Project: Life Change. Really, I'm good.

Finally, it was a good, good day. An empowering day, a day of weights lifted. I feel my life spreading wings and spanning out across time and space and many years, rather than being closed tightly around several months of great pain and deep heartache, rather than the self-protection and vulnerability of the moments that have just passed.

There will be more grieving, I am sure. Now, I am going to revel in this lightness and grace a little bit. I am going to laugh louder today when it strikes me, not rush through bedtime songs and stories and question after preschool question. I am going to look at myself in the mirror to see if the twinkle is back in my eyes.

It's not that I want to stare at myself or ignore the logistics of my life, of our lives. It's just that I'm into reflections right now.

I want to see if how I feel today is showing. In these six or seven long and turbulent weeks, everything I've been feeling has been falling off me in pounds and in hours of sleep and in too many tears.

But not today. Today it is -- and the only words that I can think of come from Maya Angelou --

It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.*

That feeling isn't just something. It's everything. At least for today.

*Thanks, CityMama, for your sageness in keeping me centered on these lines.

[photo credit: Jessica Ashley] 
 

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We interrupt this Thursday for two bits of Onion goodness

Before we all get all weepy over Grey's tonight (what will happen with Izzy and George after all???), I thought it would be good to get a nice, hearty laugh in courtesy The Onion.

If you, head-shakingly like me, have actually had a crush on a smarty fancy pants guy who turned out to be far from the Venti Coffee of the Day with 18 sugars you hoped he'd be:

Fancy Man Enjoys Tea

YOUNGSTOWN, OH—"I normally have some Earl Grey in the morning," said Baumer, referring to the tea named after a guy who ran around England in a wig and fruity tights.

If you, pathetically like me, have actually heard the words "you should never get so thin that you lose your tits" come out of a man/hook-up/boyfriend/husband/frat dick's mouth, read on:

Women Have To Stop Starving Themselves Past The Point Of Hotness

Avoiding eating in order to improve your appearance is part of being a woman, and it's natural for a woman to devote all of her time to achieving...

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Oh hell naw: Minivan love in bloom

Through one of the blogs I write for, I was approached to test drive a brand spankin' new car for a week. Sure, it's a minivan, which I ardently resist in my quest to be just a tad bit hipper or sassier or something than they convey in my over-analysis and my prideful aesthetics that easily conquer mommy pragmatism. But when they surveyed me thoroughly on my work, opinions and weekly activities and then swiftly approving all that, invited me to roll a fully-loaded 2008 Dodge Caravan during a week I'm displaced from my home and normal routine, I was actually excited. They had me at "We think you are one of just 50 socially and professionally influential women in Chicago." My next and clearly logical thought was about my shoes.

The cherry red wonder was dropped off this morning by two very polite young men who thoroughly explained every feature -- from the tailgate camera to the satellite radio to the two DVD players with wireless headphones to the remote start and swivel seats...the list goes so far that I kept saying "sweet!" like I am a 14-year old at her first Dave Matthews show at Soldier Field. This bad grrrl is amazing.

But my fear? My fear is that I will love it too much, get too used to voice-activated Justin Timberlake while my son's car sickness is usurped by Big Machines playing down the Kennedy. Or that I will redefine my MILFness (stop laughing) to include dual sliding doors to my mobile palace (kidding, kidding).

Perhaps the sweetest part of all is that Lil E and I have this ride for a whole week, that I'm not dependent on Bruce or my parents for a car or a lift, and that the only person I need to help me get us where we want to go is the nice lady with the smoky, calm voice who lives inside the GPS.  I think we're all going to get along just fine over the next seven days, even if she presumes I'm all about soccer practice, vacuum sealing and sensible shoes.

Now, how would this minivan go with my pink snakeskin boots? Or might I need to invest in a more appropriate pair?

Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog.

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