bits and pieces.

spent the day with my girl kid, doing errands and scoping out the thrift store.  big scores of the day: practically new camelbak for two bucks, and a wolf t-shirt for her.  we walked the aisles together, fingering fabrics and searching for favorite colors (green is good, pink is bad) and dodging other shoppers and their wayward children.  found books, as always.  she told me that she actually loves the smell of the thrift store.

it's in her blood.  

came home with full bags of groceries after miraculous trader joe's trip where we instantly found parking and joy! joy!--organic three-color peppers and lemon seltzer.  she politely refused a lollipop at the counter.

i would've let her take it.  it was her choice.  as always with selkie, it is up to her.

went into my new bedroom/selkie's old room and tried to make it mine.  ours.  found pictures that once hung on my walls of other homes where these babies were born.  took some old pictures out, put some new pictures in.  marveled at the changes in me, in them, in him, in us.  felt my footing on the slightly dirty/dog-tracked floor, grateful for the wood beneath me.

who were these people?

damn, i miss my bangs.

i was more flexible back then.  think about this.  this could be important.

my most favorite picture ever.  the most badass of all.

and then i hung up this little crate-thing, and filled it with reminders of who i am and who i was.  things to remind me that i am good and that i have alive things inside of me, things that are meaningful and heavy with purpose; like a baby hanging low inside of me.

a few nights ago i saw my friend amber, who lovingly berated me and told me once again that i am a writer, and that i need to write.  she said this as i interrupted and chortled and fudged my way through pshawing but she kept saying it.  and i eventually listened.  i did.  the fact that she said this to remind me based on an email that i had sent made me laugh, but i was grateful for her insistence.

later that night i had a dream.  i was pregnant, as pregnant as i was in the picture above.  i was in an unfamiliar house, and i was in labor.  i kept talking to my friends and family--my kids--telling that that i was fine, feeling that first cringe of a contraction--and i told them not to worry, that i would come and get them when i was ready to start pushing.

and of course, when i woke up, it was all laid bare in front of me.  clear as the water i gulp down each morning (with some lemon and cayenne thrown in for good measure).  i checked out the dream dictionaries online, but i didn't really have to.

i knew.

something is percolating inside of me again.  i feel myself rising to some occasion that hasn't been named yet.  there is an unfolding once more, in my 42nd year, and i am waiting patiently to see what waits beneath.

in the meantime, i'm writing this blog, and organizing my house, and roasting broccoli and brussel sprouts for my wonder of an almost-nine-year-old girl, and feeling the gratitude of all the moments that were captured on film and those that remain caught inside of me.

there is nothing tonight but goodness and sweeping the floor and eating wild rice and watching "game of thrones" by myself after kissing my children goodnight.  there is nothing here but this, and what is simmering inside my gut.

and for that i am grateful.