Archives for May 2016
Just in time for summer, Wetsuit Wearhouse, the largest wetsuit specialty shop in the world, is giving away this Roxy Syncro wetsuit in your size to one lucky Tale of a Mermaid reader! Isn’t that awesome? I love the colors! This suit is perfect for all summer water activities from surfing to stand-up-paddling to snorkeling, diving, kayaking, swimming and lake sports like wake surfing and water skiing. Wetsuit Wearhouse has the best collection of Roxy Wetsuits which are made of 100% stretch FN Lite neoprene and bio fleece thermal linings.
Check out Wetsuit Wearhouse for all of your surf, wake, ski, scuba, and triathlon wetsuit needs and enter to win this suit pictured!
*sorry, US Addresses only…. Good luck!
I have been feeling so productive and enthusiastic while going though every drawer and cupboard and closet we have (which is not that many, honestly). I want to write that it was like all this anxiety was tangled in my mind since Sprout’s birth and Maddie’s diagnosis, and every piece of clothing and rug and tupperware container I gave away helped untangle it and set it free. But I’m not sure that’s 100% true. Some of it is still there.
Sprout has an ear infection. She’s not been herself for what seems like weeks and sometimes I start worrying again that she’ll grow up to despise me and that I’m really no good at this motherhood thing.
This morning I took her to swim class and later when I was on the phone making a follow up appointment with the pediatrician’s office, the RN said, “Well you didn’t dunk her under water did you? and I said, “A bunch.”
But in the evening there was a podcast about a mom who lives on a storybook farm and cusses more than me. There was a trafficless drive and an end parking space. There was a whistling man vacuuming waiting room carpets, a receptionist named Ruby with lipstick that matched her name and a good doctor who said Sprout’s ears looked like they were never infected at all.
Sometimes my mind seems to be muttering ‘you can heal yourself’ over and over. So I skate my mini-ramp and give away shirts that will look better on someone else. I don’t hold as tightly to things anymore.
All the cards I got for my birthday and Mother’s Day said nice things like how much I’ve grown as a person this year. I try to hang on to those thoughts when the other part of my mind seems to be muttering ‘you suck.‘ 🙂
+Thoughts like ‘making a home is about slow growth’ from this book by Erin Boyle.
+Wooden Whale Toy (Sprout has been taking apart that shelf on the daily, so I re-did it with pretty things we like to look at that are fine for her to play with).
It’s much more of an accomplishment when I make it out in the lineup now.
Mom ma ma ma Mamma Maaa A A
Are the first words that sneak past tangled hair.
And I bring her into a room that’s still dark
For warm milk
and the latest political news.
She’s so warm, it seems like she could melt us.
And so rough, too.
She brushes my teeth and hair with her nails.
I put on my wetsuit over sticky skin and get her situated with the rest of the banana
and Nonnie and Poppy.
I don’t even check the surf forecast anymore,
I just go when I can.
I sing rhymes about ponies
and swim into the wild, gathered in it’s arms;
Knowing that it wants me to give it my fears freely.
They’re in my wrists and shoulders and eyes as I touch water that knew fear before I did because someone else was here first.
And there’s still fog sleeping on the beach.
The wind woke up first,
on the other side of the mountains,
to other voices.
The wind is the boss of the water now.
It pushes it onto the bottom of my feet as I paddle over waves less free than me.
I’m smiling the smile I’ve always had.
I try to ollie out of a wave that I’ve surfed well and I want to think that:
Here I am, putting in work.
Getting better at surfing,
for swimsuit season,
and other waves.
But this isn’t work.
The water comes towards me like a tongue trying to swallow my fear
as I sit just inside of Kirk and Robb and some other guy who keeps asking me what time it is.
I turn quickly,
making no sound.
Then I paddle knowing I’m going to make the water mine for a minute.
I’m carving and I’m gliding and salt is dripping down my brows.
Seaweed is hiding in my hair.
And maybe bravery.
I’m celebrating the wave,
by singing about ponies.
Then it takes a big breath as it reaches the shore and swallows me up.
And I think: I will never die of thirst.
Do other people out here look at my long hair?
At the stickers on my board?
Or my bright colored wetsuit?
At my face?
Do they expect more?
I don’t care, because I’m busy loving wild things.
And I think the same thing about the ocean every time:
It’s so loud and it’s so quiet.