sglmamavita

[sglmamavita]

I learned a thing.

I made my annual trip to the boundary waters- and I learned a thing. My daughter, Moo, is 5. Her real name is Mikka, but she'll correct you if you're in her circle and you should know better than to be so formal. She's the reason I'm writing this, but WAIT. Hold on, before you assume this is some piece about kid shit just wait a damn minute. I grew up cross-country skiing throughout the Canadian National Forest. Every year my parents dragged me six hours north to stay in a cabin where we cooked our food ourselves and went skiing all day for a week in January. Obviously- in the 80's, it wasn't really that big of a deal to be "disconnected" if you want to call it that.  I still remember when we got our first color TV, and phones had cords; so the fact that our cabin was screen-less and wi-fi free was, well, just quieter than normal. Clearly things have changed, and in my daughter's world, there hasn't been a day she remembers without me staring at a rectangle in my hand. Except for our trips in the BWCA. Yes, this seems sad, I know.  But like most of us, being hyper-connected has become a habit of mine since everything, including my work email, is at my fingertips. Where we go there is no wi-fi. Or phone service. Thankfully the owners of the lodge where we stay have kept television out of all cabins.  It's odd, that first day. The not-checking.  I go to pick it up, but don't.  It takes a second to sink in. The only reason I bring my phone is that it now serves as my camera most of the time. Moo and I went canoeing one afternoon.  She'd never been in a canoe so it was kind of a big deal to get her in. Floating that close to water is weird in tippy things.  We took a jaunt down the length of East Bearskin Lake, and there was only a slight wind, but its direction kept changing. If you've ever happened to canoe on your own, especially in an aluminum canoe- you'll immediately understand at this point and shake your head knowingly. I should have said I went sailing. Because that is what canoeing by yourself with changing winds is like. Moo is a 29 lb twerp. Next time I will pack my damn 40 lb kettlebell and put it under her seat .  Basically I couldn't put my paddle down, because within 30 seconds we'd be headed in the opposite direction, and I'd have to try to turn around, YET AGAIN. I was having fun, and so was she, but there were several times where I could not get in front of the wind and fought with everything I had just to keep us going straight, much less forward. I'm painting this nicely, but mama was frustrated more than half the time. Of course Moo was very conscious of every single time we'd swing a few degrees from our "path", and all I really wanted to do was get a drink of water. Just one. But my backpack, with a few large bottles of water was under her seat opposite me, as I needed any weight I could get on her end. I had her hand me the backpack quickly from where she was sitting and I managed to grab it without tipping us. It then sat on my lap for the next 45 minutes as I struggled with a gusty point of the lake where I just could not make any headway. I'm pretty sure it was during this time- (maybe after I threw the paddle on the floor of the canoe and scared the shit out of my kid) that my phone took a swim without asking. **side note: it is now a big joke about "the time mom threw the paddle in the canoe" (for anyone with their finger on their child services speed dial button.) Of course I'd wanted to get that photo of her in the canoe, so I put the phone in a "handy" spot, right... in the outside mesh pocket. Perfect for slipping out and into the drink. The rest of the trip, I became painfully aware of just how addicted to a device I really am.  Beyond the fact that I wasn't checking, posting, or reading anything, I couldn't try to take any photos, either. I actually just had to sit there and EXPERIENCE stuff. At one point Moo started asking me, "Mama why do you keep looking at me all the time"? It's appalling to realize the way your own kid views you most of the time, because you're not looking at her, you're looking at a device. And even though I never spoke about the damn phone, she asked me many times. "Do you miss your phone?" Seriously. So, in review, I learned a thing. I need to CHILL the fuck out. In two ways, actually. One, is to understand that sometimes going in the wrong direction is just fine. And two: Put the phone away. Often.

[thisneckofthewoods-deactivated2]

[sglmamavita]

guaranteed tears every. time.

[tiqaalias-deactivated20220719]

you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him

[sglmamavita]

'zoo' - ani difranco

  I can no longer watch TV

Cause that shit really melts my brain I think I’m what they call sensitive And easily thrown off my game All that bloodshed and pettiness Just makes the world seem so insane And I just feel drained When I go to do my food shopping And all I can see is the packaging One big mountain of garbage About to be happening And I walk past my own self-loathing Like I walk past animals in the zoo Trying not to really see them And the prison they didn’t choose If I should ever quit your spotlight I hope you won’t think me wrong Says the poet to the moonlight Says the singer to the song It’s enough just to stay upright Upright in every single way Pour your love into your children Until there’s nothing left to say Pour your love into your children Until there’s nothing left to say

[nevver]

Me

[sglmamavita]

To the single mother and her struggles what to do with my life you ask everyone seems to have an answer fortune cookie quotes, church gospel get up off your ass sounds easy today is the day you begin your new journey yeah that's simple, the truth is, its not easy it's very hard, you have to grow with these pains these are the tough mornings you have to get up and remind yourself this life is going to kick my ass up and down front street you can't but you will cause you love yourself too much and the eyes shining on you from the corner of the room are the faith you need to know exists when you stop believing in yourself that child those children will watch you fight to find your position in the sun in turn they will turn fighters themselves by law so here is a fortune cookie quote.... If you had to hitch hike on the side of a hard road for your babies to pick you up in a fancy car and take you for the ride of your life that hard walk up the stubborn hill to the freeway of love was worth it. -Millie's Boy

Love me some Lemon Andersen.

[theworldmaybebroken]

I was raped by four men in one evening. I got drunk and tried to say no. What did my predators do? They told me to drink more. They shoved a bottle in my face and told me to keep drinking. Drink till I was drunk enough to fuck them. I blacked out. They urinated on me. They assaulted me. They shoved foreign objects in my body, anally and vaginally. They took videos. I was just 16 years old. The video was sent around my entire school, and I was bullied every single day of my senior year of high school. I lost all of my friends. I was physically and verbally abused by peers and people I once called friends. Someone tried to set me on fire in the hallway during passing period. Nobody sympathized with me. Nobody cared about the fact that because of these events, I was trying to kill myself every single day. I was cutting myself, making myself puke, showering upwards of fifteen times a day because I felt filthy. I was scratching and peeling the skin off of my body because I was dirty. I looked at myself like I deserved what I got. The world saw me as dirty, so I began to see myself that way, too. My rapists were praised by my peers for their deed. I never had a voice. When I first learned about the Steubenville incident going to trial, I was overjoyed. Because Jane Doe’s story was my story, and if anyone deserved justice, it was her. She would get the justice I never got. She would change the tide of the rape culture movement. Despite the horrific events that occurred, I knew that the justice served would help ease her pain. But she didn’t get justice, and now she has to witness this news coverage, favoring and sympathizing with her attackers. Pain is not an accurate word to describe what she is feeling right now. Pain is the simplest term you could use. As a rape victim and an aspiring journalist, I am disgusted with the way this case was reported on. Jane Doe’s rapists deserve their suffering in prison. They deserve more. They do not deserve to be sympathized with. They made their stupid decision, and they deserve whatever consequences come their way. If you don’t want to be labeled as a rapist, don’t fucking rape.

Anonymous comment left on the CNN petition demanding they apologize for sympathizing with the Steubenville rapists  (via driesvanno-youdidnt)

(via klusterfuckme)

[gaksdesigns]

Artist Farhad Moshiri

[sglmamavita]

our (lazy) saturday afternoons.

[rtrybak]

Mayor Rybak and Dessa sat down for an interview that will be published in Growler Magazine. Her questions were some of the best the Mayor has been asked in his career. Stay tuned for the release of the next issue of Growler.

[sglmamavita]

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

-neruda

[nevver]

Camera Obscura

[historiful]

An unidentified woman. Photographed by Wingate Paine, c. 1964-65.

[sglmamavita]

stunning.

[sglmamavita]

smashed cornflakes.

someone wrote this to me today:

"you love your daughter so much it shatters my heart, leaves me stunned, feeling humbled. It must be a wondrous thing to be loved by you."

and it got me thinking. for the rest of the day, actually. I spent the day with you, like we normally do on our saturdays, you with your twirling and dancing, and putting your "kids" to sleep before breakfast. your favorite, of course- blueberry pancakes. with syrup. you, telling me you're "done" when that's really code for "please feed me". so, i do.

this weekend is testing me. i'm really just trying to get you to pee in the damn. toilet. you keep looking at me and nodding like you understand- but i think you just don't want to disappoint me. or you just want that "treat" i keep telling you you'll get if you do succeed. instead, you peed all over the floor on the dirty laundry, then ran out to the kitchen telling me you were all wet and the floor was slippery. i can't be mad because you're so upset about it, and want to clean it up. then, you hug me.

later, like i've been reminding you about, we went to see our new apartment. you loved it, and tried the whole time to check out the park across the street. you wandered all over the apartment, took it all in, while i reassured you where your room is going to be, where mommy's room will be, and how you could see the swing set from your bedroom window. you were so sweet, and quiet, and... i *think* you understood this new place was going to be ours.

all of this got me thinking about your grandma, my mother. this will likely be one of many times i write you letters about her, but they're few and far between. i just don't open that door very often.

i never got to ask her, but if there's one thing i am completely certain of in my life, it's that she loved me just as much as i love you. regardless of the endless times we fought and struggled. i know this, because every moment i'm with you, i'm sure the same things i'm feeling are similar to how she felt about me. something i just know, with no doubts. 

there is this constant need to live up to what type of mother my mom was. which- is funny and unrealistic, considering she stayed home until i was almost 12 years old. however, in my head, i just must do all of those special things i remember her doing for me; all the time we spent together. going to movies, the park, taking me swimming, to dance, lessons, and gymnastics. making a home-cooked meal every single night, and lunch for me and my father. keeping a spotless home (which is where i always falter, if anywhere). i just never remember anything ever being out of place, or somehow not squeaky clean. sorry, moo, but that's just not happening. I think the ship we run is tight enough, though.

i see myself do things for you that i don't have to. for instance: this is trivial, and anyone that reads this who doesn't have children will most likely cringe- but it's the little, tiny things that matter. I know because that's what I remember about my mom, now that i'm an adult. but you. you like your carrots and apples cut a certain way. cut thin, in uniform slices, the carrots in matchsticks. (you never eat them any other way.) so, it doesn't matter how late i'm going to be, or how tired, etc- i will make sure i take the extra few minutes to do this.

my mom used to do this with the cereal and yogurt she'd send with me to swim practice every morning. you'd think it would be just fine if she threw some yogurt in a bag with some cornflakes in a plastic baggie and send me on my way. see, i was weird. i liked my cereal smashed up before i put it in the yogurt. so every day, i opened the bag to find a baggie of crunched up cornflakes with my yogurt. like i couldn't do that by my damn self. but no, she did it anyway. i can still picture her smashing up the stupid cereal at 10 pm the night before, putting everything in a bag for me in the fridge-even though this was something i never saw or thought about, until now. little things, baby girl, little things.

i see her in you. so much of her, in your colorful little personality. so strong, the way you've barely never cried all the times you've fallen, hit your head, or crashed while learning to walk. just paused for a few moments and got up again. the only time i know something really hurts is when you actually stop to cry. just like your grandmother. tough as nails. the way you throw your head back when you laugh is almost eerie.. as i remember my mom on the phone with a friend... laughing loudly, throwing her head back.

a day doesn't go by without countless things i wish she could share with you, or things i could ask her about you. most of them having to do with how she did things with me. or, just how she did it all, period. all things which are lost on my father, because unfortunately, i just don't think he paid any attention with my mom doing most everything. so i wonder, suppose, and guess at it. and then i do what feels right. hopefully i'm not screwing you up in the process, because i'm doing the best that i can, little one.

the point is, it's a wondrous thing to be loved by you.

love, mom

[sglmamavita]

twenty

candy-coated m&ms on my mirror / cooking cattails / surprises under my pillows / dress up in green floral dresses, big white collars and little green hats with netting / wigs / hat boxes / little plastic green garbage cans / coloring smurfs / winning at bargain hunter / lipstick on my white gloves . . .

Glittery light seeping through scratchy eyelids, teddy bear fuzz tickling my nose.. I roll over and down the hallway I can hear her- singing, stereo on. Manilow.

"C'mon Annie, we've got to get up, up up up!"

Padding out to the kitchen, I watch as she silences Richard Dawson mid-declaration: "Survey sa........” the tv clicks off.

Late afternoon, stringy clouds stretched over cotton. We sit, camped out on the ground. Pitted dust splattered on the picnic table legs from yesterday's rain. She takes a plastic bag from her pocket, dumping a few of the chips on the bench beside us. I crunch one and try to fit the pieces in a maroon frame of chipped paint.

A few feet from us, two bushy-tailed squirrels wait, frozen, to see what our plans are with the booty. She reaches out with a chip. Whiskers twitch, and hop, hop -in one lightning fast moment, it's gone and he scampers away silently. I want to see it again, so I hold a little chip out in front of me. The other squirrel, watching intently- darts and snaps it from my tiny fingers. I don't let go, so the rest crumbles into the grass.

She takes my hand, laughing, and we walk hand in hand towards the merry-go-round.

[velveteen]

Françoise Gilot, Picasso’s mistress, with their son, Claude Picasso; photographed by Gjon Mili in Vallauris, France 1949

[sjaejones-deactivated20150904]

There are no other truly empowering words for the female genitalia. ‘Pussy’ is nastily diminutive, as if every woman had a tame and purring pet between her legs, while the medical descriptor “vagina” refers only to a part of the organ, as if women’s sexuality were nothing more than a wet hole, or “sheath” in the Latin. Cunt, meanwhile, is a word for the whole thing, a wholesome word, an earthy, dank and lusty word with the merest hint of horny threat. Cunt. It’s fantastically difficult to pronounce without baring the teeth.

[feministboyfriend]

Thank you. Cunt is indeed a truly magnificent word. One of the prettiest in the English language.