Thoughts Of Mothers Day

This is my first official portrait taken with my two children.  Why did I wait so long?! Last Saturday we lucked out with a beautiful afternoon and spent our time together in the competent and amazingly talented hands of  Terry Lee Cafferty. Terry Lee was offering a Mothers Day promotion at her new studio and I knew right away I wanted to participate. I’m still only ten years new at this mommy thing and who are these two look-alike children with their beautiful faces on top of mine?  I’m so happy we did this!

As Mothers Day approaches I think of my own Mother- a woman who has dedicated every cell in her body to making sure I am alive and well in the world and that nothing harms a hair follicle on my precious head.  I realize that the witchery of motherhood  comes as some instant hex when we deliver our tight fisted babe from the universal womb. Our instincts forever heightened and downright primal as we need simply tilt our heads in a certain angle in order to sniff the air- the scent of our baby inextricably glued into our every pore for ad infinitum.  I get it now-  no one could have ever explained how birthing another forever changes you.

My Mother- The woman who somehow just “knows” when something is not quite right  -the invisible thread.  Was it a message sent to her by way of  the wind? A tug in the umbilical aura? A shift in cosmic energy? How does she doooo that? Oh, yes… this is me now… I too can summon hurricane force winds and lift John Deer Tractors if given by threat to my children.  YES,  HEAR ME ROAR.

This beautiful creature – my mother, as time wraps it’s wisdom in a shawl of crinkled lines around her sparkling eyes
she looks at her children… her grandchildren
growing even more beautiful with age.

This being who brought me in, knew long before I ever would what it really takes to birth another, raise another, love another, bury another, honor another… what it takes to keep the memories of past faces and places like heart shaped moments on the tin of a freshly baked cookie sheet…  smell the goodness.

“Mom- i’m home!”

home again home again jigged de jig….

She was always there….

bigger than life …even when she wasn’t…

…  her face and voice the echo and compass inside the heart she grew, inside a heart that knew inside a heart of another, mother… hers.

Her love-  combined with the waterfall of (other) mothers…. never ending – it’s force coming down to cleanse and rebirth even the most prodigal child…

never did she lose faith or hope.

never did she stop giving.



and so…it’s mothers day, and I will follow her lead – with every cell in my body which inherently knows the true depth and power of  this love. This awesome mom- me power so pure and this connection so strong that yes, one gentle breeze might simply touch my cheek and I will know, oh I will know that moment before I know- because that is the power of mom, and somehow in this cosmos come hell or high water I will lean in with every fiber of my being to kow that my babies are alright and if that’s so – then:  ALL is right with the world….  YES. All is right with the world.

Happy Mothers Day.


Raised By A Trucker

Lately I just have writers block.

I hate when that happens.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.


and I hate it.

Today Me and Mr. Goodbar are taking the kids and my Mom to see The Blue Man Group in boston for my Mothers birthday.  It’ll be tough because my mom (bless her heart) is 71 and has to pee like every 10 minutes.  I don’t even know why I tell you her age because she’s been doing that since I was like seven.  It’s SO ANNOYING.  She looks at me kind of like a kid would and says…. “uh, oh- I have to find a “JOHN” and I retort “MOM! Were you raised by TRUCKERS!!!? A JOHN????” and she giggles (which makes her have to pee more) and then I have to find her a LADIES ROOM somewhere. anywhere.

Needless to say we are going to the City of Boston where it’s NOT like there is a JOHN on every corner (hmmm upon reflection that’s probably not accurate). at all.

So really…I have three children today.   I don’t really know why I have writers block.  I have plenty of writing material with my mother around.  The photo below?  She loves to drive with a toothpick hanging out her her mouth.   Pretty much I’ve been mortified since the day I was born, and she could really care less.

My Mother: The Trucker