About eight years ago, some friends of mine and I got tickets to "The Vagina Monologues". As the date of the show was fast approaching, I started to panic that I didn't have anything remotely adequate enough for making my debut at a performance about...well...the infamous nether-regions. We weren't loaded with cash at the time, so I borrowed an outfit from a friend. It was kind of boring, actually- a lemon colored suede skirt and black jacket. I was afraid of appearing more like a bumble-bee than a hip mama, so I ran to the thrift store and trolled for some funky footwear- I mean if the top half of me had to be ho-hum, maybe I could deck my tootsies with something a bit more exciting. And lo and behold, I found these boots-barely worn, moderate heal, covered totally in a silk-like "Pucci-Style" fabric. I immediately knew those were the ones- those were gonna be my "vagina boots". Relieved, I paid $3.99, and on the big night, I squeezed into those delightful things, feeling like a million bucks. They were a size too small, but I continued to wear them anytime I needed a boost. Somehow, along the way, though, my superhero toe-tents got lost, never to return or be replaced.

Fast forward to present time, last Friday to be exact, and I found myself longing for some foot power. I was headed out on the town, with a few friends, and being that I've got a little more girth these days, and I don't really have much of a night-life, I knew those vagina boots would be just the trick...if only....so I found a substitute in a hot little tank-top, a slinky turquoise number, and after flinging about four thousand sets of pants/jackets around my bedroom, and polling my husband and children for their votes, I settled on my first choice and strolled into the evening, marginally confident.

We all feel a little down on ourselves from time to time- maybe we've aged a bit faster than expected, or there's the distinct presence of what appears to be an innertube where our waist used to be. I like to think that there's power to be found in the right accessory- something that, even for a minute, will make you forget that you didn't turn out as perfect as you imagined you'd be when you were nine and the world lay ahead of you. I believe that there is always something you can gift yourself, something to give you an edge over that nasty little head-voice (the one that tells you your pants make you look fat and the magic girdle underwear you squeezed into isn't really giving you a flat belly- just a smoother lump).

So here's to the power of my vagina boots- wherever they be right now.

I've been saving love songs and lullabies
And there's so much more
No one's ever heard before
Something's telling me it might be you
Yeah, it's telling me it must be you and
I'm feeling it'll just be you
All of my life


1am: awakened by the warmth of a seven year-old, monopolizing three quarters of my very small Queen Size mattress.

3am: awakened again by the same seven year-old, as I'm getting closer and closer to having my head make intimate contact with the hard wood floor.

6am: still awake, now ready to catapult said offspring out the window but I'm too out of shape to lift him. wondering exactly how I'll make it through the day and cursing my husband who's having a "boys weekend" with my nine year-old, at my behest (apparently I was smoking some hallucinogenics at the time)

10am: shuttling three of my four kids to Eat N- Park for breakfast, a surprisingly pleasant experience, despite my two year-old's obsession with people in other booths. Benjamin, the aforementioned bed thief, was shockingly calm, and demonstrated amazing abilities to color within the lines on his menu, giving me a sense of peace that he might have a chance at a real career if his NFL aspirations should prove less than successful.

12pm: channeling my dramatic side (the one prone to hysterics), trying to scrub floors, clean sinks, wipe counters, vacuum and mop, in preparation for the 1 o'clock "open house", all the while watching as my children chase the puppy around our cul-de-sac in the pouring rain. And, oh, what the heck does one do with a dog and children, for four hours, when they must be out of the home, in a torrential downpour and frigid temps?

3pm: wondering at what point life could get funnier (or more cruel), as my four children and I are forced to separate in the theater, for the afternoon showing of "Diary of a Wimpy Kid", leaving me, the two year-old and the bed robber in one row, and the older/more civilized 9 and 12 year-olds in another. The audience, though encompassed by mostly the under 4 foot crowd, was unfortunately intent on seeing this film, and weren't so noisy as to cover-up the screams of my less than mindful toddler, who bullied his entire family into giving up most of our popcorn, soda, and candy, hoping to stuff him into silence.

4ish: Seth has circled about 350 times, from his seat, around to the front by the screen, and back, all the while filling his diaper with the foulest, most toxic waste ever, hollering "hi mommy!!!" and "where my dink (drink)" over and over again. I am now feeling dizzy and trying to remember to breathe (and I'm still cursing my husband).

5:30: driving around the outskirts of Pittsburgh, laughing 'til I'm crying with my children and husband, wishing that these moments weren't so fleeting and the hysteria I felt earlier was not a part of my current reality.

9pm: relaxing together in our freshly cleaned family room, massaging Bob-the dog (in an effort to keep him from eating one of my offspring), trying to read my e-mail for the first time in four days, attempting to share the hilarity of "Tootsie" (that fabulous "oldie" with Dustin Hoffman and Bill Murray) with my only slightly interested children.

My emotions have run the gamut today, and in some ways I hate that- I want to believe that I can handle any amount of stress or transition or misbehavior that life throws my way...but I'm more human than that...more wimpy.

I think, that for a lot of us, God has been portrayed as a Zeus sort of figure- up on this pedestal in the sky, a million miles above earth, with his thunderbolt in one hand, and a finger pointing at us from the other- bellowing "tsk tsk tsk" at our lives. And if we buy this image, of the father standing in fierce judgement of his children, then we don't get to experience his grace. We are waiting to be something we aren't...a better version of ourselves...without the cursing and the breakdowns and the doubts and the humanness, before we stand before God and receive what he has to offer. I wonder, though, if we were created in the image of God, then maybe his love comes to us in a more recognizable form.

I sat with a group of women, this morning, over coffee, and felt an amazing shower of healing washing over me- this unconditional acceptance of the Judy that was before them: me and my self-deprecating humor, flawed figure, just-got-out-of-bed face...you know the girl I'm talking about. And this is where God meets me- two inches from my face, with the grit and the grime and the "come as you are arms" held out before me- And he says, through the support and encouragement and loving eyes of these amazing friends- "you are my child and I knew you before you were born and you are good...With you I am well pleased."

I believe that we are vessels of our creator and that through our imperfection we are perfectly able to bring love to those who need it most, who sit before us, in the most mundane of ways.

Today I am grateful for the women in my life who cheer me on as I trod paths filled with stones and roots and weeds. I am grateful for the souls who take for granted the way they bring me into their presence and sustain my spirit with laughter and offer me the chance to forgive myself for every minute that I am less than what I could be.

From the depths of my "purse"- I love you all.

I grew up a pretty gutsy girl, the only child of pretty ordinary parents (though my mother's migration from the Western slopes of Colorado to Washington, D.C., in her twenties, to become a secretary for the Federal Government, certainly qualifies her for the "bold broad" award- though she forgets this most of the time)- the boat never rocked much during my formative years...Yet my spirt always seemed to be reaching higher and today I am whispering softly to that girl who lives inside me, who had bigger ideas than she knew what to do with and a drive for creativity that made her soar. I am asking her to remind me of that gusto, of how I had it in me to face unbelievable challenges to achieve better. Our family is making some difficult choices right now, taking amazing strides to find joy on different paths than we have taken before.

Today I am thankful to my God who hears my doubts and answers with encouragement from surprising sources. I am grateful to my husband and children, who are all incredible dream seekers. They are giving me the courage I need to follow them, even when I keep planting my feet in this soil and refusing to move.

We are closer than ever to picking those daisies, folks. And I'm starting to smile imagining how they'll look in my hands, while I'm staring down at my barefeet, skipping stones in brooks and eating ice cream on carousels.

Bob is our six month old great dane mix puppy. He is our happy ending to losing Lola. He is a rambunctious adolescent, whose heart is alive with love but who makes me wring my hands together at least once a day....He was rescued from a junkyard in Tennessee and came to live with us in mid-January, about a week before the avalanche of snow hit Pittsburgh and forced all humans, canines, and felines in the Sombar abode to go into involuntary hibernation. Bob has not replaced the spirit of his predecessor-especially for my two year-old who utters her name, like a mantra, once an hour or so. But we are happy to have him here, giving us doggie kisses and prancing, much like a rabbit, through the yard, chasing sticks and pieces of mulch, or his tail. He loves the kids, whom he waits for everyday afterschool, in the livingroom, bounding like a horse in mid-air, to tackle them at the door. He has become rather chagrined with Seth, however, due to his confusing habit of licking and biting Bob- a somewhat mysterious reversal of behaviors. He will begin his obedience class next Saturday, appropriately called "Teen Intervention"- I'll be bringing Lily along in case there are philosophies discussed which might apply to her too. :)