I’ll be the first to say I am not the same person I was two years ago. Super-annoying new (and not so new) parents love to say that everything changes when you have a baby, smirking at you, earnestly, condescendingly gazing with their tired, yet benevolent, and apparently suddenly all-knowing eyes. ”Oh, EVERYTHING changes. Just [...]
The Team
tia
Tia is a mommy, hairstylist, freelance writer, and blogger. She believes in eyeliner as a defense mechanism, equal rights, and Marc Jacobs. Her favorite things include story time, RPattz, and the overzealous use of parentheses. She lives with her husband and daughter in California.
Recent blog posts written by tia
The end circa 2004.
If it stays here it lives here it ends here before it really started. White hot until we caught fire. Everyone knows it’s better to burn out than fade away. A scratch in the vinyl your empty words skip. skip. skip. My traitor heartbeats echo the absence skip. skip. skip. The [...]
The view from the opposite coast.
This week I was reminded how easily you can be removed from actual reality. This week I remembered how different life can be just 3000 miles away. 300 miles. 30 miles. Next door. Desensitized over the years due to the non-stop information vomiting of the internet, life and death discussed as casually between countries as [...]
Work in perpetual progress.
I spend a lot of time getting ready to live my life. (And no, before you jump to conclusions, this isn’t a post about the hours it takes to do my hair. But it does. Take hours, I mean. But it’s worth it. Anyhoodle.) What I’m trying to say is that I spend a lot [...]
But little.
Before she could walk we danced in the grass barefoot, wide-eyed she takes everything in. I wrote on her walls in crayon and sunshine tall tales, true tales with no endings. Write it yourself, I’ll say to her one day. Write it yourself, and make it your own. It’s important to know I’ve already been [...]
What I’ve learned from the internet.
I started writing just like any other elementary school girl circa early 90′s, in my Lisa Frank diary with a sparkly pen. Eventually, I progressed on to slightly classier notebooks, then journals, and then, suddenly, onto the internet. And my writing was never the same again. (In a good way? Yes, let’s go with that.) [...]
To raise a woman.
I have to raise a woman. I shouldn’t say “have to.” I should say “get to.” I get to raise a woman. I get to teach her, to braid her hair, to read her bedtime stories, to watch her grow, to share her triumphs, to calm her fears, and to dispel any rumors she might [...]
A softer side.
In the mirror I can see a me I thought was lost. She is defined, reflected in those eyes, so familiar, yet so different. She is a glimpse, a glimmer, blinked into focus by long-lashed lids, she is hiding in the center of those dimples, she is reality for those tiny fingers. The softer side. [...]
