Author: Jenny

Like a magpie, I've always been drawn to things that have sparkle, from rhinestone-embellished housewares to gold lamé get-ups in second-hand stores or beetles whose metallic armors reflect in the sun. But in my interactions with the world, oh, how I can fixate on the not-sparkly stuff: ill-timed traffic lights, a web page that won't load, the impolite server. Post-pandemic, I took to saying, "Everything's broken, and nothing works." It's not good for the soul, and as a lifelong writer, I've noticed it's also not good for creativity. This blog is about redirecting my attention to what's good in the world -- seeking and finding joy in the same way I notice sparkly objects around me -- and writing about it. There is an old nursery rhyme about magpies, "One for Sorrow," which tells us a solitary magpie symbolizes sorrow, but two magpies symbolize joy. This blog is about looking harder for the good stuff. Here's to finding those second magpies.
humor

Celebrity Cribs: The Momplex Estate (from the Momplex Blog archives)

Jenny7 Comments

Today on Celebrity Cribs, we’ll be visiting the eclectic Momplex Estate for an insider’s peek at how stay-at-home moms really live it up. Momplex Mom tells us how she achieved her unique look in just one year. “I used to call it the ‘Hell, No, You Can’t Just Drop By’ look,” she says. “But you know, it’s sort of Jackson Pollack meets Linda Blair meets Sanford and Son, and it really says something about who I am — and my craft. People often ask me how I achieve this level of complexity in design, and I always say, ‘Well, I sort of just let life take a big dump in my den, you know? It ain’t no design. It’s livin’.”

sons · Uncategorized

Piss and Cheerios (from the Momplex Blog archives)

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He pissed in my cereal bowl a few weeks ago, brought it to me with a smile. Diabolical, was it? He slapped me because I wouldn’t let him drive the car. He hit my 6-year-old daughter and screamed in her face, spit on my hand, and kicked over all the freshly laundered, freshly folded clothes I’d stacked in the living room.

I remember when my daughter was this age, noticing parallels between our relationship and an abusive spousal one. She could be so violent, so mean. I could be so forgiving, so ready to take her back. She stepped on my feelings. I kissed her on her eyelids at bedtime and told her I loved her anyway. She pulled my hair in anger. I stroked hers as she slept. I sometimes secretly hated her, but not really. I couldn’t wait for her to take me back. I couldn’t wait to take her back.

My 2-year-old son pissed in my cereal bowl. (He’s potty training and thought it was a potty cup.) He slapped me because I wouldn’t let him drive the car. (Driving’s his favorite pretend-play game, and he’s learning self-control.) He hit my 6-year-old daughter and screamed in her face. (She was draping herself on his most prized posesssion, me.) He spit in my hand. (That’s what he does when he’s eaten something he knows he shouldn’t.) He kicked over all the freshly laundered, freshly folded clothes I’d stacked in the living room. (He can be a jerk.) Yup, that’s my son — my 2-year-old son. And I love him to pieces.

kindergarten

Have We Met? (from the Momplex Blog archives)

Jenny2 Comments

(A little something to mark the end of summer, originally posted September 2009)

See me.
That’s all I ask.
I know I’m the same size
As the girl to the left
And the boy to the right.
I know there are rows of pigtails,
Just like mine.
Nothing special about freckles.
Nothing new about inside-out clothes.
I know I look like them all.

You look like them all, too,
With your head way up there
And your hip way down here,
Spotty hands pushing up glasses,
And your pretty shoes I wish I could wear.
I’ve seen wrinkles like yours before.
Nothing new about what you’re saying to me either,
Or the way you’re saying it.
Have we met?
I didn’t think so.

You’re not my first, you know.
Not the first to try to chat me up,
Not the first to make me stiffen under your long, strange arm,
Not the first to raise an octave when you bend at the waist,
Not the first to think my size sums me up.
It’s highly suspect.
I’m not Everykid.

You’ve been smiling at baby teeth for many years;
I’ve had mine for only five.
Sorry if I don’t smile back pretty for you.
And if I don’t say hello very loudly.
And if I don’t blurt out something cute.
And if I don’t clamber to get close to you.
But I don’t think we’ve met yet, not really.

Just so you know,
I’m not the shy kid.
I’m not the quiet kid.
I’m not the nervous kid.
I’m not the lonely kid.
I’m not the sad kid.
I’m not the cuddly kid.
I’m not the sappy kid.
I’m not the bad kid.
But I could be, here and there.

I am the adventurous kid,
The untrusting kid,
The moody kid,
The broody kid,
The silly kid,
The monkey-bars kid,
The conversationalist,
The thinker,
The runner,
The wisher,
The climber,
The desperate-to-be-liked hold-back cryer,
The kid who hates being instructed,
The kid who loves to learn,
The kid who can spin a great yarn.

Here’s a little secret:
I always save the best for last.
Broccoli precedes pork chops precedes mashed potatoes,
Socks precede underwear precede twirly dress.
I like to end on a good note, with a nice taste in my mouth.
And I don’t know where to put you in the order of things yet.
Please don’t decide yet where to put me either.
That quiet voice and tentative smile you got today?
Not me.
Not really.
Not for long.
THIS is me:


First Day of Kindergarten

Copyright 2009 JLF and the Momplex Blog.