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Straight From the Bottle

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  • Everytime You Gooooo Away, I Decide I Want to Sleep Through the Niiiiiiight

    Hal and I just got home from a weekend getaway in Joshua Tree. Awesome. Lots of fun. Met Gram Parsons' ghost. Kicked ass at Bocce Ball, even though I lost. Several times. Danced a lot. Passed out in the dust gazing at stars. But only for a couple of minutes. Got back up and kept dancing.

     

    Meanwhile, while the cat's away...

     

    The mouse will sleep. And sleep. Nap. Sleep though the night. Nap plus extra credit.

     

    For the past few months Archer has gotten up every night, crying to get into bed between Hal and me. The thing about a screaming child at 3am is that there is no energy to fight him or even argue. In fact, most of the time I never even remember getting Archer out of his crib. I just wake up with a foot in my nostril.

     

    "Did you get Archer last night?"

     

    "No. Did you?"

     

    "I don't think so..." 

     

     

    Napping

     

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  • The Bittersweet Taste of Freedom

    Before this week, the longest I had ever been away from Archer was two days. So I had no idea what to expect when I went away for five full days. I knew I would miss him but had no idea how much and in what way. Would I have fun? Would I be sad? Would our separation be too much to bear? Was five days too long?

     

    I was shocked at how easy it was to say goodbye. To walk away from my son who smiled at me from the backseat of my mom's car. To wave from the curb and get on an airplane and fly away. It wasn't sad. Or hard. Not even a little bit.

     

    Shadow Dancer

     

    I love my son with all of my heart. It's just that up until now I thought he was my world.

     

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  • On The Eve of My Departure

    Tomorrow I leave for Austin, Texas, to participate in the SXSW festivities and for the first time in five years, I will be traveling alone. My excitement has surpassed even my smallest doubt. My love for my child is foreshadowed by my desperation for some time away. By myself. Some sleeping in. Some bar-hopping, cigarette-smoking, juke-box dancing "me" time. Because I deserve that. I think. (Please don't even try to give me shit about the cigarette thing. I don't smoke around my kid. I'm not a bad mother. Spare me the judgment. Okay thanks.)

     

    This little four-night escape probably doesn't sound like a big deal to some of my jet-set peeps but for me, it's huge. It's bigger than huge. I have been on the verge of something not-so-pretty these last few weeks and need this. Bad.

     

    My bags are packed. Full of shoes. And dresses. And strange hats. And teensy-tinsy clutches with just enough room for a room key and some cash. I got me some light airplane reading. And tons of snacks...

     
    I do realize that this is going to prove somewhat difficult. Five days is by far the longest I have ever been without my baby, but even though I don't get out as much as I should/would like to, I do think it's important to "step away from the vehicle" and have some time away. To reflect and unwind and get wild. (And then come back to earth.)

     

    In fact, I think it's NECESSARY. VERY MUCH SO. YES, I AM AWARE I'M WRITING IN CAPS!!!

     

    I may not be bringing along a hundred pacifiers and stuffed animals, but I will have my 6783 photos of Archer with me. In the locket around my neck. And the face of my cell phone. And the screensaver on my laptop with the following cherubic image:

     

    Bored

     

    No diapers in my carry-on. No Elmo DVDs in my Macbook. This is business, baby. (Okay, and a little bit of pleasure.)

     

    Because that's how I roll... All mommy'd out professional and shit.

     

    *** 

     
    P.S. If you or someone you know is planning on attending SXSW interactive and wants to say wud-up! You can find me here.


    P.P.S. If you are interested in reading my response to the New York Times "Mosh Pit Meets Sandbox" Op-Ed by David Brooks, I have posted it on my personal blog, Girl's Gone Child, after the New York Times passed on it's publication. (So much for sticking it to the man, eh?)


    *** 



in

About the Blogger

rebecca woolf

Rebecca Woolf in LA

Who says becoming a mom means succumbing to laser tattoo removal and moving to the suburbs? This young writer and mother of one gives it to you Straight From the Bottle.

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