimes we say very little. sometimes ezra sleeps through and it feels like we are on a special lunch date (rare). sometimes he is a dream and giggles all through lunch, stuffing mandarin oranges and tiny bites of cheese pizza in his mouth with such a cuteness I cannot help but swoon. sometimes he is a terror and the both of us spend the short hour retrieving pieces of food that have been thrown across the room. even still, I'll take that. I'll take it all. I'd be a mess without the daily lunches.

self portrait tuesday #10

our day consists of (but is rarely limited to): drawing, snacking, coloring, giggling, reading, movie-watching (which inevitably leads to more snacking), wiggly-wiggling, dancing, alphabet letter-writing, playing, ball-throwing, booboo-getting, crying, pouting, bug-spotting, singing, idea-having, mess-making, naked-running, painting, dawdling, drum-beating, whistle-blowing, collage-making, discovering, noise-making, playdough-squishing, and (well, all that activity makes a kid hungry) so, more snacking. and the most important of all: the fine art of bubblegum-blowing.

let me also state for the record that in NO WAY are we able to fit all this into one day. the faves are in heavy rotation, though and we are making the rounds, people. everyday. everyday.

mommy is a tired girl.

self portrait tuesday (okay wednesday) #9

six years ago today, we were in italy... more specifically, we had just left venice and were beginning our explorations of the city of florence. each year around this time, I read through that little black suede travel journal, look through my (still unfinished) scrapbook and watch the video footage. have you ever taken a trip like that? one that was perfect in most every way? one that you'd like to go back and re-live over and over, one that sort of defines your life experiences? italy was all that for me.

the planning of this trip began shortly after I suffered a miscarriage in november of 1998. it had been our first pregnancy and we were over the moon about it. family and friends had been excitedly called, names were already being discussed... and then, so suddenly, we lost it. we were in shock, paralyzed by a sort of unfamiliar sadness and frankly, not quite sure what to do with ourselves. when it came time to try again, I found that I was scared to death. it had been so physically and emotionally painful, such a horrific experience (an entirely different story for another day) that I could not even bring myself to think of another pregnancy. we wanted a family but decided we needed some time, just a little more time to heal. and so on a cold january night, we started to talk about traveling. we thought maybe we needed to take a big trip before we brought babies into our lives. initially, we had wanted to backpack through europe but were overwhelmed by the broadness of it. finally, we settled on italy. our combined years of art history coupled with my italian heritage sort of sealed the deal and well, that was that. I threw myself head first into the planning and research and it was all I could think about, all the time. every penny went into savings. I tried to teach myself the language (forced it down ward's throat, too, playing cassette tapes in the car whenever I could). once I mastered certain phrases, I couldn't stop. I loved the rhythm, the cadence of the language. "ABBIAMO BISOGNO D'INDICAZIONE!", I'd proclaim to no one in particular at the local k-mart (which means: I need directions). yes, I was driving everyone crazy but truly, it was the best thing for me, all this dreaming, this planning. it was just what I needed.

and it was an almost perfect trip. the weather was perfect, the hotels were perfect, everything was just as I imagined, only better, a thousand times better. save for an unfortunate gondola incident and a disaster involving the closing of the train station in rome, I can do nothing but wax poetic. in fact, I could fill a big fat book with all the wonderfully delicious little details. so much art, so much history, culture, so much beauty. venice swallowed me whole with all the teeny tiny alleyways, the fragrant hanging laundry, the large wooden shuttered windows in our hotel room that begged to be ceremoniously flung open each afternoon as the singing gondoliers passed us by. the vibrant, not-to-be-believed colors of the island of burano, the hundreds of pigeons in piazza san marco. and florence will forever have my heart, what with all the buzzing vespas, with michelangelo's david and botticelli's venus and the exhilarating, terrifying climb to the top of the duomo's belltower. florence has the most fabulous fleamarkets ever and was also where I experienced the best meal of my entire life (at il cantinone, a hidden restaurant in a cellar that we quite literally stumbled upon). the sunflowers of tuscany, the smell of grapes, of wine, of the earth. and rome- grittier, dirtier and more human than I had imagined but so fantastic. crumbling and ancient, but completely urban. so many fountains, so much, so much, so much. too much. my head is spinning just thinking about it all. and the love. oh, the love. shortly after we arrived back home, we discovered that I was pregnant. and that ava-girl of ours was born about nine months later.

so, if you feel like taking a little trip to italy, come along with me. click here to be magically transported.

self portrait tuesday #8

into this self portrait gig now for two months and I just might be tired of looking at myself. though I suspect that's when things get interesting.

self portrait tuesday #7

sometimes it seems strange to me that I am someone's mother. SOMEBODY'S MOM. five years later, I am still trying to get used to it, still desperately trying to figure out who that is and what I need to be. still working on fully embracing the all-encompassing role that is every second of every day of every week of every month of every year for the rest of my life. motherhood is a tough gig, yo. you could have tried to pound that fact into my brain in my romanticized pre-baby days but I would not have believed you.

weirder still-- years from now ava and ezra will have entire conversations about me. I wonder which of my quirks will stand out, what things I will do that will drive them crazy enough to talk about it over dinner together. I wonder what things I will do right, what things I will do wrong. and I wonder if they will truly know who I am because when you're a mother, you know-- you're their mom. you fulfill certain needs, you take on specific roles that sometimes prevent your children from seeing who you really are. in fact, I am still (to this day) learning little things about my own mother, that person whom I thought I knew inside and out.

the above photo was taken on my first mothers day (2001) and I am holding ava. seven months into it, I finally started to get it... that despite the hurdles and the challenges and the astounding levels of exhaustion, there are these moments. they are the ones that sneak up on you out of nowhere and bring you to your knees. you find yourself overwhelmed with gratitude, you are swimming in love for this small being, it is spilling out of you all over the place, this hope, this love that you have. and you know that it will all be all right. you are exactly where you need to be, right there, loving them. and all the stinky laundry and bathtub scum and unfinished art projects and poptarts for breakfast can't change that. I hope that is what ava and ezra get around to talking about someday over dinner-- that above all else, they were (are) loved with a magnificent love.