sometimes every attempt at capturing moments on my camera fails as if someone is telling me to rest and lay roots rather than carve artificial memories. and sometimes life pauses as another day begins darting out its early flares, mining the depths of my heart and reclaiming a sense of purpose that is beyond everything I know of.
it is about the moment, not the circumstances. it's about the people, not the scenery. it's about truth, and not about perfection. instants of gleeful nonsense, innocuous reflections of the soul, unabashed postures and peculiar faces wrapped in 3.5 X 4.2 in. sheet films. it embodies the essence of now without tainting it. the confluence of emotions, whether you're waddling and quaking like a duck or reluctantly trying to look natural, is framed and extended indefinitely. the evidence of our ever substantial need to treasure what we had.
I love polaroids. because this is exactly how I want my life to be like.
it took us a couple of days to sober up. but it has been a good trip. a glorious journey with a prodigious combination of personalities: a photographer, two painters, a teacher, a reporter, a commercial film director, a model/actress, a writer, a producer and a blogging stay-at-home mother of two.
a road trip punctuated by bugs splashing on the windshield and typical manhood car talk. the unexpectedly agitated clouds. the waves of rain storms. the 100°F. the Burgundy (Bourgogne) wine road. Romanee Conti. the fine restaurants and the wines, Nuits-st-Georges, Pommard and Volnay.
the ramen noodles and cucumbers in improvised rest areas. the dirty jokes. my celebrity friend relishing anonymity like a rare entity. enchanting fog that seemed to wrap us like a magical spell in Harry Potter-esque woods. the sight of my husband being merely happy. and the endearing satisfaction of watching someone you've loved for 8 years and still learn new things about him. bundles of common sense. the shadow of a full-of-my-blood-giant-belly mosquito. visiting a wine cave and learning about the preciousness of mould. and that wines have tears. the things you remember the most are rarely the most significant and meaningful ones.
going on this trip while my marriage was sagging has been redeeming. I've figured out a lot of things. and I've learned a lot. so I'm back. in many different ways.
"dear Mrs. I-have-to-pack-everything-control-freak me,
the next time your husband suggests you all go on a weekend to Deauville and stay at the I-can't-believe-Nicole Kidman-was-here Normandy Hotel, do not stress out. do not panic because you only have 12 hours to pack. do not make a list. just kiss the guy and know that you're a lucky woman."
"the next time your mother says she can't look after your dog and her poop while you're having fun on the beach, do not get mad at her for being the most selfish person in the world. just remember how you cleaned your dog's nose for 20 minutes after she'd plugged it into the sand. and that dogs just want to have fun, too."
"remember that Deauville is a dog-friendly place."
"the next time you witness the miracle of a beautiful sunset, let your fears and doubts vanish with daylight."
"the next time your boys get ecstatic and run barefoot on the sand screaming with delight and greeting the ocean, do not worry about how the cold wind is going to affect their asthma. go and run with them. and thank God for having a moment like this."
"the next time you have dinner at the hotel restaurant and your sons jump on the chairs and play with silverware and have to go pee every 5 minutes, do not look around anxiously at other guests feeling like the next potential candidate for Super Nanny."
"the next time do not get mad at your husband for staying at the hotel casino for 3 hours and losing 50$ while you were being held hostage with the kids in your room. the next time you go on vacation do not expect too much from your family. and don't feel depressed on the way back to your dull routine. instead, be grateful. because there will be a next time."
by 6.13am yesterday morning, as I was -again- sandwiching between my two boys I heard my husband open the front door of our apartment. Sean and Will got up like pop-up toys and ran to their father screaming "Daddy!".
party of four. reunited. at last.
5 years ago, I was wearing brand new pointy heels and a beautiful gown that a friend had designed and made especially for me. I was having my hair and makeup done by professionals. I was tripping over my train. I couldn't stop giggling. I was holding my fiancé's hand. I was getting all the attention. I was surrounded by my family and people I love and care about. I looked at my wedding ring and smiled with delight and pride. I had a perfect body. I did whatever I was told to. I thought I knew everything about marriage. 5 years ago, it was a perfect day.
5 years later, I'm wearing denim Converse shoes and my flying pig t-shirt. I believe in hair bands and Maybelline's dream matte mousse foundation in honey beige. I trip over my boys. I can't stop yawning. I'm squeezing my dog's anal sacs. my husband and my sons are getting all my attention. I'm surrounded by legos and Laa-Laa and Po. I look at the hand prints on the tv screen and swear I'm going to kill someone. I have stretch marks and a big tummy. I do pretty much whatever I want to. marriage is the biggest mystery of all time. 5 years later, it is still a perfect day.
I often think that life is about the big stuff. marriage. pregnancy. motherhood. and how to glue all these things together to make it as good as possible. but today as I was blow-drying my hair, I saw my son running around the house wearing his winter hat and holding a spoon yelling "I am a magician!" while my other son came to me and asked "what's that?" pointing his finger at my bra. and then it hit me. maybe life is more about the little stuff. the stuff we think are meaningless and insignificant. the stuff that happens between the big stuff. right now my boys are playing human hotdog with their Dad who keeps asking them how much they love him. usually I would not stop and stare. but I do today. because this is also what my life is about. I realize that now. and I don't want to miss one bit.
bashful beams of light tell me that it's morning already. I am still swinging and floating between two worlds. I love those few seconds before I open my eyes. I can hear my husband snoring and feel his heavy left foot on my right leg. it gives me an odd sense of connection. I feel safe. my son Sean's head is resting on my left arm. as he cuddles up to me I am moved by the touch and feel of his little body pressing against mine. he seems peaceful, like he's home. a few seconds later, my dog is vigorously licking my ear. I like to believe that it is her way to say good morning. I don't know if I am repelled or touched. it is a little hard to breathe. we definitely need a bigger bed I think. then I hear this familiar little voice. my other son Will is awake and patiently waiting for everybody to get up. but he has found a curious thing hanging outside the blanket. that is my left foot. he giggles. the most beautiful sound in the world. he starts talking to it. then he hugs and kisses it. he's no stupid. he knows this will wake Mommy up. and it does.
I don't know a lot about life. about the world as I seem to glimpse it. about the universe I'm evolving in. I don't know much about motherhood. about friendship. very little about marriage. but this morning I have been reminded of the value of life. of the act of giving. and unconditionally loving. illness, anxiety, fear, doubt and guilt have reminded me that I need to embrace my life rather than constantly try to control and perfect it.
today I have been reminded of the six hundred different reasons why I married my husband and the millions why I love my children. and I guess that is all I need to know.
something is wrong. I have never seen this expression on my son's face before. as he is silently working on his puzzle, obviously, the emotions he is experiencing are too overwhelming for his 3 year-old body to contain. the little shaking of his lower lip and small chin betray the uncontrollable sobbing he is bravely trying to hide and let me catch a glimpse of his sadness and despair.
"I want Daddy... I want a plane and see Daddy..." he says.
I am knocked out. he has never said something like that before. and I realize my kids miss their dad the way I miss my husband. the void they feel cannot be compensated by any new toys or activities scrupulously planned in advance. they have intricate feelings and emotions that need to be considered, respected and nurtured.
"Daddy's coming back very soon. Daddy loves you very much" I tell him.
and I hold my son real tight wondering if there isn't any magic spell that could turn me into a human sponge so I could absorb every ounce of pain and sorrow of his little body.
Sep 6, 2005