Wednesday, February 6, 2008

scatter brained

“Ok, so I know I’m supposed to fill you in on my minds contemplating, but I don’t know where to begin.  Lately, I’ve been so bemused by it all that I’ve not had time or energy to sift through and make sense of it.  There is an excess of both irrelevant and pertinent thoughts, ideas, notions, perceptions, and theories racing through my mind, that I’m having trouble keeping up.  Half the time I don’t even know what I’m thinking, it’s pointless rambling.  Then other times, I’m in shock of the things that drift and dwell, lingering about.  A great deal of it is the uncertainty, the unknown.  Then, on the reverse side, battling for priority and importance is what I want and what I need.  As a result, I’m having trouble sleeping and concentrating.  I can’t turn my mind off.  It’s worse at night, after my head hits the pillow and I relax.  Everything is quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts.  This is when I just want to turn everything, all consciousness off, but I can’t decipher how to do it. 

I know this is not what you were expecting.  I’m sure you imagined some detailed account for my scattered state, but that’s just it, it’s scattered.  Every inch of my life right now is flung about, in pieces and tangents, screaming for attention.  I keep dealing with the good, because I can handle the good.  I welcome the good.  It’s the doubt and unknown that I block and refuse to acknowledge.  I don’t know how to control it.  I keep reassuring myself that everything will work out, that I will eventually make sense of it all.  Everything is going to fall into place and I will have worried for nothing.  I just need to get past this chaotic clutter that’s consuming my mind.”

Posted by brooke alexandra at 07:38:53 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Sunday, May 13, 2007

“many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”

I remember dreary days, playing in the rain until our bodies were soaking wet.  I remember dancing with you in the kitchen, while you made dinner.  You would twirl me around with a dish rag.  I remember summers by the pool, you sitting on the side, while Tara and I hung on to your legs.  You would make us grilled cheese picnics on the deck.  I remember sleeping with you when Dad was gone.  You would be in the middle, with Tara on one side and me on the other.  You hated the middle, but you wanted us to be happy and we were happy when you were in the middle.  I remember watching the old episodes of Batman in bed with you at night.  At the end of every episode in unison, the three of us we chant:  “Tune in next time.  Same bat time, same bat channel.”  I remember you taking us to work with you, and Tara and I would always go and dance with the skeleton in your office.  You would let us type stories on your typewriter. We would make hot chocolate with the coffee maker and pretend we were drinking coffee.  I remember going on long trips, in the middle of the week, just for fun.  I remember the beach and being attacked my seagulls, and you saving me.  I remember kindergarten graduation and you being the only one there to see me.  You took hundreds of pictures and screamed out my name, making me feel like the most important person in the world.  I remember you taking us to the movies, and it was so cold in the theater that you left and bought us humongous sweatshirts.  Tara and I curled our arms, legs, and feet up inside and watched the movie nestled inside.  I remember you singing to me.  I would beg you to sing, “I Can’t Take My Eye’s Off of You” and “Going out of My Head.”  I would make you sing it over and over and over.  I remember picnics in your car during school.  I remember you picking us up early from school and taking us to eat, to the movies, or out of town.  You would plan long weekends in the winter to take us to a hotel that had an indoor pool, because you knew we loved to swim.  I remember camp outs in the living room and making tents out of blankets and pillows.  I remember always sitting at the table for dinner; you wanted us to eat as a family.  I remember you making us eat a spoonful of peas and green beans.  I remember convincing Dad to eat mine once you left the table.  I remember making donuts with you at Mom maw’s, and cutting the donut holes with plastic bottle tops.  I remember Sunday church dresses and not wanting to wear the ruffled tights, but never winning.  I remember Christmas mornings and being too excited to sleep.  The detailed, individual, thoughtful presents, and the scavenger hunts.  You always made Christmas the best.

I remember junior high school.  I remember you trying to help with my homework, and we both would get so frustrated with the other, that we usually both ended up in tears.  I remember distancing myself from you, pulling away.  I remember being difficult and defiant.  I remember wanting to be independent, but wanting you right by my side, holding my hand.  I remember hurting you.  I remember you coming to every volleyball game, soccer game, dance recital, swim practice, track meet, and softball game.  You were always there, always supporting and cheering me on.  You would do anything to make me happy.  I remember not always saying, “I’m sorry” when I should have.  I remember not always saying, “Thank you” when I should have.  I remember being jealous of the time you spent helping the youth group at church.  I didn’t like that they saw you as a segregate mother.  You were my mother, not theirs.  I remember not understanding your need to constantly help and do for others.  I wanted you all for myself. 

I remember high school.  I remember trying desperately to make you proud of me, whether with grades, sports, writing, or clothes.  I wanted your approval for everything.  I remember how you would brag to your friends about how well I played in a soccer game or danced in a recital, or how great I did on my grade card.  I loved when you were proud of me and you wanted everyone to know.  I remember disappointing you, and you being ashamed of me.  I remember how much that hurt.  I remember thinking that I had to win your love back.  I remember wanting to stay at home with you, instead of going out with friends.  I loved spending time with you.  I remember thinking I was an adult and I was able to make my own decisions, and I remember how quickly you pointed out how wrong I was. 

I remember college.  I remember how much I hated my freshman year.  I remember how I begged to come home and you said, no.  You told me I could do and handle anything for a year.  I remember calling you and crying, pleading with you to come ad get me, but you didn’t.  Eventually, I accepted it and moved on. I remember Tara and I moving into our first apartment, and you crying the entire time.  We made fun of you for it.  I remember not wanting to come home as often, but feeling guilty because you wanted me home.  I remember college being fun after Tara was there with me.  Then, you were so happy, almost giddy when you moved us out of our last house and back home with you.  We were devastated and you were thrilled to death.  You were so proud to see the two of us graduate.  You bragged and bragged to everyone.  And I loved every minute. 

Mom, I remember some of the bad things, but mostly, I remember the good.  Only because that’s what you are: everything good.  Your happiness lies in making us happy.  You want nothing but the best for us, and do anything to see that we are.  You sacrifice your happiness to give us what you didn’t have.  You mean everything to me.  You’re the reason I’m who I am and who I will become.  You’re the reason I’m able to love.  You’re the reason I aim for the best, always wanting to do and be better.  You’re the reason I get up in the morning.  You are the good in my life, the reason why I’m here.  I couldn’t have chosen a better mom.  You’re my sun in the morning and my moon at night.  You are my mother.

 

Posted by brooke alexandra at 06:28:53 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

little lili

You were pure joy right from the start.  I had no idea it was possible to love someone as much as I loved you, the moment I saw you for the first time.  You were small, but bigger than what I was expecting, tiny but long. Your feet and toes were cute and chubby. Your fingers were pink and fragile wrapped around my finger.  You had a head full of gorgeous dark hair, which sadly, later all fell out.  I held you in my arms for what seemed like hours, just looking at you.  I examined every inch of your body, counting every finger and every toe.  You were perfect.

That was a year ago.  Now you are a big girl, walking and exploring around every corner.  Your hair has grown in, but it’s lighter than before.  You don’t have much, but what you have is soft and beautiful.  Though, your mother likes to tease you and say you have a baby mullet.  But don’t worry, one day you will have long dark beautiful hair just like your mom.  You are talking now.  Mostly you make sweet baby noises, but you love to say, “Dad” even if he is not in the room.  I think you do this just to make your mother mad, and it does.  You laugh and get excited over nothing.  You like to scream just to hear your own voice.  You can read books, even though it sounds like gibberish.  I believe you are really reading and you look so cute doing it.  But nothing makes me smile more than to see you crinkle up your nose and show your teeth.  It makes me want to grab you and squeeze you in my arms.  My heart explodes every time you do it.  You also know how to wink.  This trick, your mother taught you will come in handy with the boys later.  But we need to work on winking just one eye, and not two.


There are so many things I want to share and teach you.  I can’t wait to buy you your first caramel latte from Starbucks.   I can’t wait to introduce you to the Wizard of Oz.  Share with you the importance of facial care and cleansing. I can’t wait to tell you about boys and dating…which will be a LONG time from now, because you’re not allowed to date until you are thirty-five.  I can’t wait to teach you the difference between bargain shopping and purchasing crap.  You will know that a girl can never have too many shoes or too many bags, and that it’s ok if it takes more than an hour to get ready.  I look forward to educating you in “good” music, such as; David Gray, Rachael Yamagata, Josh Radin, Damien Rice, Rhett Miller and of course taking you to your first broadway show.  I want to share with you the story about the day your mother and I thought you were coming, and how on the outside I remained calm and collected but on the inside I was a nervous wreck.  Then it turned out that your mom was just sick from eating at Applebee’s.  I want to be able to share my favorite books, authors and poets with you.  But mostly, I want to tell you how wonderful a mother you have.  Lili, you have an incredible mother, one who would do anything for you.  She is strong, independent, beautiful, intelligent, loving, hilarious, intense, and as we both know, is addicted to horrible teeny-bopper music, such Justin Timberlake, who she refers to as “J.T.” because she fancies him. Your mother is someone who you can talk to and come to with anything.  Look up to her, love her, and respect her, she is amazing.

Lili, you mean the world to me.  I know you have only been here a year, but it feels like forever.  I cannot imagine a time without you.  I love everything about you; your sweet smile, sweet smell, sweet voice, and your sweet chubby cheeks.    

Posted by brooke alexandra at 00:25:20 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

letters to God

Before I fall asleep each night, I pray.  There are certain things I pray for, certain people, certain situations, certain uncertainties, and certainly myself. I always need to be forgiven for something.  Though, my prayer life as an adult is different than my prayer life when I was young.   As a child, I would worry I would forget something or someone. Then, if something happened, it would be my fault.  I also believed there was a
RIGHT WAY to pray. Therefore, I started to write my prayers down.  I knew I would not leave anything out if I first put them to paper. I’m still not sure if I pray the RIGHT WAY, but MY WAY works best for me.  My mother recently found a letter that I wrote to God when I was six.  When I read it, I laughed out loud.  My spelling was horrendous. Though, what I lacked in spelling and grammar I made up for in content and artistic ability. I can actually remember writing this particular letter.  My Grandmother, my father’s mother, was a heavy smoker and I constantly worried that she was going to die like my Grandfather.  This was one of many letters that I wrote to God concerning this issue.   However, letters to God did not compare to the thousands of letters I must have wrote to my mother.  After I would write them, I would go and place them on top of her pillow, so it would be the first thing her eye caught as she stepped into the room.  This was how I apologized and said “I love you”, I always did it in letters.  I only wish my mother would have kept them all.

 

Posted by brooke alexandra at 21:14:14 | Permalink | Comments (3)