New Orleans Honeysuckle: Gramma's Backyard

image courtesy of lakeshorepreserve.wisc.edu

Honeysuckle vines spill over the fence, falling like a fountain, cascades of bright green.
The white flowers in my grandmother's backyard look like tiny, delicate bells

I tenderly bring the clear drop of nectar to my lips, tasting its sweetness

The sweetness of childhood, innocence.

Pumping my legs on Gramma's wooden swing, gripping its thick ropes

Hanging from the old, wise oak tree with branches stretching to the sky

I look up at him in wonder while I swing

Watching my own feet as they propel me higher and higher
My hair swings back to slap my face each time, a quick sting like a bee.

I'm wearing white socks folded down once with my brown sandals

I can see the light brown hair on my legs, the scar on my right knee

From when I fell off my bike the year before.

this was not taken on that day, but you can see my sandals with socks

my beautiful mom, & my younger brother, "Markie"

My mom does headstands on the old blanket in the middle of the yard, making us laugh.

She is thin, beautiful, talented, full of fun and light. Her feet are bare.

I can't stand on my head. But she can do everything.

And her feet are much prettier than mine.

I don't take off my shoes after I swing--

The St. Augustine grass is rough and crunchy and makes my ankles itch.

Now:
Can I make myself new again?

Can I start over, a slate wiped clean?

Innocent like that day in the backyard.

It's time for a swing.

Growing Up vs. Dressing Up, or Why I'd Like to be Five Again

This is me, circa 1981 (5 yrs old), about to go to a friend's dress-up party.

I've always loved this photograph. Ironically, this is how I imagined I'd dress most of the time once I grew up. I couldn't wait to be like my mom and get fancy on Friday and Saturday nights to go out on the town. Earrings, makeup, perfume, pantyhose, high heels---these were the tangible symbols of womanhood I quietly coveted.

The amusing reality now that I have actually grown up is that I spend most days in workout gear, sweatpants, jeans, or jammies. Motherhood is lots of things, but glamorous isn't one of them. I spend too much time feeling badly for not putting more effort into my appearance. Yet it hardly seems worth it when my days are filled with snot, mashed up cookies, spilled juice, dirty little hands and the occasional vomitus. I can't play Duck, Duck, Goose in a dress, or even in a nice pair of slacks. Get Play Doh or watercolors on my nice Banana Republic blouse? No thank you! Comfortable and casual clothing is key.

Motherhood isn't glamorous. It's the hardest job I've ever had. I keep waiting for it to get easier, but the joke is on me---because it never will.

Life would be much simpler if I could rewind to the dress-up days. I'd put on Mom's party dress, heels and jewelry, prance around for a bit, and then take it all off, leaving it in a puddle on the floor, a dream for another day.

Best friends and braids; women's hair & femininity

When I was a little girl growing up in Houma, Louisiana, I had a best friend named Elizabeth. I loved her and our moms were close friends, so we spent a lot of time together. One thing I always loved and admired about Elizabeth was the two long braids she always wore in her hair. I coveted those long locks, as my own mother didn't like to let my hair get too long (understandably, since she was mostly the one dealing with it and working out those tangles!). Oh how I yearned to have long, luscious hair, hair long enough for those kinds of braids.


Elizabeth and I lost touch after my family moved to New Orleans when I was eight years old. One would think in the age of Facebook I'd have found her by now, but either she's not on Facebook or she's not interested in being found, or both. I've found and reconnected with scads of people from my past and it's really fun to see what everyone is up to 20-30 years later. Sadly Elizabeth is not one of those people.


Anyway, little Abby's hair is finally long enough to braid a bit. I confess I like the girls' hair shorter for the same reasons my mother did when I was growing up. But after this morning I am thinking about letting it grow out some. She didn't leave them in for long (Abby abhors accessories), but I wish she would have. This is what we came up with:

The pictures were snapped in a hurry as we were eating breakfast and getting ready for school. Izzy's hair isn't yet long enough to braid, unfortunately. Clearly Izzy is the one in the background being goofy!

It's interesting how much of our sense of self & our femininity is tied into our hair. If my hair looks bad in the morning or I can't seem to get it right, it has the potential to ruin my day. I also like my hair longer, but I don't have the patience for it (either to grow it or to deal with it once it's long). Moreover, I'm lazy and tend to put it up in a ponytail...so then I figure if it's in a ponytail every day, is there any point to having & keeping it long? Nor am I creative with it, can't style it or do up-dos to save my life. My hair is also very thick and takes a while to blow dry. So my options are limited. I'm currently trying to force myself to grow it out some, as I tend to feel more feminine & girly when it's longer.

If I was petite with delicate facial bone structure, I'd go for a pixie cut or bob like Halle Berry, Michelle Williams, Katie Holmes, Audrey Tatou:What about you? How has your hair changed over the years? And have your thoughts/feelings about it changed? If you could have any hairstyle, what would it be?