Superwoman. Against odds that should bring any average Jane to her knees, she finds the willpower to put on a perfect face every morning at 5:00 a.m. and wage daily wars. These efforts are hardly worth commending. The truth is, she practices quite well the art of diligent insanity.
Every day is an opportunity to fix that painting.
Some days when she feels her actions warrant defense, she’ll say that she wants to be a hero.
But every day she presses “play” and then “repeat”. She hopes that one morning, she’ll wake up and look in the mirror and all the little patches, adjustments and efforts will finally have done the trick. All the gaps and ugly holes will have been filled in. Refined. Corrected.
She will have done her world right.
That’s the day for which superwoman goes to bed and wakes.
The truth of the lie is that superwoman needs a reality check. She needs an intervention.
Rest.

It’s not that I’ve been dishonest, it’s just that I loathe reality.

I just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t blog on my, well, this feels weird – second Mother’s Day. It technically should be my first, but as my little ladies decided to make their earthly debut a few months early last year – I have TWO under my belt. The best gift I received was in the form of one hour of extra sleep. The new pair of TOMS were pretty fun, too! Audrey and Paige decided to sleep until 8:30 a.m. today, which is a true rarity. They knew I needed it. I haven’t even gotten around to posting pictures from their first birthday party which happened just last week, but here’s a few gems to sum up the most recent day’s events. Mom’s are cool. That’s about all I have left at 11:00 p.m. on a Sunday night.

Mother’s Day – 2012

Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?

I would sell a right pinky finger to be pampered at this point. I want to have my cake and eat it too. Not sorry.

Alter-Ego Monday: Marie Antoinette wants a pedicure.

This was a good, light hearted find tonight. Worth sharing, I think.

Impressive Street Marionette Performance

I’m always dragging that horse around. Soon, I’m going to bury that horse in the GROUND.
It’s hot today. Long wet curly locks should cool off sticky skin, but strangely – they seem to strangle me like everything else these days. Shake it off, shake it off. It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.
I might just dye those blonde curls fire engine red,
with hope they fade to a less alarming, gentle strawberry.
I’ve got another fire or two to light. But the time is near for some gentle fading.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

I don’t have much to say. It’s been an emotional day, but more so an emotional year. One year ago after 5 whole days of hospitalized labor, my baby girls came kicking and screaming in to this world. They were only 3 pounds, 14 ounces and spent the next 3 weeks in the NICU. It was the beginning of the scariest and most unpredictable chapter of my life to date. But with the fear came a whole new set of feelings and impulses I honestly didn’t believe I could posses. Audrey and Paige make me smile, melt my heart and inspire me to be better in everything that I do. I woke at 5:00 a.m. and worked a long hard day. It took a cup of vanilla ice cream and some smiles to bring me back down to earth. These girls are mine. And I am theirs.

May 1, 2012 – Twins’ First Birthday

Days, turned months, turned years of confession. One big wooden confessional is where she lives, knees bent stiffly in a permanent position on the musty red velvet kneeler. Patellas shift painfully and knuckles grow stiff from praying with fingers crossed tightly. She confesses in a daily ritual to a void of empty souls and wandering promises.

It’s such an old familiar place but every day is a little different. Thin bones grow restless from their stiffened, restrained positions. Aching to punch right through the lattice and stare her penance straight in the face. Go ahead, give it to her good. Let the girl pay for these sins and bleed truths until there’s no white left on her sleeves.

Do the truths ever run out? What happens when there’s nothing left to confess?

Just don’t let me disappear. I’ll tell you everything.

Sometimes when I really don’t sleep, or if the twins start crying before my flat iron heats up, I go to work looking all sassy “natural” like this.

I’m kind of digging Organix Moroccan Curl cream lately. It was a random drugstore find, which as any curly-haired girl knows – was a gamble. In love. Feel like I need to buy crates of it just in case they take it off the market.

Free your hair and the rest will follow.

You want a revelation, some kind of resolution.