Dear Faithful Reflection Viewers,

Season's greetings! I hope each and every one of you is exactly where you want to be right now...and if you aren't, then I hope that this unfortunate situation will soon be remedied. I will now be taking a short break in my blog posts to bring you a couple of oldies but goodies. The following one is timely and is apparently a favorite of my delightful readers. Thank you for your continuing interest and participation in and of my reflections. Please stay tuned for these upcoming reflections... "Record Highes," "It's apparent envy." and "Cig(regrets)".

Yours Truly,

Tava.

Santa...jolly 'ol philanthropist or scary bearded sociopath?

Yes- it is in fact, the most wonderful time of the year....although I must say that Flag Day is creeping up to a really close second, especially since that one might be the only one that doesn't get taken over by either the retail market or the secular progressives...but I digress. But alas, during this hap hap happiest season of all, I have stumbled upon a bit of an issue which I admit, I did not see coming.

Even though my girls are very young (2 1/2 and 1 1/2 for those of you just tuning in), I worry for their safety. They are so friendly and trusting, made evident just recently by my eldest when, while our household goods were being delivered, I looked up and panicked when I realized she was out of my visual range. Thankfully, about five seconds later, I saw her coming down the stairs, HAND IN HAND with one of the movers. And so began the Stranger Danger Talk...

Fast forward to the night before our squadron children's Christmas party, when I'm sitting down, eldest daughter on my knee, happily explaining what would be her first encounter with 'Ol Saint Nick. Raise your hand if you see where this is going...

So, after I'd gone into great detail that she would be sitting on this man's lap, telling him her name, whether she's been naughty or nice and accepting whatever gift or possibly candy this "Santa Claus" would offer, I knew the exact thoughts brewing behind those round, espresso eyes.

and then came my stammering soliloquy...

"Ok Lady Bug, everything I've told you about strangers still goes. Don't talk to them. Except at Christmas time..well, only if it's a man and he is giving candy and presents...no, only if he's in a disguise...no, when there are elves around? Crap. It's alright to sit on a strange man's lap if all of the other kids are doing it...no, only the nice kids...no, only if you've been nice?? Crap. Only sit on the lap of of a man who is Santa Claus, although he won't have ID, because he's not real...I mean, he is real... but he will have left his ID in the sleigh... Crap. Only if you're at a mall and he's dressed up like Santa and there's a photographer and he's not holding a bell, and isn't asking for money and doesn't smell like alcohol...and only if he has kind eyes and can name all of his reindeer without hesitation. Crap... (clear throat) Honey, unless Mommy or Daddy say otherwise, don't talk to strangers... "

Luckily she's 2 1/2 and probably only caught the word "candy" out of the whole thing... or else she'll be having nightmares about said scary, red man coming down our chimney...

Letter to the Editor (a blast from the past)

Dear Mr. editor, Sir-
I, well...
I am, uh...
I am writing to say
That there are moments when he makes me smile so hard
That I grind my teeth to powder.
Like last night
When we did a slow groove
Under a blanket full of stars,
Wearing towels that smelled of chlorine and a dry red.
They were warm, moist, and felt nice to drunken skin.
Undulating and pliable like clay
He
Made
Me.
It was the first time
I had wanted
Anything
So
Badly.
He tasted like wet spices and sugar,
Familiar and yet
Exotic
Somehow.
Yearning from under a tangled web of
Auburn
Toward tricky and relentless
Azure eyes
And you know-
Just when my skin felt ready to unravel
Those eyes-
They hid him in a mysterious cloak
Like
Some Forbidden
Prize.

Sir, I am writing to say,
Well...
About the whole affair,
He and I,
Me and...
Him-
Bent back, doing a rounded tangle of pretzel pirouette
On a too red, too overstuffed couch like two
Broken
Ballerinas...all the while talking about that one song,
What was it? Or that painting or
Apples.
Yes, we talked and it was like
Cold water falling nervously and anxiously on a
Desperate
Tongue.

I remember
As if it were stained henna on my mind.
We were in a church
Upstairs under a low, dingy ceiling
Walls with words celebrating Christiandom.
He introduced himself
And when I told him my name
I could feel the warmth of the word as it left
His lips.
I don't think he breathed...when he said it.
I think he sang it,
Notes that dripped from his tongue like something flammable
And he...
Set.
Me.
On.
Fire.

Uh, Mr. Editor,
You see,
That was then
And this is 6 years since
And my heart has diced through countless red lights,
(Didn't want to see 'em.)
Blown through intersections and cut all caution to pieces.
It is accelerating somewhere between 90 and a stroke,
And all of it just to be back where I was
6 years ago.

He is James Bond in a martini-
Except,
I'm shaken...stirred.
I'm giddy and dizzied and maniacal
And he,
He surrounds me like tightly woven bamboo poles
As he pretends not to stare at the fabric of my blouse.
But he does and it's slow, ivory seduction
As he falls onto my cherries jubilee lipstick.
He is
Absolutely
The same
After all this time.

But his eyes,
They're tricky and relentless
and azure.

I can feel the passages of my heart collapsing,
The blood evaporating into every deep breath that I take.
I am worse than nervous,
I am triple-dip terrified
In a waffle cone.

Yesterday was
The day after
The day
That something happened between us.
I don't think that I know what.
And the moment is tear gas tricky
I am having thousands of minute heart attacks
Jerking around my good sense
Looking every couple of seconds in the rear view mirror
Just to make sure that
I haven't
Disappeared.
I don't remember my name, or the day or
Why
This man makes me feel like smooth cognac
But he does
And then he does it-
He does
And I am stupefied.

You see, Mr. Editor,
Sir, I am writing to you because I am not quite sure
How to tell him
That his
Capital I, capital L,
Little o, little v, little e,
Capital Y
Little o, little u

Isn't enough.

I've heard that one.

We had a connection.

Mr. Editor, the problem is,
His eyes,
They're tricky azure.

The 'J' is for Juggernaut

The Juggernaut. That's what Cody calls you. And when you arrived into this world, three and a half short and messy years ago, that's exactly what you were....a massive unstoppable force that crushes any opposition in its path. Every thing you do is... full throttle. When you smile, you do it with your entire face... your entire being. You're so rough.... if it's breakable, you break it. If it spills... you spill it. If it's off limits... it's ~game on~ for you. You're always bruised and scraped and dirty and sticky and when you come to love on me, I brace myself and guard my internal organs and soft tissues. You're so loud. When you sing and talk and whisper and even when you sleep. And you're so very funny.... What an enviable disposition you have been given! I adore it.... and I adore you.

Orion J. ~my sweet, little curly girlie...please hold onto that zest for life. Please continue to soak up your surroundings, your inspirations, your experiences, your passions with all of your senses... jump in, get dirty and sticky and bruised and bloody. Fall and fail and jump in again. Be exactly who you are at the top of your lungs and with all of your strength. And for as long as I am able, I will pray a hedge of protection around you and I will have plenty of wet wipes and princess bandaides available. I am here. With you... I

I haven't missed a single minute. Watching and listening and learning (and cleaning up after) and so unbelievably thrilled to be part of the unstoppable force that is you.

I should've known at "Kool".

I should've known. When I chose a kids' dentist office whose very name is misspelled (albeit on purpose, in an attempt at being clever I suppose) Kool Smiles. I should've known. When I chose a dentist that was sandwiched between a carniceria and a check cashing/loan shark business. I should've known. When I chose a kids' dentist who strangely decided that rap and an unusual (not in a good way) hybrid of Mariachi and Tejano music would be a nice mix for their patients (who are 10 and under). I should've known. When I chose a dentist that close to the Air Force base. The South side of Tucson is in some ways similar to the South side of Chicago, except that it has better Mexican food and fewer crooked politicians. I should've known. When we go inside and the really great jungle gym, slide, rock climbing, play area thingy appears to have been dipped into a Rotavirus/H1N1 cocktail, followed by a layer of melted popsicle and then topped off by a light coating of dirt and granulated sugar. Yuck. I should've known. When they call the 3 and 4 year-old patients to come back and insist that I wait in the lobby. A part of me thought, "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let my 3 and 4 year-olds go back there by themselves. That will be mayhem for them AND you." The other part of me (the more sarcastic one that lives her life with tongue-in-cheek) thought, "You're crazy if you think I'm NOT going to let my 3 and 4 year-olds go back by themselves. That will be mayhem for them AND you. Good luck with that..." In the end, the sensible me won (in addition to being sarcastic, the other one tends to throw in the towel way too soon in my opinion) and I did accompany the girls back. However, this was not before they insisted that I NOT accompany them, but rather peer through a two-way "interrogation mirror" while they were being seen. I should've known. When I chose a dentist for my children that uses two-way mirrors....

I will be returning to our previous dentist who sports the lime green Easy Tone Reeboks and Lily the lovely hygienist who was born to work with kids. There is no playland and the music is unremarkable, but I don't feel like I need a shower when I leave. I will however, be returning to that carniceria for their specials on chorizo and queso fresca.

Sir Lancelot and a life plan

Ahhhhh....so many reflections, so little time to sit down at a keyboard. Maybe I'll start putting out my posts via my cell phone.... you should see how fast my thumbs can go...... Ok, fasten your mental seat belts faithful readers, because I'm going to be posting like a madwoman here pretty soon.... or not. I don't know. Probably don't fasten your seat belts just yet...in fact, go grab a frosty beverage and watch a little something on TV. I'll post when I can. That being said, I'm going to tell you a little story (100% true) about a boy, a bike and a life plan....

A couple of weekends ago we attended a wedding of sorts... OUTSIDE... in ARIZONA... in JULY. Who gets married... OUTSIDE.... in ARIZONA... in JULY? It was like I was burning alive. The only things that would have made that experience hotter would have been if the ushers had been passing out pashminas and hot cups of cocoa to all of the guests... but that's not the story here. After the wedding and after the big flaming ball of fire finally set behind the mountains, there was a reception and there was dancing. And what transpired was straight. from. a. fairytale....

Under a twilight sky, Sir Lancelot comes riding toward the dance floor on his trusty steed, the breeze in his hair and a weathered, determined look on his face. Ok- in full disclosure, Lance was 5, he rode in on a little red bicycle complete with training wheels and a horn and probably what made his face look weathered were the remnants of wedding cake and frosting trying desperately to avoid ending up in his mouth. But his name really was Lance and that has to account for something, doesn't it?

Our handsome knight proceeds unrestrained to the dance floor and no sooner than you could say, "destiny," he locks eyes with the fair little maiden M. Rhapsody. And then they embrace. And they dance and dance and dance... And it's as if the knight and the fair little maiden are the only ones who even exist in the entire world.... Until in a Shakespearean-esque twist, there is suddenly another enchanted moment between little Sir Lancelot and who else but another fair little maiden...Orion.... Oops... And so begins the centuries old love triangle.... But as a courtesy to Little Sir Lancelot, I would like to recommend that he not mess with the Musial sisters... they are part Mexican and part Puerto Rican and they will cut you.



As I am watching this from a safe distance, ("safe distance" in this case being close enough to not miss anything but far enough to not interrupt anything.) I can see it all going down as though I'm watching a movie without sound.... and then (from stage left) I see the maidens' father walking toward the trio with an expression that looks as if he's got some plans for the little knight's sword and they don't include cutting the wedding cake....

And if you had been lucky enough to have been privy to the conversation that ensued, you would have heard the following....

Protective Father (of both maidens): (slightly annoyed) Hey Boy, I saw you dancing with my daughters out there.

Sir Lancelot: (also slightly annoyed but for entirely different reasons) Yep.

Protective Father: Are you asking for trouble?

Sir Lancelot: Nope.

Protective Father: How did you get here?

Sir Lancelot: My bike.

Protective Father: Do you have a life plan?

Sir Lancelot: What's that?

Protective Father: What are your plans for the future?

Sir Lancelot: I wanna drive monster trucks.

Protective Father: Really. Does that come with a 401k?

Sir Lancelot: I dunno.

Protective Father: You tell your dad I'm watching you. And I'm watching you HARD.

Sir Lancelot: Ummm..... Ok, I will.


And as quickly as he had come, Lance was gone again.... on his trusty steed... wind in his hair and determination on his face.... In search of a life plan perhaps... or possibly just a nice big glass of milk to wash down the wedding cake....

And there on the dance floor stood two sad little maidens and one protective father with the beginning of an ulcer and a strong desire to start cleaning his shotgun.

This is just bitchin'.

And by "bitchin'," I mean complaining.... not awesome or rad or wicked or any of the other outdated things that people say that mean, "good." And yikes. You know you're in for an awful blog post when the title is a play on words that L-A-M-E.... so consider that a warning.

A long time ago someone once said to me, "Tava, your down-in-the-dumps, depressed times are the majority of people's best-day-ever moments." Now either that was a compliment or he really thought I was maniacal, which now that I think about it, makes a. lot. of. sense. But he did have a really nice car. Or something. Suffice it to say, if he could see me now... Well, I guess you could say that I'm "down-in-the-dumps". I tell you this not to get your pity, but more I suppose to explain why I haven't been posting lately. You see, my reflections as of late, are pretty much downers and I don't wanna bring ya'll down with me. See, "ya'll down with me"? Who says that? You know who doesn't say that? Me. At least when I'm myself.

Now onto why I am not myself.

First and foremost, I blame the JC Penney "Fitting" Room, which should really be called the "You've GOT to be KIDDING" room. Speaking of reflections, if that was mine in their mirror.... Do they WANT you to buy their stuff? Could they have worse lighting? More unflattering mirrors? Grosser floors? Ok, the floors really don't matter that much when it comes to buying, but really? They may as well send a mean little person in to not only point out your flaws to you, but circle them in marker on the mirror, the way a football announcer does over a football play. Luckily, I brought my own two little people to do that.

Secondly, I said "good-bye," to both my inspiration and my naturally curly hair sometime in late February and I must say that the absence of both really stings. Although I've said, "good-bye," to that particular inspiration in the past, it was the first time I said it to my curls. Now this is important. If you have a long surgery or are under anesthesia for a considerable amount of time, (in my case, 12 hours) it will CHANGE YOUR HAIR. Mine was curly. Perpetually 80s admittedly. But never once did I complain about it, try to permanently straighten it or even wish it was straight. Anyway, it's gone. And I will one day accept the fact that when people see Orion's curly hair, they ask me who she got the curls from. (sniff)

Finally, I have lost myself somewhere in motherhood. Now, I suspect just by this statement alone if said in person, I would hear a collective, "Amen Sista." from moms around the country and the world who, without my going any further, know exactly what I'm talking about and feel the same. Can I get a witness? (Note: I attended a gospel church for years, so if I'm losing any reader on these statements, I apologize.) I think that generally speaking, I do a pretty good job maintaining Tava as her own person, but really? There are only so many Dora and princess coloring book pages I can color, leftovers from kids' meals I can eat, only so many brightly colored books under 15 pages I can read, only so many trips to the potty I can make with two little ones, only so many cartoons, computer animations and obnoxious kids' show hosts trying their best to teach lessons and instill manners (God bless 'em), and only so many mysteriously sticky messes I can handle before I am unrecognizable... to even myself. Whew. Felt good to get that out.

I know these things seem trivial. They are. They are not however really what has me down-in-the-dumps. Maybe I'll get to that later. But I have been a single parent now for about 2 months and I guess I'm getting a little... hmmm... let's call it, "punchy," shall we? In the near future, I will be going out by myself to find some adult conversation, some spicy food served on breakable dishes and I will then treat myself to some time to catch up on some Leah posts and maybe a book.... with lots of pages. And no pictures. And sprinkled with multi-syllabic words. And I will wear shoes that are in no way sensible. And a white shirt. And I will not bring wet wipes. See, I'm feeling better already.......