How my blog got its name

Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 9:37 PM


So, my blog used to be called Redheaded Stepchild. An old boyfriend of mine used to jokingly refer to me as such, and I thought it meshed nicely with my chosen URL. (Is that what the thing in the address bar at the top of the page is called? Just kidding. I think.)

I wasn't sure if I would keep up blogging. I do not possess a great deal of follow through, as we know, and so I just chose something for my title and threw it up there on the big bad web. As the months went by, I decided blogging was - intermittently - for me, and I upgraded from the Blogger standard color scheme, and I chose a new name.

My blog's current name is from one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets. It is a work that resonated very strongly with me when I was younger, and although I'm in a different place in my life now I still find so much of myself in it. I always thought the first line in itself was a good, very brief, introduction to my little version of the world, and so that became my new calling card.

o sweet spontaneous
earth how often have

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched

, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded

beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive

to the incomparable
couch of death thy

thou answerest

them only with


ee cummings

This is one of many poems that are part of my past, part of my life story so far. I'm not exactly sure of the work that I feel best encapsulates my current stage in life; I'm currently in the market, as it were, for a new anthem. It's a search that I thoroughly enjoy. Few things are more exhilarating for me than opening a new book, watching a new film, and finding a line or two that ring so perfectly true that I never forget them.

So, now you know where it came from, and I guess you can all be watching along with me, waiting for it to change again.

Because you know its bound to.

Simple Gifts

Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Tuesday, February 16, 2010 at 6:39 PM


Eve: I fink I putted too much of de salt in dere.

(Pictured at right is the meal in question, being a heaping pile of Zatarains' cajun seasoning with a side garnish of Mexican Macaroni and Cheese).

Other reasons today ended up being a winner:

- running errands with my mom
- choosing birthday invitation goodies for Eve's celebration next month
- watching Iris eat a pickle (and everything else in sight) at lunch
- a gift straight from heaven above, in the form of a second loooong nap for said Iris baby
- nap for me too! I definitely need to make this a habit. I am *much* nicer with even a tiny nap.
- laundry DONE
- dishes DONE (yes, all of them, for the first time in a week I'm sure)
- mopping DONE
- tea towels ironed, including my two new birthday acquisitions
- dinner made (real dinner, with vegetables, not pancakes or PBJ)

The last item, of course, entirely negates having the mopping and the dishes completed, but on balance it was definitely worth it. Now I can watch LOST completely guilt-free!

My happy place

Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Tuesday, February 9, 2010 at 7:41 PM


The man of the house is in beautiful San Francisco this week.

I have set a few goals for myself while he is gone:

- do not hurt or kill any of the children

- do not allow them to kill each other

- eat something every day

- um, maybe that's it


No, seriously, I actually had a really good day today. We made valentines for Devlin's school class, satisfying both my need for them to not have cartoon characters on them and his need to have candy attached.

(Does anyone else remember the valentine exchanges of their youth? The kids who handed out candy with their cards were soooooooooooo much cooler. I am willing to swallow my distaste at the thought of hundreds of sugar bombs, all individually wrapped, littering the planet and my child's teeth, so that he can be Popular for one day. Of course, kids now are probably handing out Nintendo DSs with their valentines, so my kid will be at the back of the line again.)

Conversation hearts are so 20th century.

Love Letter

Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Wednesday, February 3, 2010 at 10:09 PM


Well, it *is* February.

Last weekend, I was having a pretty typical Saturday morning: busy, busy, busy. Laundry, beds, tidying up, running around trying to put my life back together in time to get out for some fun family errands before naptime.

My son, my sweet, wonderful son, poked his head around my bedroom door and crooked his finger, calling me away from my giant pile of whites.

There was a little handwritten note taped to my laundry room door:

Dear mom, I love you very much. I think you are the best. I know you have boring stuf to do. I'm sad to say this but your work is never going to end. I wish that every were Saterday or Sunday. If I was a little bit older, I would love to find something to help. I would also like to help you. Love from, Devlin.

On Saturday, I was happy. I was in a good mood. I felt like a good mom. So I was delighted to read his little take on housewifery. "I'm sad to say this, but..." How quaint! How charming! How observant! I laughed out loud and hugged him and left the letter hanging proudly on the door, where I was sure to see it many, many times over the coming days and weeks.

On Saturday, the letter was a happy reminder of things I was doing right.

Today, it felt like a scathing expose of my most hated parenting flaws.

Devlin was home (just a little bit) sick from school today. I should have seen this coming - days when he and Eve are in the same room for more than a few hours are difficult for me, almost without exception. Everything was setting me off. I was not the best version of myself. I was grumpy, and yell-y, and the worst part about it is that I know it's not them. They're always like this, because they are children.

On days like this, it is me. I know that. But that doesn't mean I know how to pull myself out of it. (I'm still working on that - in between slicing apples, buttering bread, pouring milk, and working my way backward through the house, mopping up Iris's trail of poop. Yes, really).

I walked by the letter on my door on my way to extract a baby who woke up way too early from her nap. I cringed to remember that even my son, as young as he is, is keenly aware of the load I carry and how much it weighs on me sometimes. A lot of the time. I don't want him to feel like he needs to shoulder too much of that. I don't want him to already be living for the weekends, to feel the pull of the world and all the Stuff We Have To Get Done eating away at our time together, at what really matters. He's a kid. There will always be laundry. There will always be another meal, prep, unwanted opinions, and cleanup around the corner. I needed to grow up, put on my big girl panties, and get over myself.

So instead of hiding from my life, I turned around and headbutted it.

I pumped up 6 tires, rescued one baby bike helmet from months of disrepair and neglect, successfully puzzled two bicycles and a double trailer into the van without removing any seats, and spent the afternoon pedaling around the lake at Freestone Park.

I granted my children's fondest wish today.

And my letter feels like a love letter again.