notes from the westheight hood

After taking Ro around the neighborhood in his new sled, we cozied up next to the fire and enjoyed the warmth. Well, he mostly threw a fit as we had to come inside but I myself enjoyed the warmth.
I love my little nook of the Dotte, man. Let me just tell you that. We have it good here. Yeah, we get the occasional hustler looking to shovel our walk for $30 and have to watch out for errant police chases, maybe once in a while my husband has to witness a hooker/john tryst on the bridge at 8 a.m. as he bikes it to work, but really, that's the kind of shit I live in the city for. The mix of excitement, dread and bewilderment of wondering about the target of those not-so-far-off gunshots at 3 a.m. That reminder that life histories are diverse and behavior that may as well be from another planet in my book is going down just a block or two away -- and it all seems perfectly in place.
Ro's an amazingly gentle and compassionate child. And living in a reality that he maybe wouldn't have seen otherwise will hopefully serve him well. I hope he doesn't turn out to be one of those agoraphobic aholes who claim growing up in the city justifies all their myopic white fears (and label anything contrary to that view as overly PC) and who subscribe to the delusion that turning the world into one big mall will solve social ills (see the latest scuffles at Independence Center and Ward Parkway, armed robbery at OP mall by way of the Dotte).
And seriously, KCK isn't Independence AVE in KCMO; it's generally pretty quiet here except for the shootings between people who know each other. People try to keep it in the family in our neck of the woods and I thank them for that shred of common courtesy.
So that's it for ramblings today. I apologize but having not blogged in ages, it's a rough and random road back. I'll pick it up again, promise. Until then, here are a couple little snaps from my phone.
My favorite pee stall at work. I spend a lot of time here these days.

taste of things to come

Today was spent working from home and mostly enjoying watching my son play with the toy bounty that traditionally marks the day-after Christmas. He was actually so overwhelmed with just half the toys he got that I ended up bagging the rest to dole out over the coming lean months when toy money will be non-existent. I also had to rearrange his bedroom in order to make room for the sheer amount of stuff. I'm very much a purger, so accepting this amount of random stuff good-naturedly is testing me. But I keep telling myself it's part and parcel of grandparenting.

I can't get BaconShoe's No Jelly out of my head. Toine's echoing in my head with "No jelly today (No jelly)". I don't know what it means but I checked and while we are low on peanut butter, jelly abounds. What does it mean?? Damn you, enigmatic 'Shoe! See jay's review of the CD release show during which I stayed home and baked cookies (no one wants to see a pregnant girl out at the Record Bar, trust me, I've tried it).

In still yet other news, I've found my inspiration for the nursery. Adrift in a sea of bumblebees and gingham, a beacon of hope shines. Of course I'll have to make it myself as always but this is the price we pay for refusing the garish mass marketed themed baby crap they shove down your throat at Babies R Us and the like. This site has the most awesome repro japanese and norski imported fabrics www.reprodepot.com. I've selected a large black white and safety yellow floral pattern as inspiration. Trying to figure out how to incorporate owls. Check it my dears.

almost on a roll

With an apparent early attempt at a New Year's resolution, here I am for a second post in the month of December.

I spent the day doing the holiday baking stuff that I sort of enjoy but simultaneously detest. I make a little goody tin for the families of all my brothers every year to accompany a family calendar with dates of note inserted as friendly reminders of birthdays and anniversaries of our crew. Yeah, it's cheap, but it takes more time to pull together than a bath treat assortment off the shelf at Target and that's what counts, right?

Holidays in a family with 4 brothers and parents who heart chaos more than life itself (evidence: actually spawning 5 offspring in an age of dependable birth control options) can be trying to say the least for my inner holiday perfectionist. Yeah, I LIKE cutting out the gingerbreads and making my tree decors by hand. Suck it.

But like every amateur Martha Stewart, that enjoyment is seated in a deep pathological need for everything to look right in order for it to BE right. I know this is irrational. But just as my brother B loves nothing more than showing up to family events 3 or 4 hours late, I love the predictable, the traditional and the comforting during this time of year. It's the only time I feel that life can be tied up neatly with a bow and scented with cinnamon. I find that illusion incredibly comforting and it's the only time of year when I allow myself such emotional indulgences.

As traditional as I am, I carry the torch of rebellion that my parents instilled in me. So if my kids absolutey hate the predictability I've strived so hard for as an adult, I'll understand. It will get to me, but I'll understand. And will secretly be proud that they had such stability as to feel comfortable thumbing their noses at it. I'll be glad that the pathology of holiday perfection ended with me.

does posting every 6 months actually constitute a blog?

Maybe a slog?

Well, I'm back for a bit of recap here. Life has calmed a bit for now. I continue to wonder at time and its absolute lack of sympathy for the mere mortal.

Health issues with my parents loom large and have come back with a vengeance this fall. Dad continues to vacillate between controlling and disregarding his diabetes. Mom just had a pacemaker implanted. At 56 years old. That's way too fucking young for such a thing. Mom and Dad both are looking to me to carry the traditions and sense of family on I think in some fashion when they can't. I'm not ready to deal with that. I'm not ready to be an orphan. Even at 30 years old. Not yet.

It's like I'm already missing them.

So you can see why I haven't had much to say.

I have a daughter of my own on the way. A prospect that both breaks and elates my heart. Raising a good girl that grows into a good woman -- that's a tall order. If she can just come out with a gentle soul the way Roman did, I've got a chance.

I want big things for these children. I want them to start movements; I want them to inspire generations; I want them to incite revolutions of compassion and social responsibility; and I want them to do it all with humility ... and a little bit of style and grace for good measure. Mostly, I want them to live to feel the fire in their hearts satisfied.

So in an effort to at least get to know these little beings before releasing them into the world, I'll be wrapping up my day job for the Company in March. If you know anyone willing to pay a mom to stay home and raise future gurus (besides the Canadian government), please pass them my name, won't you?

Roman's first photo installation courtesy of my cell phone: