I took.... a major hit today. Major. I can’t really describe this feeling inside me right now. And although I share a lot, the details of said hit will remain private. Just know it hurt. A lot. But hey, that’s life right? You take your hits. Fall down. Lay there in a pool of your own blood and tears, cry, heal, and then you get back up and hopefully serve life a swift fucking sucker punch in return. Maybe. It’s hard to see that far ahead. I know sometimes life forces your hand though. People talk about blessings in disguise. I’ve had some of those. Maybe this is another. We shall all see together. #katsavage
Oh Mattie. She’s 11, and turning 12 this year. Where did the time go? When she was a baby, her little head cradled perfectly between my boobs and we’d nap together. There’s photo evidence somewhere. Despite her rough start in life, she’s a good egg. Shy, tender. Really shy actually. Which she didn’t get from her mother. Or me. Ha. But she has a lot of friends. She’ll kill me for saying this, but she hitting puberty. Like breasts blooming and Aunt Flo is coming any time now. Like it’s happening. Of course she doesn’t want any part of it. At the eye doctor today, she complained her eyes hurt up close so turns out she needs glasses because of some turning in issues. She needs a prism to help. Or something like that. I welcomed her to the club and we picked out her first pair of glasses together. She wasn’t upset or anything, just accepted it. Which is pretty par. In the back of my mind, I always wonder if she rationalizes each change and compares it to the tragedies she’s experienced and decides they’re not a big deal. Then I hate that for her. I wish she were still blissfully unaware of the kind of darkness that binds us. She’s smart but hesitant. Like she worries about being embarrassed or doing it wrong so she second guesses too much. Hopefully she will grow more confident with time. She’s got her momma’s hands and feet, which are also her grandpa’s hands and feet. Sometimes I do a double take because her expression is so much her mother I could cry. I am truly lucky to have a piece of my sister forever in this little girl. I am truly lucky to have this bonus kid in my life, as my own. #katsavage
Kali Corine Renee is 100% my child. Named for the Goddess of Destruction, her Great Grandmother, and her Aunt... yeah I know a lot of names but she lives up to all of them. She’s a sensitive soul. She loves drawing, reading, and writing. So... she’s me. The other day she came home from school and had gotten in trouble in class for doodling on her arm from fingertip to wrist. Guess who used to also do that? When I took her to her dad, she brought a chapter book to finish in the car because she was almost done and seamlessly flipped through my music from the Eurythmics to Moon Taxi and then asked if we could listen to some of my spoken word poetry albums. She’s eccentric, sassy, hella smart, knows her Friends TV Show trivia almost as well as I do, and tries me daily. Two years ago she had a boyfriend in school and said she didn’t talk to him all day because in her words “you just need a break sometimes, you know?” She has a hard time making friends though. Because what I see as totally cool in a 9yo, it isn’t to others her age. I think she’s too much for them. And while I can see it... I can see how all of who she is will be a smashing success come 17 or 19 or 23, right now it’s tough for her. She doesn’t blend in, and I tell her that’s ok, but it’s hard for her. I hope she chooses to hold on instead of folding in. My babe. #katsavage
My momma would have been 51 today. She’s been gone for two birthdays now. If she were here, I would be making her a chocolate cake. I would be wrapping her a gift that would undoubtedly make her cry because she always cried at my sentimental gifts. She would be cursing her age, still sporting the same hair cut for her teen years, and spoiling her grandchildren. Some days her absence grips me so tight I can barely breathe, and I cry and listen to sad songs. Sometimes I’m so angry at how she left, I don’t want to cry ever again. I’m working through it. Little by little, day by day. Happy Birthday, momma. No matter what, I love you.
