she dreamed the same dream night after night~We are an orchestra of one, we are a majesty unveiling, we are newly born lovers, christening one another with mouths and hands and seeking tongues. We are everything and nothing~ Night is falling. night is falling. and I am drowning. in your arms. I am safe again. I am safe again. You surface me, and cling to me, night is falling and I am in my place again. above you, beneath you, wherever it pleases you so... oh my love, I am home again. My heart has been reborn again. the night is falling. and so am I . Falling for you ( into you, above you, through you). night is falling. night is falling. and so am i. so am i. always for you. for you.

blustarswendy3

~random vintage wendchymes~

prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08

2002-02-27 - 12:14 p.m.

Every summer of my life, from the time I was six, I spent in Florida, living with my Grandparents. We were The three musketeers. It was a parallel universe of sorts for me, because it enabled me to live my life as if I was an only, cherished child.( instead of the hard working responsible dutiful eldest child of 8) In that beautiful handful of hazy weeks, I would glisten like a tiny spoiled star. My every action, deemed brilliant, my every comment carefully listened to, my whims indulged, my childlike desires filled at the wave of a credit card. I wanted roller skates. Presto. White roller skates with shiny red wheels magically appeared. and to the park, I was driven, with a gleaming new purple helmet and extra cushiony knee pads, and off I went. and down I fell. and up I went again. and down I fell, again and always they just picked me back up and sent me on my way. and ice cream cones were the staple of my childhood xanadu with my grandparents. This to me, was the best part of it all, because you see... My mother had a strict household budget. She resorted to becoming the reigning coupon queen of the universe. She knew which store had double coupon specials and which one had monthly triple coupon Madness ! She carried around her coupons in a crinkly white envelope, and the coupons were always stuffed in there, helter skelter, and alot of times, she tore raggedy edged coupons from the pages of the in store flyer,right there as she stood in line. Somehow, I found this sooo degrading. I dreamed of a mother, who was completely and utterly organized, the kind that neatly clipped her coupons and filed them according to the grocery aisles or items, or alphebetically. anything would have been better than my mother's system, of * no system what the fuck ever.* It never occured to me, that she did not have any time to organize them, I just assumed it was some kind of neglectful lazy oversight on her part, and felt genetically ashamed that a) she could not seem to keep her coupons organized and b) that we were the kind of family that needed to use coupons.

My grandparents had little use for coupons. They took me out to eat all the time, and noone batted an eye lash when I ordered a soda. On the other hand my mother did not allow us to have a beverage when we ate out, because it would just " run up the bill" and was a total waste. To my child's mind, I was always wondering if we were truly poor and seriously living beyond our means, or even worse, my parents were cruel and cheap and did not want to waste their money on us loser kids, because they were hoarding it all for themselves.

Well, the truth is, the answer lay somewhere in the middle.Middle class.( don't you hate that term?) Of course we were not poor, and also, it is quite apparent that my parents were never conspiring against us, to keep us, from greedily eating into there non existent trust funds.

and I feel a pang of guilt that I ever thought these things. I am sorry that I was embarrassed sometimes, by my mother going down the shopping aisles, with her unruly children running in ADHD cirlces all over the place, while she tried so hard to play house. I have this image of her, standing by the cereals, checking her coupons against the lined up brand names, searching militantly for the one she needs. And she is wearing bell bottom cotton stretch pants, and a loose maternity leftover blouse, because we kids have stretched her once supple lean body out of shape, and developing baby after baby has kicked her repeatedly from the inside, and decorated her with pink, atlas shaped, winding stretch marks as her prize for pushing us kicking and screaming, headfirst into this world, and bone wearied her, and given her endless sleepless nights, and her long black hair, once so shiny and luxurious that it was what first attracted our father to her, is pulled up in a haphazard hanging pony tail , where the frizzy ends look like medusa's snake's have been fighting with one another and then just surrendered into a defeated tangle. and it is 1979 and she is 31 years old. and as I write this, it stuns me, that I am the same age as my mother was, in this exact moment of suspended in frozen animation wendy-memory.

Eventually, she finds the sugary pops box she was looking for, and pushes the brimming with food, shopping cart down the other aisles. She tries to gather up her wild hyena children, and since I was always the mature responsible one, I am her helper. Her once pristine coupon envelope falls to the floor, and the coupons scatter everywhere, and she has to pick them up and re sort through the ones she needs, and she can feel the stares of the smug patrons staring at her, because her kids are running around, but she has long since given up trying to control them . I help her unload the cart. and all the items are rung up in that painstakingly slow old fashioned way, of actually ringing up every single god damn item, and then she gives the cashier her hotly held very wrinkly crinkly dog eared coupons, and the minimum wage check out person/moron, has to go through them all, one by one. and occasionlly an expired one is discovered and exposed. and then there is this horrible moment where the object in question must now be located because if it is not an absolute necessity, then we are *not* going to get it. and my face stings red with shame and embarrassment, and I wonder why my mother, who grew up in a somewhat privliged home, does not feel the stigma of this shame. I burn with it. I look down,fixating on the ground that refuses to open up and swallow me, I just want to leave, so I help load the heavy ( starting to rip already)brown satchels of the winning coupon items into the cart and try to gather the hyper wild kids and chase them like a psychotic swooping mother goose, out of the store and into the parking lot, and then into the back seat of the car, where they jump in like feral hissing cats, and become a mass of whirling arms and legs, and high pitched laughter which always is followed by murderous screaming and crying and accusations flying about who did what to whom , and then stone faced O.J. Simpson like denials, from the accused party, as mommy and I finish loading up the trunk and drive home making empty threats of no little debbie treats for whomever cracked little brett on the head. Home, where mommy play's house. and daddy arrives, crisply at 6 and us running like jack rabbits , flinging ourselves into his giant daddy arms.

and these are the best days. these are my family ways. yet, my childhood stands divided into 2 catagories. The mature responsible, helpful hard working, eager to please, wanting only to make my mother's life easier, girl that I was when I was with my parents and all my siblings. and the spoiled indulged girl, I became, when I was with my grandparents, eating double scoops of ice cream and gleefully ordering soda's. Sometimes, I felt guilty, not because I thought my siblings were missing out, they were to young and wild, I did not think they could ever behave well enough to endure copious amounts of time, at my grandparent's pristine museum quality house. Rather, I felt guilty, like I was somehow cheating my mother. because I was picking up where she left off. As if she had traded in the yachting life, for the inflatable raft with too many patches, kind of life. and I always secretly feared that they had somehow tried to replace her with me. and if so, did that mean someday that they were gonna find someone else to replace me? and where did that leave poor mommy. A child never wants to feel like they are replaceable or even worse, just taking the place of someone else. Obviously, neither was true, just another thread of my illogical childhood thoughts.

and now I am that girl all grown up, and I do not have to money worries or a budget and I have never really used a coupon and yet, all I wanna do now, is just god damn play house with someone. anyone? anyone at all???

old starlight - new starbright

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